#“i closed my eyes inside of your darkness”

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, my sugar bunnies: You use your boyfriend's abs as your favorite sex toy.

Or you're making the most of your evening and ride San's fuckable six-pack abs until you squirt all over him.

"You're doing so well, Chagiya. Keep it up, make me proud of you, baby girl." San purrs in a sultrily way, giving you a seductive, wet look through his fluffy lashes. As he speaks, deep, sweet dimples flash across his flushed, aroused cheeks, contrasting so starkly with his fucked state and the lazy, devilish grin that now adorns his soft, plump lips.

He's breathing heavily, the muscles of his chest rising and falling in time with his deep, measured breaths, making his honeyed, oiled with sweet cocoa butter skin glisten deliciously and you have to fight the temptation so not to lean down and run your tongue over it to taste its delicious flavour. San's fingers dig painfully into the soft, plush flesh of your thighs as he pulls you harder against him until your pussy is pressed against the pronounced relief of his magnificent six-pack abs.

"Fuck, that feels so good, сhagi. Don't be shy, baby, just use me as your favourite fuck toy. Let me see how you make a mess all over my abs with that pretty, sweet cunt of yours. That's what you want, isn't it? To ride my abs until you squirt."

You whimpered in embarrassment and looked away from him in an unsuccessful attempt to hide your flushed red cheeks from his lewd words. Anyway, San was absolutely right—it really was what you wanted so badly, and for a long time, if you were completely honest with yourself. And how could you not want it when San looked like a fucking work of art, with all those firm muscles, seductive curves, and sexual shapes?

"Sannie..." You sobbed, squirming slightly in your seat. 'You can't say that...it's so dirty...' Still, nothing stops you from keeping on fucking yourself on his deliciously toned abs, continuing to slowly rock your hips back and forth as you smear your warm, sticky juices more abundantly over his smooth and glistening skin. With every move you made, your swollen, sensitive clit clung to the hard, taut muscles on his stomach, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine and making your tiny, tight hole reflexively clench around nothing as if trying to keep a phantom cock inside your hungry cunt.

You knew you were close to cumming; you could feel the hot, tugging sensation in your belly becoming more tangible by the minute, bringing you closer and closer to an overwhelming, violent orgasm. There was no doubt that you would squirt all over him, and even if you didn't make it the first time, San would make you come again, and again, until your cunt was gushing like a fountain, squirting your juices all over him.

''Sannie...I-I'm so close...'' You babble as you begin to rub harder against his abs. Your hips are trembling visibly as you press your needy, lustful pussy even harder against the hard relief of the tight muscles on San's stomach. Every movement you make has caused your wet, swollen labia to slip lewdly apart, giving San a glimpse of your reddened, throbbing clit and silky, fluttering folds with thick drops of your mucus dripping down on them, and he has to stop himself from pulling your little pussy to his face and licking it like candy. "I don't think... I don't think I can do it myself. Please...please, Sannie, it's so heavy.' You beg, looking up at him with your big, glassy eyes glazed with pleasure.

Your words caused San to let out a loud, depraved moan of pure lust as he roughly squeezed your juicy, thick thighs, leaving aggressive red marks on your soft skin. The thought of how you'd come just by rubbing your pretty, plump cunt against his abs and the way you'd dirty yourself on him was enough to make his big, hard cock twitch and his dark feline eyes sparkle with lust.

"Fuck, kitty, you're driving me crazy." San growls in a low voice and pulls you roughly over to him, only to take full control of the situation and begin to fuck you aggressively.

He immediately establishes a hard, relentless rhythm that makes your big, heavy tits bounce sluttishly. His abs were so hard and rigid under your pussy, smooth and slippery from the mixture of your slime and sweet cocoa butter that smeared all over his golden skin., and it drove you crazy. Your loud, gasping moans mixed with San's hoarse, dirty curses as you jerked and relentlessly bounced on him.

Your whole body tenses with the sensation of your quickly growing orgasm, and your vision becomes blurred and unfocused; you can't even describe what's happening. Your pussy is caressing his abs and drooling all over it, leaving sticky, viscous trails of your sweet honey between the bloated cubes of muscles.

"You're so fucking wet, baby." San purrs, licking greedily as if he can taste the sweet flavour of your cunt on his lips. "You want me to make you come, chagiya, don't you? Is your pussy hungry for my cock, or will my abs be enough for you to make a mess? It's pathetic, don't you think, rubbing your cunt against my belly like a bitch in heat." Filthy, disgusting words dripped down his tongue like the sweetest nectar in the world.

San," you whimper pitifully, trying to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, but it's all in vain—San moves your hips with such speed and roughness that it becomes almost painfully pleasurable. Your thick excitement flows down his belly and collects between the pronounced lines of his abs, not to mention the feeling of moisture on his skin, and he's damn proud to have brought you to this state even without fucking you with his cock.

His cock is throbbing hot, begging for a sweet release, but San can wait; he wants to cum inside you, feel your sweet little hole stretch and quiver as he fucks your pussy mercilessly.

You don't even have time to react as San's thumb presses against your swollen, eager clit, teasingly squeezing it a few times before rapidly stroking it in tight circles. You desperately push your hips forward, hoping to get more of this sweet torture, your whole body glowing, covered in a thin layer of sweat that emphasises the beauty of your voluptuous curves and beautiful breasts.

You're so stunning, and you're all his, and he can't wait to plunge his big, thick cock into the moist, warm tightness of your silky pussy and show you how much he loves you.

It seemed almost impossible, but your rhythm becomes even faster and wilder, the scalding throb of impending orgasm beating rhythmically beneath your skin along with your frantic pulse. Your pussy rubs, kisses, and licks his gorgeous, tight abs while his fingers work wonders on your clit.

All sounds around you become a solid white noise as your orgasm erupts inside you, burning a hole in your belly as you cum heavily all over him with a loud, shrill scream of his name, your arousal splashing out in a copious stream of liquid, creating a veritable wet mess between your bodies.

As your orgasm releases you, you immediately collapse exhaustedly onto San's chest, seeking the soothing closeness of his warm body and soft, loving embrace.

"My good girl, you did so well; I'm so proud of you, chagiya. Tell me, did it live up to your expectations?" San kisses your forehead sweetly and strokes your back lazily with his fingertips.

"Yes, it was absolutely worth it. We have to do it again...' You hum softly, pressing yourself harder against your handsome boyfriend's broad, hot chest.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

. 🌷 FAVE S★X POSITION ?!

── ❀˖° SYLUS’S favorite sex position is—cowgirl.

There’s nothing he loves more than having you riding him, your plush thighs spread over his lap, your pussy gripping his cock as you move at your own pace. He’d rest his hands on your hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh there, guiding you just enough to make sure you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

His red eyes would stay locked on you, half-lidded and burning with need. He’d watch the way your tits bounce with each movement, how they sway in time with the rhythm of your grinding against him. His hands would roam, one sliding up to cup your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers, the other trailing down to where your bodies meet, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit.

“Fuck—just like that, sweetheart,” he’d murmur, voice thick with praise. “You take me so damn well.”

When you start to get tired, thighs trembling, he’d take over—gripping your ass, thrusting up into you, fucking you deep, making sure you feel every desperate ounce of his love. He’d pull you close, chest to chest, kissing your lips, your jaw, whispering against your ear, “Let go for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

And when you finally do—pussy tightening, moaning his name—he’d follow soon after, holding you close as pleasure crashes over him. But he wouldn’t let you move just yet. No, he’d keep you there, still stuffed full, pressing sweet kisses against your damp skin, whispering how perfect you are, how much he loves you.

Because cowgirl isn’t just his favorite position—it’s his favorite way to worship you.

── ❀˖° RAFAYEL’S favorite sex position is—doggy style.

Thick fingers grip your hips, holding you steady as he drives his cock deep. Your ass bounces against his thighs, the sharp slap of skin against skin filling the air. His pace is relentless, each thrust forcing you down, making your pussy tighten around him.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice rough. “Fucking perfect like this.”

A firm hand slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, keeping you exactly where he wants you. The other grips your ass, spreading you wider, watching himself disappear inside you over and over. The stretch, the heat, the way your body molds to his cock—it's enough to make his head spin.

“Feel that?” His fingers drag over your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Taking me so well—like you were made for this.”

Your walls flutter, body shaking, gasping for breath as pleasure builds sharp and fast. His grip tightens, hips snapping against yours, fucking you harder. The deep, guttural sound he makes when he feels you clench around him, chasing his own release, driving into you mercilessly.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls, voice dark with possession. “Make sure you remember who you belong to.”

A final snap of his hips, the grip on your waist bruising as he buries himself deep. Heat spills inside you, his body shuddering against yours, breath ragged. His hands smooth over your skin, possessive, unwilling to let go.

Because doggy style isn’t just his favorite position—it’s how he claims you.

── ❀˖° XAVIER’S favorite sex position is—standing.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you close, pressing your back against the wall as he thrusts deep, the sound of his body meeting yours echoing in the room. His blue eyes pierce into you, sharp and full of hunger, as he fucks you hard, controlling every inch of the movement. His body is solid against yours, holding you up, his hands clutching your ass, spreading you wider as he drills into you.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, lips curling into a smirk as he watches your tits bounce with each thrust. “You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”

His grip tightens on your hips, his cock sinking deeper with each thrust. The pressure on your clit builds as he drags his thumb across it, just enough to push you to the edge. His pace doesn’t falter, relentless, unyielding.

“Look at you—so fucking wrecked already,” he taunts, voice rough and mocking, his cock filling you completely with every sharp thrust. “Can’t take much more, can you?”

You’re close, your body trembling, your pussy tightening around him as he fucks you harder, faster. His face inches from yours, breath hot against your ear as he growls, “Come for me, now.”

The way he drives into you with such precision, the way his body demands you to fall apart under him—it’s not just sex, it’s domination. You come hard, and Xavier doesn’t stop until he spills inside you, his grip on your waist bruising as he holds you against him, claiming you.

Standing isn’t just his favorite position—it’s where he asserts his control, taking you as his completely.

── ❀˖° CALEB’S favorite sex position is—reverse cowgirl.

He watches as you ride him, your back to him, your ass just within reach of his hands. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you to move the way he wants, but he lets you take control, watching every move, every roll of your hips as you grind down onto him. He’s hooked on the way your body moves, the way your ass sways with each thrust, the sight of your pussy swallowing him whole.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice rough, hands roaming to your ass, squeezing and pulling you down harder, needing to feel you all over him. “You look so fucking hot like this, pipsqueak.”

He doesn’t need to say much—he’s focused on you, eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce with each movement, how your skin glistens with sweat, the soft moans escaping your lips as you get lost in the rhythm.

One hand slips up your back, cupping the curve of your spine, pushing you down onto him just a little deeper, making you gasp. His other hand trails down to where your bodies meet, his thumb brushing over your clit, adding pressure, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, his voice a low growl. “I want to see you fall apart on my cock.”

His thrusts grow deeper, harder, matching the way you move. He feels you tense, your walls tightening around him, and he knows you’re close. He keeps pushing, his hands guiding you, making sure you feel every inch of him as your orgasm crashes over you, your body jerking as you come undone.

And when you’re still, breathless, he holds you there, his grip firm on your hips as he spills inside you, the sensation of you moving on top of him driving him wild.

Because reverse cowgirl isn’t just his favorite position—it’s where he gets to watch you take everything he’s giving, all while making sure you never forget how badly he wants you.

── ❀˖° ZAYNE’S favorite sex position is—spooning.

He pulls you close, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, keeping you pressed flush against him as he positions his cock at your entrance. His body is firm against yours, and he starts to move slowly, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm, burying himself deep as you both settle into the comfort of the position. The feeling of his chest against your back, his breath warm against your neck, adds a layer of intimacy to the heat building between you.

His hands slide down your body, one cupping your breast, squeezing gently, the other slipping between your legs to rub your clit in slow, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Each movement is measured, designed to make you feel every inch of him inside you, his cock stretching your pussy out with every deep push.

“God, you feel so good,” he whispers in your ear, voice low and needy. “I can’t get enough of you.”

You’re so close, your body trembling in anticipation, but Zayne doesn’t rush—he keeps his pace steady, making sure you feel the burn, the tension building slowly between your legs. His lips press against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as his movements get a little harder, a little faster. His hand on your clit increases in pressure, and your walls tighten around him as the pleasure mounts.

“I want you to come for me,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper. “Now.”

With one final thrust, his cock hits all the right spots, and you come hard, your cunt tightening around him as he follows right after, spilling inside you, staying deep and pressed close, savoring the moment.

Because spooning isn’t just his favorite position—it’s where he finds the perfect mix of passion and closeness, where he can make you feel safe and completely owned at the same time.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[thepitlanepress]

UM WHO ARE YOU? –

↳ lando norris + fem!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: something lando while i work on the smau !! also black and white pics of lando>>> a warning tho the sleep deprivation kicked in at about halfway through

your friend was late.

again.

this was the seven hundredth time michael had been late this week alone. seriously, its like he did it on purpose. you had been standing in the restaurant's carpark for the last half an hour waiting on you ride home.

it's late, it's dark, you're cold and tired. boy was the asshole in for it when he showed up. how could he leave a you out here in these conditions? it was practically snowing.

eventually michael's car turns up and slows to a stop in the car park, you think its weird how he keeps rolling a bit while you try and grab the handle but its they way he is, always taking the piss out of you on a daily basis.

he stops shortly after and you yank the door open piling inside and berating him. "seriously dude? you're half an hour late and i have been dying to bed. its almost snowing outside and you just leave...me..."

thats not michael.

sitting in the drivers seat is lando norris? the world famous f1 driver? what is he doing at your restaurant? no no better question, why the hell are you in his car you dumbass?

"um, who are you?" he asks sitting there, a confused and suspicious look on his face, he probably thinks your some crazy fan, which doesn't help the situation you're in.

"oh my god, i am so sorry, i got in the wrong car, this isn't happening. i'm so sorry, i thought you were my friend, gosh im so-" you begin to say but cut yourself off when you start to ramble. instead collecting yourself and bracing for the cold when you open the door.

"wait," lando's voice stops you, your hand on the door, ready to leave. "you can stay in here until your friend arrives," he says smiling, there is still the edge in his voice, and thats understandable, but he's being kind and letting you stay in the warm at least.

"thank you," you smile and sit back in the seat relaxing and closing your eyes basking in the warmth of the car, and the smell of lando's cologne. its not your fault its the only thing that you can smell.

"so can i ask; what were you doing out there? its snowing and you have no coat on, thats not okay," he asks his voice drifting to you.

"my friend michael was supposed to pick me up, but evidently he was late," you answer, opening your tired eyes and sighing. "he's always late these days. this is like the third time this week i've had to wait for him for like an hour after work."

"you're telling me you spend half an hour to an hour waiting for this guy to come pick you up from work? and he's always late?"

you nod not bothering to defend michael right now, he's making you wait with a stranger for over an hour, the last thing he deserves is your defence.

"what a shithead."

an unexpected laugh rumbles from your throat. "that's michael for you."

"thats michael? seriously?" lando's brows furrow and he looks disgusted by even the thought of it. "he's not your friend."

"what?"

"that boy is not your friend. a real friend would be here in the carpark early warming up your seat for you, waiting with a coat. not showing up hours late to a-" he looks out his window. "closed restaurant. god it keeps getting worse."

you sigh quietly and shake your head, "i don't know what to do, i don't have a car and calling an uber is not my favourite thing at this time of night."

"give me your phone," lando says suddenly.

"what?"

"can i borrow your phone please?" he repeats.

"sure?" you say pulling it out of your pocket, unlocking it and handing it over to him.

he types something quickly and smiles before handing it over to you again. you look down and on the screen is a new contact "lando aka your new best friend"

despite the circumstances you laugh, "what's this for?"

"text me when you finish work each shift and i'll come pick you up."

"what?"

"i'll pick you up or have someone trusted pick you up at the end of your shifts," he says simply.

"why?" you ask bewildered by his kindness.

"because i'm your new best friend duh."

you smile and he grins back at you. "come on i'll drive you home," he says putting his seatbelt on and gesturing for you to do the same.

"thank you," you whisper.

the drive home lulls you to sleep. maybe it was the quiet hum of the radio, or the warmth of the car or the company. whatever it was it sent you to sleep quickly, with a smile on your face and your heart full, you made a new friend.

you never did ask lando why he was in the car park that night. and he never did tell you how he had overheard your friend shit talking and complaining about you at a random club before he ran off with some girl.

and he never did tell you about how he very nearly dropped everything to go pick up the mystery girl who was depending on the worlds biggest asshole.

he never told you,

not even when he got down on one knee or when he stood up in front of all of your friends with you in a white dress.

he never told you how he almost fell in love on the spot when you burst into his car and then profusely apologised when you realised you made a mistake.

he never told you.

but he always picked you up, no matter where or when, he was there.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely you know that part in s6ep19 where Spencer says he can’t sleep and can’t focus on cases and he looks like he just needs a BIG HUG could you please write something about reader comforting him- either as bau agent or as just significant other because no one else will do the comfort justice the way you can okay love you bye

sleep — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , mention of spencer looking / being exhausted a/n: hi hi !! honestly that ep always makes my heart hurt bc he looked so so so so exhausted :( i hope i did your request justice <3

You should have felt hurt. Or sad. Or at least disappointed. But you didn’t.

Maybe you were too used to this by now—the way Spencer threw himself into work until his body had no choice but to shut down. The way he lost track of time, of himself, of you.

Still, you hadn’t expected to hear it from Penelope.

She had called you after they returned from the case, her voice hesitant, choosing her words carefully. That alone told you enough. Spencer hadn’t stopped by your apartment like he usually did.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

“He wouldn’t stop working,” she had said. “Hotch had to practically drag him up to his hotel room, and even then, I don’t think he actually slept.”

That was worse than normal.

You knew Spencer had a habit of pushing himself past his limits, but this time, he hadn’t even come to you. And that was what worried you the most.

So you didn’t care if you seemed clingy or overbearing. You didn’t care if he might have wanted space. You weren’t going to let him spiral alone.

Grabbing your jacket, you shoved your arms through the sleeves, barely taking the time to lock the door behind you as you rushed out of your apartment. Fifteen minutes later, you were standing in front of Spencer’s door, your heart hammering against your ribs as you knocked.

There was a long pause. Then, finally, the door creaked open.

The moment you saw him, you had to fight the urge to physically react.

He looked exhausted.

His hair was more disheveled than usual, messy strands sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it nonstop. The dark circles under his eyes were worse than you’d ever seen them—deep, almost bruised-looking hollows. His usually sharp cheekbones were even more pronounced.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, rough like he hadn’t used it in hours.

“Checking up on you,” you said simply.

You stepped inside without giving him the chance to protest, pushing the door closed behind you. Spencer just stood there, watching as you toed off your shoes and shrugged out of your jacket, hanging it neatly on the rack by the door—like this was just any other night, like nothing was wrong.

But something was wrong.

And you weren’t going to let him brush it aside.

“Okay, come on.” You reached for his hand as you pulled him toward his bedroom.

He didn’t resist.

He followed wordlessly, exhaustion weighing down his every step. Inside, you went straight to his closet, flipping through the hangers until you found what you were looking for. One of his favorite sweaters—the soft brown one that you’d seen him wear countless times.

You pulled it from the hanger and turned back to him, pressing it into his hands.

“Put this on,” you murmured.

Spencer stared down at the sweater for a moment before looking at you, his gaze unreadable.

“Who told you?” he asked as he pulled the fabric over his head, the movement slow and tired.

“Penelope.”

“Of course.” He sighed, adjusting the sleeves, his fingers lingering on the hem. Now dressed in the familiar comfort of his sweater, he looked back at you. “Now what?”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him without hesitation.

Spencer froze.

For a moment, he didn’t move—like he wasn’t sure how to react. But you didn’t let go. Your arms stayed firm around his neck, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater as you pressed yourself against him.

With your lips close to his ear, you murmured, “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but I love you, Spence. And I’m here for you.”

That was all it took.

The tension in his body gave way as he exhaled a shaky breath, and then, finally, he hugged you back.

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his grip almost desperate. His lips brushed against your shoulder, lingering there.

You were pretty sure you stood there for at least five minutes, wrapped in each other’s warmth, neither of you speaking. You only pulled back when you felt him loosen his grip first.

Leaning back slightly, you placed your hands on his face, your thumbs gently tracing over the sharp planes of his cheekbones, soothing him. His skin was warm beneath your touch.

“You need to sleep,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the dark circles under his eyes again.

“I can’t,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“You have to try.”

One of your hands drifted up, fingers slipping through his unruly curls, smoothing them down. A slow, comforting motion. He stayed quiet, his tired eyes searching yours like he was trying to memorize the way you looked at him.

After a moment, he finally spoke.

“Will you stay?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You have to ask?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something else, but before he could, you dropped your hand from his hair and turned toward his bed. Pulling back the blankets, you glanced at him expectantly.

“Come on,” you urged.

Spencer hesitated for only a second before stepping forward. He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaustion radiating from every movement. You slipped in beside him, settling against the pillows, waiting for him to follow.

And he did.

Without a word, he laid down, turning onto his side so he could face you.

You reached out, your fingers grazing his wrist before sliding down to intertwine with his.

“Close your eyes, Spence,” you whispered.

And, for the first time in days, he did.

Spencer stayed beside you, but sleep still wasn’t coming easily. Even as his body slumped against the bed, his fingers twitched slightly, his breaths uneven. His mind was still running, and you could feel it—like an engine that refused to shut off.

You sighed, adjusting your position. You guided him toward you without a word.

Spencer blinked at you, puzzled, until you tugged on his arm again. “Spence, come here.”

He hesitated for only a second before shifting, laying his head against your shoulder, his body half-draped over yours. His long limbs folded awkwardly at first, like he wasn’t sure how to settle, but then he exhaled, the weight of him sinking into you.

You ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing down the curls. “You’re really bad at this whole relaxing thing, you know that?”

He let out a quiet huff against your shoulder. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised. Your brain is like a hamster on a wheel. A very fast, very anxious hamster.”

Spencer made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s… not inaccurate.”

You grinned a little, continuing to comb your fingers through his hair. “Well, tell the hamster to take a break. He’s had a long day.”

Spencer hummed, shifting slightly, pressing his face closer into the crook of your neck. “The hamster is skeptical.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “The hamster needs to trust me.”

He was quiet for a moment, his breathing a little slower now. “I do.” His voice was softer, more tired.

You smiled, rubbing slow circles against his back. “Good.”

It still took a while. He fidgeted, exhaled sharply once or twice, but you just kept holding him, kept whispering small, mindless things—about how tired you were, how unfair it was that he had such nice hair when he barely even tried, how you were absolutely stealing one of his sweaters in the morning.

And finally, finally, his breathing evened out.

His body went still, warm and heavy against yours, his grip on your shirt slackening as he actually drifted off.

You smirked, murmuring softly, “See? Even the hamster gets tired eventually.”

And, for the first time all night, he didn’t respond.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hello baby. Can you please write some George story where he is spending a nice day on see witb his daughter and Carmen. Could the daughter be a baby or a toddler, please?

A day on sea

The bright Greek sun shimmered over the sparkling turquoise sea as the small family arrived at the marina. The air was warm, carrying a light, salty breeze that promised a perfect day on the water. George stepped out of the car, stretching his long limbs before turning to help Carmen, who carefully lifted their two-year-old daughter, Yn, from her car seat.

"There it is," George said, nodding toward the sleek white yacht bobbing gently against the dock. His voice was warm with excitement as he slung a bag over his shoulder. "What do you think, love? Fancy a day on the sea?"

Carmen smiled, adjusting Yn in her arms as their daughter rested her head against her shoulder, still half-asleep from the drive. "I think you’ve outdone yourself this time. She’s going to love it."

George chuckled softly, stepping onto the yacht first. He tested his footing before reaching out a hand toward Carmen. "Come on, let me help you. Careful with our little mermaid."

With practiced ease, Carmen passed Yn to him for a moment before stepping on board herself. Once she was secure, George gently handed their daughter back to her, brushing a soft kiss across her temple. Yn stirred slightly but remained blissfully asleep in her mother’s arms.

"Still out," Carmen murmured, smoothing back a few strands of Yn’s dark curls.

George leaned in, kissing the top of her head. "Let her rest for now. We’ve got all day."

They moved inside to settle their things. George busied himself getting the yacht ready to pull out, while Carmen found a shady spot on the deck where she could sit comfortably with Yn nestled against her chest. The gentle hum of the engine soon filled the air as they drifted out into open waters.

For a while, the only sounds were the lapping of the waves and the occasional breeze rustling past. Carmen closed her eyes, cradling Yn as she slept peacefully, lulled by the soft rocking of the boat.

George finally slowed the yacht, satisfied they were far enough out. The water gleamed a deep blue beneath them, shimmering in the midday sun. With the engine off, the world seemed blissfully quiet. He turned back to his girls, his heart swelling at the sight of them.

"Alright," he whispered, stepping over to kneel beside Carmen. His fingers brushed gently over Yn’s cheek. "I think it’s time our little sea princess woke up and joined the fun."

Yn stirred under his touch, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. George leaned in, placing a series of soft kisses along her forehead and down to her chubby little hand.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice as soft as the breeze. "Wake up, baby. Daddy’s here."

A tiny whimper escaped her lips before she shifted in Carmen’s arms, her eyes cracking open. For a moment, she seemed confused, her brows furrowing as she tried to process where she was.

"Hey, love," Carmen said softly, smiling down at her.

When Yn’s gaze finally landed on George, her whole face lit up. A delighted giggle burst from her lips as she reached for him with her small hands.

"There’s my girl," George laughed, scooping her up from Carmen’s arms and holding her close. "Did you have a nice nap? Guess what—you're on a boat!"

Yn wiggled excitedly, pressing her hands against his cheeks. "Boat!" she echoed, her voice high and sweet.

"That’s right!" Carmen laughed, stretching her arms above her head. "And guess what else? You get to swim with us today."

George stood, bouncing Yn lightly in his arms. "Let’s get you ready, love. Mummy’s going to find your swimsuit while I blow up your floatie. Sound good?"

Yn clapped her hands, her giggles bubbling over as George nuzzled her neck. "Swim!"

Carmen disappeared below deck to grab Yn’s pink bathing suit while George settled onto one of the cushioned benches, pulling out the small inflatable floatie. As he worked, he kept Yn entertained by blowing exaggerated puffs of air, making silly faces that had her bursting into fits of laughter.

"You think Daddy’s funny, huh?" he teased, tapping her nose.

Yn’s laughter only grew louder, and George beamed, utterly enchanted by her joy.

Carmen returned, holding up the tiny bathing suit. "Alright, sweet girl, let’s get you changed."

George carefully passed Yn back to her, pressing a kiss to Carmen’s cheek on the way. "I’ll finish this and jump in first. Make sure it’s all good."

It didn’t take long for him to blow up the floatie. With a playful salute, he slipped out of his shirt and dove into the crystal-clear water. When his head popped back up, his grin was wide. "Perfect temperature. Come on in when you’re ready!"

Carmen finished changing Yn and carried her to the edge of the yacht. "Daddy’s waiting for you, love," she cooed as George swam closer.

"Come here, baby girl," George said, his arms outstretched.

Carefully, Carmen lowered Yn into the water, and George immediately took hold of her, holding her securely against his chest. Yn’s legs kicked instinctively, her hands splashing excitedly at the water.

"She’s a natural," George said proudly, looking up at Carmen.

"Of course, she is," Carmen teased, carefully sliding into the water to join them. "She’s got your energy."

Yn squealed happily between them, her tiny hands splashing wildly.

"You’re having fun, aren’t you?" George laughed, keeping a firm hold on her while letting her explore. "Our little water baby."

They stayed close, never letting Yn drift too far. Whenever she grew tired, one of them would pull her against their chest, offering her a break before she eagerly pushed off to "swim" again.

After about twenty minutes, Yn’s energy began to wane. George glanced at Carmen, who nodded knowingly. "Let’s get her in the floatie," she said softly.

George pulled the inflatable closer, carefully settling Yn inside it. Her chubby legs dangled through the openings, and she immediately began to kick again, giggling with delight as she floated beside them.

"I could stay here all day," George murmured, watching their daughter splash happily.

Carmen smiled, her heart warm and full. "Me too."

When Yn’s splashes grew less enthusiastic, George decided it was time for a snack. "Why don’t I get her out while you fix us something to eat?"

"Deal." Carmen kissed his shoulder before climbing out of the water, leaving a trail of droplets behind as she disappeared below deck.

George lifted Yn out of her floatie, wrapping her in a soft towel before settling on the cushioned bench. He laid her on his chest, drying her gently as she babbled softly.

"Did you like swimming, love?" he asked, tilting his head back to meet her eyes.

Yn’s response was a bright, belly-deep laugh when George began making silly faces—sticking out his tongue, puffing his cheeks, and crossing his eyes. Her laughter was music to his ears, echoing across the open water.

"You’re the best audience, you know that?" he whispered, pressing a kiss to her damp curls.

By the time Carmen returned with a plate of fresh fruit and sandwiches, George was still entertaining their daughter, her laughter ringing out again and again.

"Alright, funny guy," Carmen called playfully. "Let’s feed our little fish before she falls asleep on you."

George smiled, standing carefully with Yn still cradled against him. "Anything for my girls."

And as they enjoyed their lunch under the warm Greek sun, with Yn nestled safely between them, George knew this was a day he would remember forever.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[st7rnioioss]

could you maybe write a little fic about brothersbsf!matt looking in sweetheart!reader's diary and seeing what she wrote about him!!

(idk if i got the au name things right!)

❛❛DEAR DIARY❜❜

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... matt sneaks into sweetheart!readers room, expecting to find her, but to his surprise, she's not home. but something catches his eye immediately--her diary.

warnings... most suggestive stuff is all fiction!!! (literally lol), mentions of fingering, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of kissing, implied masturbation (m)

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ the door to your room twisted open, the faint and high pitched creaking filling the empty room. you weren’t in there, the room was pitch black, and almost cold from the absence of your presence.

confusion settled in matt’s chest. huh? he’d snook away from your brother, telling him he just really quickly had to use the bathroom, but you weren’t there. he stepped inside when the confusion was replaced with curiosity, flicking on your bedside lamp to see where he was walking.

your room was pretty, but eerie when you weren’t there. matt’s eyes trailed over your decoration—the small trinkets, your bedsheets, the few posters you had up. god, it just screamed you. he chuckled to himself, his gaze finally landing upon the pretty little diary you always kept close to yourself.

oh, he knew it was wrong, very wrong. he didn’t have any sisters, but a diary was like.. a girl thing. but he took seat on the edge of your bed, your diary playing flat in his lap.

matt thought about it for a second, awkwardly flicking some hair out of his eyes. frightened to be caught, he listened intently for your brothers footsteps, but none could be heard. so, he continued to slowly turn the front, due to the lack of lock, seemingly one that used to be there but fell off.

matt’s eyes skimmed the front page where you had neatly written your name, along with a few doodles, and sweet words. he smiled to himself, before curiously flipping through the pages. some were filled with sketches and drawings, others going on for page after page about school drama, which he carefully read through, even gasping because some of the hidden information.

but one page caught his eyes, rather a page with his name caught his eyes. there wasn’t a certain title or description, just straight up words you had blurted out onto the paper. his heart started racing when he read through the page, his ears turning read.

“dear diary, i think i have a crush on my brother's friend matt. i’m not sure, but i think he’s really, really sweet, and sometimes he even says hi to me. i think it’s mainly because he’s trying to be kind to me. after all, my older brother is his friend, but i really hope it’s more than that. he’s really cute too. he’s got blue eyes, and this dark hair i really wish to run my fingers through every time he looks at me. and his lips are always pink, and they look so soft.”

and that was it. his heart drummed in his ribcage, nervously fiddling through your diary to find more.

and oh boy, did he find more. it was like your diary had taken this sharp turn, going from girl gossip, and rants about your favorite movies, to all being about him. matt couldn’t believe his eyes, his heart nearly beating out of his chest when his eyes picked up on the naughty sentences.

“dear diary, today matt came into my room to say hi. or at least that’s what happened, but i think he wanted to do more. i was just showing him around, when he suddenly stood so close to me, i swore he could hear my heart, and just as he was about to kiss me, my dumb brother walked in!!! gosh, i just wish he could’ve kissed me without any interruptions. i wonder how he’d kiss. if he would be gentle, and soft, or he would be rough, and fill the kiss with desire. maybe he’d do both. i don’t know. i dream about his fingers running down my waist, hooking under my shirt to pull it off, how he would run them through my hair. would he yank my hair, or carefully twirl it?? or maybe he’d wrap his fingers around my neck while kissing, i don't know. i dream about his tongue licking over mine, tasting and claiming me. anyways i gotta go.”

matt’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, groaning when he felt his cock harden from just the ink on paper, that you had written in the silence of your own room. in shock he dropped the diary between his legs, quickly picking it up again. he couldn’t stop, he wanted to read more. he needed to.

matt quickly flicked through the pages upon pages, searching for his name like before, but suddenly all he could seem to find was gossip. but he found another one, this one much more recent, seemingly the last one your written just the night prior.

“dear diary, gosh i need matt. like really bad. i don’t even understand how i’m writing right now, but i had to, i can’t tell anyone else. it’s so stupid. i think about him all the time, when i’m in school, when i’m in the shower, eating dinner or breakfast, when i’m in bed. i wish i didn’t. every time i touch myself, it’s like an image of him pops up, and i can’t make it stop. it’s so wrong, but it feels so right and good when i imagine him doing the stuff i do to myself. i get so wet thinking about it. how i wish he would just sneak in here one night, kiss me, and then take off my clothes without us feeling guilty about it, and anyone finding out. i can almost feel it, how he would push his fingers inside me while kissi”

it looks like you stopped right there, and matt could only imagine what was going on behind the diary, behind the pen on paper, what you were doing. he let out a low growl, an obvious tent forming in his pants from how vividly he was imagining you laying in bed, grasping your pen while ignoring the ache between your legs, before you’d give up and tug your panties down your pretty legs, easing your smaller and slender fingers inside your slick walls.

matt frantically searched for a pen, his mind going wild as he let his thoughts roam freely. the diary laid open on your bed when matt finally found a ballpoint pen, brushing the pages to the last one you had written on, before writing;

“i would kiss you down your chest, admire your body while i touch you after your sweet noises to get it right, my fingers sticky. then i would let go of you and take off my own clothes, leaning over you to push my dick into you, listen to you gasp and moan. i would take my time with you, wait until you allowed me to start fucking you, doing it gentle and slowly. i’d hold your hands, kiss you down your beautiful face and body, eventually going faster and harder. you have no idea how bad i wanna sneak into your room every time i’m hanging out here. i’m not even here for your brother anymore.”

matt let go of the pen, his hand nearly cramping from how concentrated and neatly he’d been with the filthy note, his cock aching hard and throbbing in his pants from imagining just how well you’d take him, and how adorable you’d look. “goddamn it,” he groaned, leaving the diary on your bedside table before turning off the lights, immediately heading to the bathroom.

more sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... #need that

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

[s4svnn]

Shower

Your stubbornness is part of what brought you together—it’s a fire that keeps things passionate and exciting. But at times, it can also be exhausting, especially when neither of you is willing to admit fault because of your pride. Arguments can escalate quickly, with both of you refusing to back down each determined to prove a point, so when things heat up maybe the best way to cool off is together…in the shower.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: couples argument, egos, stubbornness, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink, possessiveness, hair pulling, boob play, fingering, mirror sex, back shots, orgasm denial, sub + dom dynamic, spanking.

Word count: 5k

The door slammed shut behind us with a force that rattled the walls, the echo reverberating through the tense silence. My heart pounded against my ribs, my breaths coming in uneven gasps still heated from the argument that had started long before we even reached his house.

The air between us was thick with unspoken words, the weight of frustration pressing down on my chest. The dim glow from the entryway lights cast jagged shadows across Jungkook’s sharp features, emphasizing the tight clench of his jaw and the flicker of something dark in his eyes. His fists were curled at his sides, his posture rigid, as his entire body radiated barely restrained frustration.

"He likes you. I can tell."

I spun around so fast my hair whipped over my shoulder, my blood boiling at the audacity of his words. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him.

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

Jungkook exhaled sharply, the sound more of a scoff than a sigh, his lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t entirely devoid of amusement either. His head tilted slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as if he was holding back the urge to laugh at my denial.

"You really believe that?" he asked, his voice slow and skeptical, every syllable laced with quiet challenge.

I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet firmly against the floor as I met his gaze with unwavering defiance, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Yes, because it’s the truth," I said, my voice steadier now.

Jungkook took a step forward, closing the distance between us just slightly, but enough for the air to shift, enough for the space between us to feel too small, too charged. The weight of his presence was suffocating, the intensity in his gaze making my pulse pound harder, though I refused to let him see the effect he had on me.

"People don’t look at their friends like that, Aylah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost like a warning. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you alive."

A sharp, incredulous laugh burst from my lips, my head shaking as I fought the urge to scream at how ridiculous this entire conversation was. "I told you, he doesn’t like me!" I repeated, my voice rising in frustration. "And even if he did, I don’t like him!"

That should have been the end of it. That should have been enough. But of course, with Jungkook it never was, he just had to get the last word.

Before I could take a step back and create even an inch of space between us, he moved faster, quicker than I could react. His arms came up in an instant, trapping me between them, his hands pressing against the couch behind me as my back met the soft fabric. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse spiking as my body suddenly became hyperaware of the heat radiating from him.

"You sure about that?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but somehow even more dangerous than before. His eyes flickered over my face, searching, watching, waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, a crack in my defense. "I see the way you smile at him."

I scoffed, forcing myself to hold his gaze even though my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "What, so I can’t smile at people now?" I shot back, my voice sharp, desperate to shift the focus away from the way his words made my stomach twist.

Jungkook exhaled, the sound rough, like he was trying to push down something simmering just beneath the surface. "That’s not what I’m saying," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "It’s just… I don’t trust that guy."

"Wow," I said, my voice dripping with disbelief. "So you don’t trust him, but you trusted Jade?"

His entire body went still. His grip on the couch tightened, his knuckles turning white as he processed my words, as they settled into the space between us like a ticking time bomb.

"What did you just say?" His voice was colder now—but I didn’t care.

I held my ground, refusing to flinch under the weight of his stare. "You trusted a bitch like Jade," I said, voice steady, unwavering, my eyes locked onto his. "But you draw the line at my harmless secretary?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, suffocating and heavy.

Then, Jungkook let out a dark, humorless laugh, one that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was empty, hollow, laced with something almost cruel.

"Like you’re any better," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. His gaze flickered with something dangerous. "You were friends with the guy that tried to kill me."

The words barely registered before my hand moved on its own. The slap echoed through the room, the sharp crack of skin against skin cutting through the heavy silence like a gunshot. Jungkook’s head snapped to the side from the force, his cheek instantly reddening where my palm had struck. My chest heaved, shock rushing through me, overtaking the anger in an instant.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper. "S-Shit, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to—"

Slowly, he turns his head back to face me, his gaze dark and unreadable. The tension in the air thickened as the sound of my pulse hammered in my ears.

Before I could fully register what was happening, his fingers tightened around my wrist, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled me forward. A startled gasp slipped past my lips, my feet barely keeping up as he led me up the stairs with a determination that left no room for hesitation. 

A strange mix of nervousness and excitement twisted in my stomach, making it impossible to tell whether I wanted to pull away or let myself be dragged deeper into whatever this was turning into. The hallway blurred around us, my focus narrowing to the burn of his fingers against my skin and the charged energy radiating off him in waves.

The moment we reached his room, he didn’t stop. With a swift motion, he shoved open the bathroom door and pulled me inside, the sharp sound of the lock clicking into place sending a shiver down my spine. Finally, his grip loosened, my wrist slipping from his grasp. I barely had time to catch my breath, to make sense of the storm raging inside me, before my eyes widened at his next move.

Jungkook reached for the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. My breath hitched as the dim bathroom light cast shadows across his toned chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing making the tension between us all the more unbearable. He took a deliberate step forward, his gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.

"You wanna fight?" he murmured, his voice low.

I swallowed hard, but he didn’t give me time to answer.

He took another step forward, and suddenly there was nowhere left to go, my back meeting the cool tile wall as his presence surrounded me once more. His eyes flickered over my face, watching, waiting.

"Then let’s fight."

“W-what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers curled around the bottom of my shirt, the warmth of his touch burning through the fabric as he slowly, deliberately bunched it up between his fingers. The space between us was nonexistent, the heat radiating off him swallowing me whole, leaving me breathless as if I was trapped in the storm of his presence.

He leaned in, so close that I felt the ghost of his breath against my skin, the scent of him familiar and intoxicating as it pulled me under. His lips hovered just beside my ear, his voice low.

"Show me just how much you hate me."

His fingers loosened their grip on my shirt, releasing the fabric like he was giving me a choice, like he was daring me to move, to say something to stop him. But I couldn’t. My breath was trapped in my throat, my body rooted to the spot as I watched him.

Without breaking eye contact, Jungkook reached for the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with slow but steady movements, testing my reaction. The fabric slid down his legs, pooling at his feet before he stepped out of them, his confidence unshaken. Then, without hesitation, he removed the last barrier between him and the heat of the shower, leaving nothing between us but the charged energy hanging heavy in the air.

I stood frozen, my mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening, with what he was doing—what he was trying to prove. My mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.

Jungkook didn’t smirk this time, didn’t taunt me like I expected him to. Instead, he turned, stepping into the glass-enclosed shower without another word. The sound of the water turning on filled the space, the steam curling around him as hot droplets cascaded down his skin. And still, I stood there, unmoving, pulse hammering, thoughts spinning in every direction. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

My breath came in shallow bursts as my fingers curled around the door handle. My first instinct was to leave, to put as much space between us as possible before this fight spiraled into something I couldn’t control. But my grip hesitated, knuckles turning white as I stood frozen in place.

If I left now, nothing would be resolved. We’d still be angry, still be drowning in the same unresolved tension that had been building for too long. But if I stayed… I was throwing myself right into the fire, into whatever storm was waiting for me on the other side of that glass door.

My chest rose and fell unsteadily as I slowly pressed down on the handle, feeling the slight give beneath my palm. I could still walk away. I could leave before this went too far. But then my gaze flickered back. The steam clung to the glass, blurring the outline of Jungkook’s figure behind the shower door. Water streamed down his body in rivulets, his movements controlled, as if he was waiting—no expecting me to make a choice.

I swallowed hard, heart pounding in my chest. And then, without fully understanding why, I released the handle. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the hem of my shirt, dragging it over my head before letting it fall to the floor. One by one, each article of clothing followed until the cool air met my bare skin, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the temperature.

I took a slow step forward, my pulse roaring in my ears. Then another. My fingers brushed against the glass as I reached for the shower door, my breath catching as I pulled it open. There was no turning back now.

The rush of steam hit me first, wrapping around my skin like a second layer, thick and heavy. Water cascaded down Jungkook’s back, droplets tracing over every muscle, his posture relaxed yet tense in a way that made my stomach twist. He didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge my presence at first, as if waiting to see if I’d hesitate again.

But I didn’t. I stepped inside, my bare feet meeting the slick tiles as the heat of the water seeped into my skin. My pulse hammered in my ears, a steady rhythm that refused to slow no matter how deep of a breath I took.

Then Jungkook finally moved. His head tilted slightly, just enough for me to see the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his wet hair clung to his forehead. When he finally turned to face me, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. Neither of us spoke. Droplets of water rolled down his face, clinging to his lips, his chest rising and falling steadily despite the storm raging between us.

Then, slowly, he took a step forward. Before I could react, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist, and in one swift motion, he yanked me forward. A startled gasp left my lips as I crashed against him, my bare skin meeting his, the heat of his body searing into mine like a brand causing my nipples to harden. Water streamed between us, slicking our skin, but nothing could cool the fire igniting in my veins.

For a split second, we just stood there, bodies pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync. His breath was hot against my lips, his grip on me unrelenting.

Then his lips crashed against mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs, like he’d been holding back for too long and had finally snapped. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, as if he needed me like oxygen, like this was the only way to breathe. I didn’t think—I couldn’t. My fingers tangled into his wet hair, nails scraping against his scalp as I kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of frustration, anger, and something dangerously close to desperation into him.

The water pounded down around us, the steam curling between our bodies, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was him—his touch, his lips, the way he consumed me like he had no plans of stopping.

And, god help me, I didn’t want him to.

I barely had time to catch my breath before his mouth found my neck. A sharp gasp escaped me as his lips latched onto my skin, hot and unrelenting. He kissed, sucked, nipped, his breath ragged against my damp skin as he worked his way down, finding every sensitive spot with infuriating precision.

My hands clung to his shoulders, the muscles beneath my fingers tensing with every movement. His tongue flicked over my collarbone before he sucked at the delicate skin, teeth grazing just enough to send a shudder down my spine.

I tilted my head back against the tiled wall, my lips parting as waves of sensation crashed over me. The heat of the water, the steam curling around us, the feeling of his lips against my skin—it was too much and not enough all at once.

Without warning, Jungkook moved lower, his lips trailing a path of heat down my neck, past my collarbone, leaving a tingling trail in their wake. My breath hitched, my body tense with anticipation, but nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

His mouth latched onto my right breast, lips wrapping around the sensitive skin as he sucked, hard and purposeful. A strangled gasp left me, my head falling back as my fingers dug into his shoulders. My legs threatened to give out beneath me, the sudden rush of pleasure making me feel weightless and unsteady.

At the same time, his other hand found my left breast, his fingers rough and demanding as they kneaded the soft flesh. He squeezed, thumb flicking over my nipple before tugging, sending another sharp jolt of sensation straight through me.

My stomach clenched, heat pooling low, my body betraying me completely. The contrast between the warmth of his mouth and the firm touch of his hand had my mind spinning, every nerve in my body hyper-aware of him, of the way he was taking his time, dragging this out like he wanted to unravel me piece by piece.

I tried to suppress a moan, but it slipped out anyway, soft and breathless. Jungkook groaned in response, his teeth grazing over my sensitive skin before sucking harder, like he wanted to hear more, like he wanted to push me past the point of reason.

I clung to him, nails scraping against his damp skin as the heat of the shower wrapped around us, steam curling in the air like a haze, thick and suffocating. My heart pounded wildly against my ribs, my pulse a frantic rhythm in my ears.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, his breath warm against my skin as he murmured, voice low and rough, "Look at you… shaking already."

I barely had time to glare before his tongue flicked over the spot he had just abused, soothing the mark he had left behind. The smugness in his voice should have irritated me, but my body had other ideas, betraying me completely as another shudder ran through me. Jungkook's hands gripped my waist firmly, and in one swift motion, he spun me around. A soft gasp escaped me as my back collided with his chest, the warmth of his damp skin pressing against mine, his every breath sending a shiver down my spine.

Now facing the glass shower door, I was met with our reflection—our bodies slick with water, our skin flushed from heat and something far more dangerous. Steam clung to the glass, blurring the edges, but not enough to hide the way he towered over me, his dark eyes locked onto mine in the reflection, filled with something raw and unreadable.

His hands slid slowly up my sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before settling at my waist, his grip possessive, unyielding. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, every inch of him pressed against me, making it impossible to ignore the tension crackling between us.

Jungkook lowered his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as he let out a low, satisfied hum. "Don’t look away," he murmured, his voice dripping with something that sent another wave of heat through me.

I felt his hand trace a slow, deliberate path up the inside of my thigh, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. I refused to look down, knowing that if I did, I would completely unravel. But I could feel everything—his warmth, the steady pressure of his touch, the way he moved with agonizing patience, as if savoring every second.

Then, without warning, his fingers entered me, firm and unrelenting. A sharp gasp tore from my lips, my body jolting at the sudden contact. My hands shot out, pressing against the fogged-up glass in front of me, seeking something, anything to steady myself.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted, but my body had already betrayed me. My legs trembled, my breath coming in shallow bursts as his fingers moved at a maddening pace, pushing me to the edge of reason. My reflection in the glass was barely visible now, steam curling around us, blurring the lines between where I ended and he began. His free hand skimmed up my side, grabbing my left breast tightly, a stark reminder of who was in control.

"Tell me," he breathed, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "Tell me how much you hate me."

"I-I hate you so much," I stammered, my voice barely above a breath. "You n-never listen… you just assume."

Jungkook let out a low, satisfied hum, but instead of slowing down, he did the opposite. His movements grew quicker, more insistent, tearing another sharp gasp from my lips.

"What else?" he murmured against my ear, his voice a deep, dangerous whisper.

I clenched my jaw, trying to fight against the flood of emotions surging through me, but it was useless. The frustration, the anger, the undeniable pull between us—it was all too much.

"Y-you think the world wants m-me," I managed between ragged breaths, my body betraying me with every shudder, every involuntary movement that pressed me closer against him. "But you never l-listen to what I want."

 "Then show me," he said, his voice low, steady. "Slap me."

I froze, staring at him in disbelief. "What?" My heart raced, unsure if I had heard him correctly, the air between us thick with tension.

"Slap me, take your anger out on me, do whatever the fuck you want to me." he repeated, his voice unwavering, though his jaw tightened as if bracing for my response.

I hesitated. The words lingered in the air, a challenge I didn’t know how to answer. My fingers twitched, my heart still pounding. I looked into his eyes, searching for the meaning behind the request, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, I raised my hand.

With one quick motion, my palm met his cheek, the sound of it sharp in the stillness of the shower.

At that, his pace quickened. His fingers explored with newfound urgency, reaching places that made my breath hitch and my body tense. A sharp gasp escaped me, my forehead pressing against the fogged-up shower door as a deep, twisting pressure coiled in my stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every second. My fingers trembled against the slick glass, my entire body caught in the storm he was pulling me into, leaving me powerless to do anything but hold on.

Then, with a firm grip, he spun me around to face him once more, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a fresh wave of heat through me. Before I could catch my breath, his hand slid down my thigh, strong and possessive, fingers digging in just enough to make me shudder. In one swift motion, he lifted my left leg, hooking it over his shoulder with effortless ease, his body pressing even closer to mine.

His face hovered near mine, so close that our breaths mingled, the space between us reduced to mere centimeters. His other hand never faltered, continuing its relentless pace moving in and out of me.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips as the sheer intensity of it overwhelmed me, my body jolting against his hold as I felt myself near my release. His dark eyes stayed locked onto mine, watching, no devouring every reaction, every unguarded moment of surrender as my mouth fell open, a broken sound escaping me.

Before I could even gather myself, he released me abruptly, spinning me around once more. The sudden movement had me slamming against the cold tiles, the impact sharp but oddly grounding. His grip on my hair was fierce, yanking me back so that my ass arched into him, his hardness of his length evident.

His other hand shot out with sudden force, capturing my wrists together, then in one swift motion, he yanked them behind my back the pressure on my arms leaving me vulnerable and completely at his mercy. 

His voice came low and dangerous, a growl against my ear. "You know what I hate about you?" he said, his fingers tightening in my hair, pulling my head back so I had no choice but to look at him. "You don’t fucking listen."

I tried to respond, but the words died on my tongue as he closed the distance between us, entering me in one go. I gasped, my mind going completely blank as I struggled to process the overwhelming sensation.

The fullness was intense, dizzying, and my body tensed in response, fighting to steady itself against the intrusion. Every thought scattered, replaced by nothing but the raw intensity of the moment, leaving me breathless and suspended in a haze of confusion and heat.

Jungkook began to move against me aggressively, the severity of his actions causing my ass to clap against him as he plunged into me harder and harder, "You think these guys want to be friends with you?" His words were sharp, filled with something darker, something that stirred the heat between us even further.

"You really believe they have good intentions?" he asked, his words laced with frustration. His grip on me tightened, before his hand came down on my ass with a firm slap at my lack of response, once, twice, three times.

I mewled at the stinging sensation as I stared up at him, his anger evident in his expression as he continued to move against me. “They don’t care about you,” he said, his tone edged with something sharp and almost desperate. “They just want to know how to get to you. How to tear you apart.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, the rawness in his voice drawing my attention. It wasn’t just anger I heard, but a deep, underlying fear. 

His movements became more frantic, each thrust more urgent than the last. The heat between us surged, my body igniting under the intensity, every touch sending a jolt of electricity through my veins. My skin tingled with an intense, overwhelming mix of sensations as he gripped me with a force that left its mark. Red and purple bruises bloomed across my body, a testament to the desperation in his touch.

Each one felt like an imprint of something raw, something unspoken. I could feel myself nearing the edge, the tension coiling tighter inside me, my heart pounding with both anticipation and fear—afraid that, just like before, he might pull away again, leaving me suspended in that agonizing space of uncertainty, proving his point at the cost of everything we shared.

His grip tightened further, and his breath was hot against my ear as he spoke, his words laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

“They just want to fuck you," he murmured, his voice low and strained. "They want to know how it feels to be inside you, but I won’t let them. You’re mine."

His words lingered in the air, the weight of them pressing down on me like a heavy storm cloud. There was no mistaking the intensity in his voice, the conviction in the way he held me. 

“I won’t let them near you,” he muttered, his voice dark, almost possessive. “They think they can have a piece of you. Touch you. Know you. But you’re mine, Aylah. No one else gets to claim you. Not ever.”

He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the side of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “I don’t care if they smile at you or talk to you,” he continued, his breath hot against my skin. “I don’t care what they think they can do. I’m the only one who gets to touch you. You belong to me, and I won’t let you forget that.”

I stood there, frozen for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. The possessiveness in his voice wasn’t just about control; it was about fear. Fear of losing me. Fear that I might slip away, as if I were something fragile, something worth holding onto with everything he had.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, this time softer, but with an intensity that sent a fire through my chest. “No one else matters. You don’t belong to anyone but me.”

At the realisation that I was lost in the moment, completely absorbed by his words, he abruptly released himself into me gasping against the back of my neck as he remained inside me. I gasped sharply, my breath coming in ragged bursts as my chest rose and fell with the intensity of my own release, each inhale shaky, every exhale heavy. 

As his grip finally loosened, I turned to face him, my heart pounding in my chest, still reeling from the intensity of everything that had just happened. Without hesitation, I reached up, cupping his cheek gently in my hand, feeling the warmth of his skin under my touch.

"You need to stop worrying," I said softly, trying to steady the emotions that still swirled between us. "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."

He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing for a moment as if my words were a quiet comfort, but when he opened them again, the concern was still there. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and almost vulnerable. "But I just...I don't want you getting hurt."

My heart ached at the tenderness in his voice. Slowly, I pressed my forehead to his, grounding us both in the moment. "I know, baby," I whispered. "But you just need to trust me. I promise, I'm not like Jade."

For a moment, his eyes faltered, as if my words had struck something deep inside of him. He let out a shaky breath, the weight of his fear still present. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Then, almost instinctively, he leaned into me, his head resting gently against my chest. "I know you're not like her," he whispered, his words full of quiet regret. "But I can't help but be scared. These feelings...they're all I'm used to."

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, running my fingers through the back of his hair in a soothing motion. "I know," I said softly, the understanding in my voice steady. "And it's okay. It's going to take time, but all I can ask from you is to put faith in us."

He pulled back slightly, lifting his head to look into my eyes. There was something different in the way he looked at me now, a tenderness, a deep honesty. "I do," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you."

My chest tightened at his words, the love between us palpable. And before I could say anything else, he closed the distance, kissing me deeply. I reciprocated, pouring everything I felt into the kiss—relief, love, and the silent promise that we'd face everything together.

Then, without warning I pushed him down so that he was sat on his knees. He looked up at me, startled by my sudden movement, his eyes wide with confusion as he stammered, "W-what...?" I didn’t dignify him with a response and instead threw my leg over his shoulder, pulling him closer with a determined tug so that his face was against my heat.

I looked down at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips, but there was a sharpness to my tone. "You love me, huh?" I said, the words dripping with sarcasm as I raised an eyebrow, daring him to defend it. "Then finish me properly like a good boy."

He was taken aback by my words, clearly caught off guard, but he quickly tried to mask his surprise, forcing himself to regain control. After a brief pause, he let out a strained "Yes, ma’am." 

I gripped his hair tightly, yanking him closer as I guided his movements with a firm, unrelenting pull, pushing him further into my heat until he had no space to breathe. He slowly ran his tongue along my folds, savoring each movement. His eyes flickered up, watching me as he gently sucked on my clit, the rhythm of his actions drawn out, each flick of his tongue creating a subtle tension between us. 

I couldn't help but smirk, the playful edge to my voice matching the energy in the air. "Good boy," I teased softly, my words laced with a hint of approval. "You like that, don’t you?"

As he quickened his rhythm, he gave a soft murmur, “Yeah,” the word rolling off his tongue. Without warning, his hand grasped my other leg, lifting it and tossing it over his shoulder to mirror the first. In one swift motion, he stood, leaving me perched on his shoulders, my body leaning slightly forward as I tried to steady myself.

He stepped forward, pressing me firmly against the tiles, the cool surface sending a shiver through me as he resumed his movements with even more intensity. He sucked harder and harder causing my feet to curl behind his back as I felt myself release into his mouth, but he wasn’t done, instead he kept his mouth in place taking in every last drop of me as I watched it trickle down his chin.

His eyes closed for a moment, "I can’t get enough of you," he murmured.

I smirked, watching him enjoy the moment. “Good thing you’ve got forever to experience this,” I teased, the playful tone in my voice adding a lighthearted edge to the moment.

He met my gaze, his eyes intense, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'll make sure to savor every second of it then."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

Note: Friday at last and my house guest is away for a couple days.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky plants his feet as the bike comes to a stop. You look up at the duplex and your insides get all swirly. You're home and still giddy. You've made up your mind. It's now or never.

He shuts off the engine and waits for you to get off first. You hang onto his shoulder for balance as you hop down. He gets off without much effort and heaves a dark sigh. He hesitates and you do too.

"That was awesome, Bucky," you shimmy. 

"Mm," he drones and flinches, moving toward the saddle bag. He unbuckles it and takes out the cookies. "Don't forget these."

You take them reluctantly and he hauls out his bag of groceries. He wraps one arm around it and lets the flap fall open. He faces you as you clutch the box to your chest. Don't let him do it. He can't send you away now.

"Hey, you want... want to try some? I could make us some tea."

His eyes dart to the side then he looks down at the bag. He fidgets and shifts on his feet. He looks at you and his forehead lines. He deflates just a little as you watch him with rounded, hopeful eyes.

"Sure, I should get the yogurt in the fridge though so why don't you come in?" He relents.

You could fist pump and jump in glee. You don't. You're not that lame. You bounce and smile.

"Oh, yay," you grin, "so you got everything set up?"

"Hm, not much. Still got a few things to grab," he grits.

You walk up the steps beside him and stand aside, waiting for him to unlock the door. He keeps the screen door open with his elbow then pauses before he pushes open the inner one. He sniffs.

"Go on, girl," he waves inside.

Huh, what happened to doll?

You enter as if you've discovered some ancient crypt full of treasures meant for the after world. There's a couch and a coffee table, a floor lamp behind the former. The area rug is the only piece of decor to give it any warmth. You try not to be too obvious as you take account of the barren space.

"I might got some tea," he says as he gentle touches your back and slips by. You savour the tingle along your spine.

You take off your boots before you break the threshold of the front room. You tiptoe in as you hear him in the kitchen. He sighs as cupboards open and close.

"It doesn't have to be tea," you call to him. You near the table and examine the motorcycle magazine, a sheet of paper tucked under the cover.

"Good, all I got is beer," he says. 

"Mmm," you turn as he comes close with the bottles.

"Coasters," he says.

"Oh, uh, right," you set the box next to the magazine and take two of the cork coasters from the stack. You place them down and he swiftly clanks the bottles into place.

"I know it's not much but uh, get comfortable," he says.

You pluck up a bottle and sit on the couch. You taste the malty beer. It's not bad. He paces around and nears the window. You watch his back.

You lean forward to set down the bottle and tear the seal on the box. You flip the top and pick out two cookies. You get up and approach him. You stop beside him.

"Try one," you offer.

He exhales and accepts it with a thanks. You nibble and he crunches into his. It's a bit dry by sweet.

You're nervous. You've never been this close in your life. Now you have the prime opportunity. You're in his space. You finish the cookie and smack your lips.

"Dry," you chuckle, "need to wash it down."

"Me too," he says.

He follows you as you go to grab your beer. You drink and sit. He does the same, stiffly, as he takes his beer and swigs. Your eyes stick to him. You watch his throat and the way his chest stretches the fabric of his shirt. You set the beer back on the cork and sidle closer. You're fuzzy all over.

You put your hand on his knee. He flinches and lowers the bottle. He looks at your hand and reaches to set down the beer. His other hand covers yours and he peels it off.

"Look, doll," he squeezes and clears his throat, gently laying your hand in your own lap. "There's things you don't know about me. I think you better just finish and go."

"Bucky, I... it's okay. Whatever it is."

"I'm too old for ya," he puffs. "You're young. Don't do this."

His eyes bore into yours. You pout.

"I might be young but I can make my own choices. So why don't you tell me so I can?"

His cheek twitches, "girl--"

"Please. Don't I deserve to know?"

"I don't know what you're thinking, girl. Alright? Look at us. I'm... I gotta twice your age. And you're... you're too sweet for your own good."

"Tell me," you reach for him again, petting the denim on his thigh. "I won't go until you do. Or you can drag me out."

His eyes flicker and he looks at the window behind you. His jaw squares and he shakes his head. He slaps his hand over yours again but doesn't move it away.

"I'm a criminal. I just got out and I'm tryna rebuild, but I'm not changed. Alright? You understand me," he snarls. "I'm a bad man. I hurt people. Too late for me to change that."

You search his face, "but... you haven't hurt me. And you did your time."

"Girl, don't be foolish."

"No, Bucky, you told me and I don't care. I don't care what you are. I know that you feel this too," you move closer. "Don't you?"

He turns his head and stares at the wall. You squeeze his thigh and get up on your knees. You trail your touch up to his belt and he grunts, stopping you with his thick fingers around your wrist.

"Bucky, please," you beg. "It's just us. Nothing else."

"Girl--" he pleads.

"You're not too old, you're not too bad," you slip free of his grasp and tickle up his shirt, "you're perfect for me, baby."

You bring your hand to his jaw and flutter your fingers along his beard. He shudders and you raise yourself on your knees. You lean in and press your lips to his. He grabs your upper arm but doesn't push you away. He growls as you open your mouth and slide your tongue along his lips.

His hand slides away from your arm and to your back, crawling to the back of your neck. You brace his shoulder and swing your leg across him, straddling his lap as you deepen the kiss. He groans as you hook an arm around his neck and snare him. You rock him slightly as you breathe into him, tilting your pelvis against him. 

He grips your hip with his other hand and parts from your mouth. His eyes are cloudy as he gazes up at you. The tension is his cheek pulses.

"Doll," he shakes his head, "one last chance..."

"I got condoms," you say as you sit back and reach to your cross body bag, still resting against your side.

He shivers and slackens against the couch. "You're too much."

"I know what I want," you assure him.

He stares at you and his lashes flick, He grabs the strap of your cross body bag and unhooks it from around you. He puts it on the cushion and gulps. He frames your face with his hands, his thumbs rubbing your cheekbones. He sighs. 

You reach up to curl your fingers under the straps of your tanks top and drag them down your arms. You feel him beneath you. He's hard already. You're soaking through your panties, not that there's much to them.

You push down the sheath of your top to your waist. He inhales sharply and you reach back, your chest bulging as you tug at the band of your bra. You unhook it and quickly drop it down to your wrists. Your tits pop free and jiggle as you toss your bra.

He blinks at your chest. He just sits there, paralysed. You giggle and grab his hands, putting them on your tits, making him squeeze them. He purrs and rolls his hips.

"Doll, you're... you're..." He gropes you then slips his hands down to lift your tits. He leans forward and nuzzles your flesh, pushing your chest around his face as he snarls. You got him. There's no going back.

You arch your back and cling to his head, urging him on. He nips and teethes at you, tracing your nipple with his thumb before popping it between his lips. He hums and swirls his tongue around the hard bud. It must have been a while for him, having been in jail. That sends another thrill through you.

You twine your fingers into his hair and grazes his scalp with your nails. He snarls as he continues to bounce your tits, squeezing and pawing. You never cared much for the extra weight, but now that he's drowning in them, you can't complain.

You lip your hand down between your bodies and feel along the front of his jeans. He groans and wriggles against your touch. He's rock-hard. He hisses as he pulls away and drops back against the couch heavily.

"Doll," he tenses up.

You giggle and tug at the bottom of his shirt. You push it up his stomach and over his broad chest. You mess his hair as you swoop it past his head and drop it over the back of the couch.

Now it's your turn. You flatten your hands across his pecs and moan. He growls and you drag your nails lightly down his skin, the soft hair contrasting against hard muscle. His stomach is cushier but not in a bad way.

"Baby, you got me struggling," he groans and rubs your thighs, his pelvis tilting desperately.

"Me too," you breathe.

You linger at the top of his jeans then back off of him carefully. His eyes widen. You see fear in him. You grin and turn to wiggle your ass as him. You hook your fingers inside your leggings and bend as you push them down. Your thong rides up between your cheeks. He hums as the couch springs whine beneath him.

You shiver as your nerves flurry in your chest. This is it. So close. You're throbbing. You can see the slickness in your leggings as you step out of them.

"How... why do you want me, doll? You're... you're gorgeous," he rasps.

You stand and face him again. You shake your chest at him and he brings his fist up to bite his knuckle. You feel powerful.

You slink closer to him and touch the front of your bejeweled thong, a little heart on black. "Can I keep these on?"

"Yes," he croaks and clears his throat, "yes, doll."

You grin and grab your bag. You unzip the front pocket and slide free the strip of condoms. It unfurls and you laugh. "Oops... think we'll need them all?"

He startles you as he swipes up the end and tears one off, "we'll see."

You drop the rest beside your bag and blink at him. You sense something different. He tears open his pants and raises himself off the cushion as he shoves the denim down. His dick bobs above the elastic of his briefs, the head swollen and weeping. You get even wetter as you see the veins bulging under the skin.

He rips the wrapper with his teeth. He trembles as he presses the rubber to his tip and you near him, wavering as you weigh the moment. This is your last day a virgin. You take a silent breath and lean forward to grab his shoulders. He quakes and moans as he slides the condom down his length.

You bring yourself over his lap, hovering above him as he grips himself. He frames your hip and hisses, "doll, please, please, I need you on me. I need--"

You reach down and wrap your fingers above his. He lets go and gasps. You angle his tip along your cunt and push your panties aside. You stare down at him. Your eyes cling to his and you bite your lip.

You dip down carefully. As you open around him, you grunt. You sink your nails into his trap and your eyes speckle with tears. Oh, it hurts more than you expect.

He taps your hip, "stop," he snarls.

You bat your lashes but obey, "I can take it--"

"Come on," he feels along your side. He loops his arm around you and in an instant, he has your back to the cushion. He slips out of you. 

He fishes out your bag from beneath you and sweeps it onto the floor. He knees on the other end of the couch and urges you further up. You drag yourself until your head is against the armrest. 

He bends between your knees and kneads your thighs, his eyes on your cunt. He licks his lips before he plunges in. You yipe in surprise as he laps at you, his beard tickling your lips as he pushes your legs wider.

He flicks his tongue around and across your clit. You spasm and clasp onto his hair as the sensations stir within like flames. Your thighs clench and your spine stiffen. You pout and gulp loudly as he toys with you, suckling and swiping as you squirm.

He growls into you and traces a finger along your ass up to your entrance. He spreads the wetness there before he delves inside. He pushes his finger in bit by bit then draws it back out. He adds another and urges inside even deeper.

His tongue teases you to the edge as he pushes in and out of your cunt. He hums and drinks you up, spreading his tongue as wide as he can to taste all over you. He seals his lips once more around your clit and the pressure pinpoints, pulsing faster and faster until your muscles release.

There's a sudden surge and a hot flow coursing from you, dripping down his fingers. You convulse and whimper as you wash away with your orgasm.

He kisses your cunt before he sits up. You watch him, bleary-eyed, and he wipes the glisten from his beard with a hum. He inhales so his chest puffs out and he cracks his neck.

"If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it right," he growls.

[menagerofmischief]

sweet as sin -> cl16

main masterlist / navigation

porn star!charles chronicles

tags: everyone's got normal lives (no F1), mentions of porn/OF, very very suggestive (or very light smut idk?), mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex toys

a/n: this is just an introduction to the au. if you have any ideas or things you think would go well with the au, send an ask and lmk <3

“Oh, I don’t know, Gwen!” You said, swirling your straw around in your drink as you eyed the friend. “Other than the fact I’m moving soon, my life is a bit too boring lately. I’m done with dating apps after the last big failure and I just need something interesting to happen!”

“You mean you need to get laid!” She accused, mischief sparkling in her eyes as she giddily sipped her mimosa, already a bit tipsy from all the previously consumed ones. “When was the last time you had a good orgasm?”

You coughed, nearly choking on your drink as you stared at her with wide eyes. “We’re so not talking about this!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘very long ago’,” Gwen said, eyeing you over the rim of her glass. “Just because you’re not dating doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun.”

“Didn’t you hear the part when I said how all the guys are sleazy and disgusting?”

She chuckled, flashing you a smile. “You can have fun on your own. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, it’s my favourite.”

“God,” you laughed, swatting her arm. “You’re definitely too drunk for 12 pm, Gwen.”

However much you tried to push it from your mind and deny, Gwen’s words stuck with you through the rest of the day. A constant echo in the back of your mind that played like a mocking tune whenever you found even a second free.

With a groan you pushed yourself up from your couch, the TV show playing on the screen already long abandoned. In the silence of your apartment you could hear every step you made, every thud of your feet against the ground seemed to echo like a thump of your heart within your chest.

You reached your bedside, eyes narrowed in a glare as you rummaged through the drawer in search of your old vibrator, an unfamiliar sensation stirring in your chest once you finally pulled it out, the thing still fully charged and ready to be used. 

You settled on the bed, head nestled on the pillow as you closed your eyes and tried to tease yourself but it was so damn hard when nothing came to mind. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you reached for your phone, holding it up in a slightly shaky hand you unlocked it and made your way onto the good old trusted … twitter porn.

Your fingers hesitated over a video of a guy. His face was half visible, but his body was in the full picture and he looked sweeter than sin. Hard abs, perfectly toned, arms worth salivating over. Yeah, the guy was made to be pornographic, that you were sure of.

You clicked play, watching as he teasingly ran his hands down his body, wrapping one big hand around his equally as big dick, the sound of his low groaning coming through the speaker.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you mimicked his movement, running your hands down your body, teasingly scraping your nails along your skin before slowly reaching your fingers under the waistband of your shorts.

The video ended just as your fingers reached your clit and a low spark of annoyance ran through you. “Fuck …” you muttured, staring at the replay button. Then the words under the video caught your attention.

Want more? Check out my OF ;)

Next to them was a link. Without thinking twice, or much, you pressed the link, watching as his OnlyFans page loaded up.

You glanced at the vibrator next to you on the bed, Gwen’s words, or more so the “You can have fun on your own,” echoing inside of your head once more.

“Fuck it!” You whispered into the darkness of your room, and then pressed the subscribe button.

taglist: @alenix @briefkittenearthquake @gamesetcheckeredflag @yara011

[littelovelunette]

PART TWO TO SOOTHE AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSSSDDD

Soothe (2)

Contains smut, fingering, cnc, anal, vibrator, mommy kink, submissive sevika, squirting

Your fingers smeared Sevika's arousal onto her asshole, acting a lubricant. Sevika's head was thrown back, mouth agape as small moans of pleasure left her dark lips.

Her little tooth gap which you always found so darn cute was also accentuated because her tongue was stuck against the gap, trying to compose herself so badly yet failing.

She was inebriated and she knew it.

"Please..." Sevika pleaded in such a small, drunken voice that it almost made you cave. Almost.

"Shhhh..." You said, your voice tender as you slowly eased your fingers inside Sevika's tight clenching asshole.

Sevika whined softly at the intrusion, "M-more..." Sevika's hips grinded up against your touch as she tried to get you to touch her more.

"Calm down, baby," you pushed her hips back down to the bed with one hand as your other continued to finger her asshole.

You shoved your fingers in knuckles deep making Sevika gasp and moan while you scissored your way through her clenching hole.

"Relax." You said in a breathy tone making Sevika stop squirming for a moment as she listened to you.

She took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to let her muscles relax in your touch. You felt the tight hole loosen a little around your fingers and smiled down at her.

"You're doing well, my baby." You whispered as you added a third finger making Sevika jolt in surprise, grabbing the sheets despite her ribbon bound arm.

Sevika's eyes were shut tight, eyebrows furrowed as she focused on the feeling of your fingers going in and out of her asshole making blissful waves of pleasure travel up her spine.

"You like this, don't you?" With a giggle you used your other hand to press on the vibrator currently torturing her clit making her gasp and bite her bottom lip hard to keep quiet.

"M-mommy..." She let a small moan of title leave her lips, her now swollen lips. You smirked a little although a little surprised she'd call you that.

"Mommy, huh? I didn't know you had a mommy kink." You said in a teasing tone making the older woman beneath you blush so hard she could make a tomato jealous.

Her butthole also clenched around your fingers as her whole body tensed a little before she relaxed once again, answering with a, "I don't, but... You're just..." Her words trailed off and you didn't really need her to say how she felt about you dominating her.

You knew— you could press all her buttons with ease, your fingers curled inside her asshole making her gasp and squirm a little. "That feels too good." She said, arousal dripping down her cunt, slobbering down onto your wrist while your fingers continued their relentless assault on her rear end.

"Please..." Sevika let out a shuddering sound of submission, thighs trembling around your hands as you made that curling motion again making the woman squirt.

That was a scene.

The almighty Sevika, the scary lady of Zaun squirting so pathetically all over you and the bedsheets as she moaned out your name loudly for absolutely everyone to hear.

You didn't let that faze you for too long, shoving your face down against her pussy to drink down whatever liquids she had to expel for you.

"What a good girl for mommy." You ripped the tape off making Sevika flinch a little as the vibrator was removed from her sensitive nub.

"Y-Yes, I'm good..." Sevika blabbered drunkenly while you undid the ribbons around her and helped her sit up.

"I'll go get you a glass of water, my love." You turned to leave but then Sevika grabbed your wrist and pulled you onto her lap, wrapping her arm around to securing you in place.

"Stay." She said in a small voice, meek and timid, so unlike the Sevika you normally knew. "... Stay." She repeated.

You couldn't help smiling at the woman with a hint of understanding lingering in your eyes. She wanted to be close to you right now, feel your comfort for now. All she needed right now was you.

[andy-15-07]

First Lessons in the Dark

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2115| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Warning: smut.

request:Heyy🩷 I hope this is where you send in requests. Could you please write a smut one with Pedro or Joel or literally any of his characters? Like it’s the reader’s first time, she doesn’t really know what to do, is a bit embarrassed that she’s so inexperienced, meanwhile he is and he’s talking her through everything.

The night was unusually warm for early autumn, the city lights casting soft glows over Pedro’s apartment. I had been excited all day for our date, yet as the evening drew on, my nerves grew with each lingering touch and suggestive glance. I’d always been inexperienced—unsure, timid, and painfully aware of how little I knew about truly giving in to desire. But with Pedro, everything felt different. His mere presence sparked a daring curiosity inside me, even if my heart pounded with embarrassment.

We’d started the evening with quiet laughter and shared confidences over dinner at a small, cozy restaurant. Now, in the privacy of his dimly lit living room, the air was thick with anticipation. Soft jazz murmured from speakers, mingling with the subtle scent of sandalwood and his cologne—a combination that left me dizzy.

Pedro leaned in as we settled on his plush couch. His dark eyes, so intense and kind, met mine. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he observed gently, his hand brushing my cheek. “Is everything alright?”

I swallowed hard, biting my lip. “I… I’m just nervous,” I admitted softly, feeling my cheeks warm. “I haven’t done… this before.”

A tender smile curled on his lips as he pulled me closer. “Hey, don’t worry,” he murmured. “I know it can feel scary when it’s your first time. But trust me—I’ll be with you every step of the way.” His voice was a soothing rumble, and the way he said it made my heart flutter.

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “I… I want to, but I’m not sure what to do.”

Pedro’s hand found mine, his thumb caressing my skin in slow, reassuring circles. “Let’s just take our time. There’s no rush. I want you to feel safe and comfortable.” His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, slowly melting away the tension in my body.

The conversation shifted naturally into flirtatious banter, filled with playful teasing and soft laughter. Pedro’s confidence was intoxicating. “How about we start slow?” he suggested, his gaze never leaving mine. “Just a kiss, maybe a little more if you’re ready?”

I hesitated, feeling a mix of fear and longing. “A kiss…” I echoed, my voice trembling slightly.

He leaned forward, capturing my lips in a gentle, exploratory kiss that ignited a spark inside me. It was as if he was teaching me a language I’d always wanted to learn. His lips were soft yet insistent, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck, drawing me in deeper. “Just relax,” he whispered against my lips. “I’ll show you.”

In that moment, all my doubts began to dissipate. Pedro’s experienced, reassuring presence made me feel cherished. With each soft kiss, every careful caress, he was guiding me into this new, uncharted territory. I felt vulnerable, yet completely safe in his arms.

When our lips finally parted, I could see the tenderness in his eyes. “How do you feel?” he asked, his tone both playful and caring.

I let out a shaky laugh. “Honestly? I’m a mess… but in a good way.” I could sense his satisfaction and relief mingling with desire. “Pedro… what if I don’t know what to do next?”

He chuckled softly, his warm hand still cradling my face. “Then I’ll show you,” he replied, his voice low and inviting. “I want to make this special for you. No pressure, just… us.”

The next moments were a blur of sensation and whispered guidance. Pedro slowly began to undress me, his hands moving with a deliberate gentleness that made my skin tingle. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the soft sounds—the rustle of fabric, his measured breaths, and the quiet murmur of reassurance.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, his tone laced with concern as he slid my blouse off my shoulders. “I want every step of this to feel right for you.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m okay,” I replied, my voice catching as he ran his fingers lightly over my bare skin.

He paused, looking up at me with an intensity that made my pulse race. “I love how you trust me,” he whispered. “I promise to be gentle. Tonight, we’re exploring together. I’ll guide you through every touch, every moment.”

His confidence was magnetic. Slowly, he brushed away my insecurities as he led me to his bedroom. The room was softly lit by flickering candles, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Every detail—the subtle scent of lavender, the plush pillows, the quiet hum of the night—seemed designed to create a sanctuary of intimacy.

We sat on the edge of the bed, Pedro’s hand still holding mine. “Let’s start with something simple,” he suggested, his voice calm yet charged with desire. “Just relax and focus on how you feel.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay,” I managed, my voice small.

Pedro’s eyes softened. “You look beautiful tonight, you know that?” he said, his hand gently caressing my hair as he leaned in for another kiss. This time, the kiss was slow, deliberate, almost like an invitation to let go of every doubt. I felt my body responding, an internal warmth spreading through me despite my lingering nervousness.

“Do you want me to… show you more?” he asked, pausing to give me a moment to breathe. “We can take it as slow as you need.”

I bit my lip, my heart pounding. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I want to, but I’m scared I’ll mess everything up.”

Pedro smiled reassuringly, his eyes full of compassion. “There’s no right or wrong, love. We’re just exploring what feels good. I’ll guide you. Just tell me what you like or if something hurts, okay?”

“Okay,” I promised, my voice steadier now. “I trust you.”

With that, he slowly began to explore me further. His hands wandered gently over my body, each touch igniting sparks of desire and warmth. I shivered with anticipation and vulnerability, every nerve ending alert to his ministrations. Pedro was a master at reading my reactions; a soft moan here, a subtle gasp there, and he adjusted his touch accordingly, always asking softly, “Is this alright?” or “Do you like that?”

The dialogue between us was a soothing melody of affirmations and gentle corrections. “Pedro… a little slower,” I murmured at one point, and he immediately nodded, his expression tender. “Of course, baby. Just relax and let me do what I do best.”

As the night deepened, Pedro’s expertise became more evident. His touches turned more purposeful, guiding me through sensations I’d never known. I found myself lost in the experience, every whispered word and every carefully crafted caress building a bridge between my insecurities and a newfound pleasure.

At one point, as he kissed a trail down my neck, I couldn’t help but let out a soft whimper. “Pedro…” I started, a blush creeping over my skin as I realized how exposed I felt, not just physically, but emotionally. “I’m not sure I know how to… how to do this properly.”

He pulled back for a moment, his eyes searching mine with a mixture of concern and admiration. “There’s no manual for this, love,” he said softly. “It’s all about feeling, about listening to your body. You’re doing perfectly. Let me guide you.” His words, firm yet gentle, made my heart flutter, and I felt a surge of trust and desire.

Encouraged by his reassuring tone, I allowed myself to be more vulnerable, more open. Pedro’s hands became my teachers, his voice my guide as he led me through every step. “Feel how your body responds,” he would whisper as he caressed me, “let every touch remind you that you deserve pleasure.” His affirmations melted away the embarrassment and self-doubt that had plagued me, replacing them with a growing confidence in my own sensuality.

The intensity of our encounter escalated slowly but surely. The room filled with the soft sounds of our mingled breaths, whispered dialogue, and the occasional murmur of encouragement. “You’re doing amazing,” Pedro said repeatedly, his words a constant source of comfort and arousal. “I love watching you discover what feels good.”

With every passing moment, I began to relax, to let go of the need for perfection. It wasn’t about being flawless—it was about embracing every sensation, every moment of vulnerability. Pedro’s patient guidance turned every uncertainty into an opportunity to learn, every hesitant movement into an exploration of my own pleasure.

When the moment came for us to fully unite, it was with a tenderness that defied the raw passion of our desire. Pedro’s expert touch, combined with his soft, reassuring words, transformed the act into something transcendent—a melding of two souls in the quiet intimacy of a shared first time. “Just relax,” he coaxed as he slowly entered me, his voice a mix of instruction and adoration. “Let me show you what love feels like.”

I gasped, the physical sensation nearly overwhelming me, yet Pedro’s steady presence kept me anchored. “It’s okay,” he murmured, pausing to meet my eyes. “Tell me if you need me to slow down or if something feels off.”

The dialogue between us was constant—an unspoken contract of trust and care. “Pedro… it feels so intense,” I whispered, my voice trembling with both pleasure and wonder.

“Good,” he replied softly. “That’s exactly what I want for you. Every touch, every move, is about your pleasure. I’m here to make sure you feel everything beautifully.”

The rhythm of our bodies synchronized, guided by Pedro’s experienced lead and my newfound willingness to explore. Every moan, every whispered word of encouragement from him, helped me shed the layers of insecurity I’d carried for so long. It was as if, in the dark glow of that candlelit room, I was finally allowed to discover the power of desire—my first time becoming a journey of self-discovery as much as passion.

Time seemed to slow as we moved together, each moment stretched out like a gentle caress. Pedro’s fingers traced patterns on my skin, each one leaving trails of warmth and reassurance. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes full of adoration. “I love how open you are to this.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, feeling a tear slip down my cheek—not out of sadness, but from the overwhelming intensity of the moment. “I’ve always been so scared of not being enough. But you… you make me feel like I can finally be myself.”

His smile was both proud and tender. “That’s all I ever wanted,” he whispered. “For you to feel safe, to feel cherished. There’s no right way to do this—only the way that feels true for us.”

In the soft afterglow of our intimacy, as we lay entwined and catching our breaths, the room filled with whispered promises and gentle laughter. Pedro stroked my hair, his hand soft against my skin as he continued to reassure me. “You did wonderfully tonight,” he said, his tone a mix of pride and affection.

I reached up to trace his jawline, my fingers trembling slightly. “I still feel a little embarrassed that I was so… inexperienced,” I admitted, a blush creeping across my face.

Pedro chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he replied firmly. “Every first time is special, and tonight was all about learning and trusting. I’m honored you shared this with me.” His voice was sincere, and it filled me with warmth.

We talked for hours, the dialogue flowing easily as we recounted every sensation, every whispered instruction that had led us to this shared discovery. Pedro was patient, answering my questions with gentle humor and care. “If you ever feel unsure again,” he said, “just remember: I’m here. We’ll figure it out together.”

That night, in the quiet intimacy of Pedro’s embrace, I learned more than just the physical acts of love—I discovered a newfound confidence and the beauty of being guided with care and passion. It was a first time that transcended the physical, etching itself into my memory as a moment of profound connection and trust.

As dawn began to hint at the edges of the sky, I snuggled closer to Pedro, feeling the steady beat of his heart against mine. “Thank you for tonight,” I murmured, voice soft and sincere.

He kissed my hair, his whisper tender in my ear. “Always, baby. I’ll always be here to guide you, to care for you, and to love you—no matter what.”

In that serene morning light, all my fears faded away, replaced by the promise of many more moments of passion, discovery, and mutual tenderness—a journey we would share together, one step at a time.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Red Means I Love You

Summary - Daemon Targaryen is a storm of fire and fury, and she is caught in his dangerous orbit. Bound by love that consumes and destroys, they dance on the edge of madness, unable to escape the burning pull of each other.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Violence

Word count - 2077

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

'Cause my insides are red and yours are too and the red on my face is matching you and goodness you're bleeding what a wonderful feeling you're down and you're pleading my head is just reeling.

The clash of steel against steel rang out, echoing through the stone walls of the training grounds at the Red Keep, but it was not the metallic song of sparring blades that captured my attention. 

It was him—the Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen.

He moved like a tempest in human form, each motion a sinuous blend of poise and savagery as if the Gods themselves had moulded him from fire and shadow. 

His hair, silver as molten starlight, caught the light with every strike and twist, a shimmering halo that belied the darkness within. He was more than a man; he was a force of nature. 

And I, fool that I was, could not look away.

But neither, it seemed, could he. Mid-parry, his eyes found mine—piercing, knowing, as if he had already unravelled every secret I kept locked away. 

A smirk danced at the edge of his mouth as he deflected his opponent's blade with a lazy confidence that bordered on arrogance. 

In that instant, I knew: he was dangerous, and I was already too close to the flame.

My heart drummed a frantic rhythm in my chest, each beat a warning I refused to heed. 

Daemon Targaryen was more than a warrior he was danger incarnate. His legend was inked in blood and ambition, whispered of in fear and awe throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He was the man mothers warned their daughters about—the storm that could raze empires. 

And yet, here I stood, transfixed, a moth drawn to his inferno.

"You're watching," he said, his voice low and intimate as he cornered me in one of the shadow-drenched corridors of the Keep later that evening. The firelight danced across the stone walls, casting flickering patterns that mirrored the turmoil inside me. "Did you like what you saw?"

I tilted my chin, desperate to reclaim some semblance of composure. "I saw a prince fulfil his duty. Nothing more."

He stepped closer, the air between us charged and suffocating. 

"Liar." The single word dripped with challenge, a gauntlet thrown at my feet. It ignited something raw and wild within me—a warning I should have heeded, but instead, I met his gaze, unflinching.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate line along my cheek, leaving a trail of heat that burned long after he pulled away. 

"Careful," he whispered, his voice a caress and a threat. "A dragon's fire does not discriminate."

I swallowed hard, willing my voice to remain steady. "I know what I play with," I said, the words hollow even to my own ears.

He smiled then—a predator's smile, equal parts amusement and hunger. "Do you?"

That night, I found no peace. I lay awake, haunted by the memory of his touch, the weight of his gaze, the way his words curled around me like smoke. 

In the days that followed, I tried to escape him, to push away the visions of his hands on me, the brush of his lips against mine, the electric promises whispered when no one else could hear. 

But it was a futile endeavour. Daemon Targaryen was a storm, and I was caught in its eye.

"Come," he beckoned one evening, his voice thick with shadow. He waited for me in the Godswood, the crimson leaves of the weirwood trees falling around us like droplets of blood. 

I should have turned away. Instead, I walked toward him, each step betraying the war within me.

"You deny me every glance and yet you come when I call," he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine.

I folded my arms over my chest, a thin barrier against the force of him. "Why do you call?"

His steps were measured, predatory, as he closed the distance between us. "Because you are mine." 

The words cut through the chill of the night air, as cold and unyielding as Valyrian steel. I wanted to scoff at his arrogance, to turn his claim to ashes.

But then his hands found my waist, pulling me against him, and every retort died on my lips. 

I was no longer standing in the Godswood but somewhere far darker, far deeper, drowning in the pull of him.

"I am not yours, Daemon Targaryen," I whispered, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me. He tilted my face toward him, his eyes blazing with a heat that burned through every defence I had left.

"No?" he asked, his breath warm against my skin. "Then why does the idea of my ruin thrill you?"

Before I could respond, his mouth claimed mine. There was no gentleness, no pretence—only the raw, consuming clash of desire and defiance. 

It was a kiss that spoke of broken vows and unspoken promises, a collision of storms that left no space for reason or fear. In his arms, I felt both lost and found. 

He was fire and fury, and I—weak and wanting—let him burn me whole.

I wanted him. Desperately. Recklessly. The truth I had denied became a brand upon my soul.

Weeks passed in a feverish blur, each moment a stolen spark in the dangerous game we played. It was a dance on the razor's edge, and every step carried the risk of ruin. 

Daemon thrived on it, his eyes glinting with a dark thrill each time we slipped past discovery as if daring fate to find us. 

And though I loathed to admit it, I thrived too, the heat of our forbidden bond burning through every rational thought. 

Our encounters were fire and fury—secret, searing, and desperate, as though every touch could be our last.

Desire gave way to something darker, something feral that roared to life when we crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. 

It happened at a tourney—a grand spectacle of jousts and combat meant to display valour and honour. Daemon's gaze rarely left me that day, smouldering and possessive even as knights circled and clashed. 

But then a voice rose above the din—a sneer from a rival knight, laced with insults that stained my name and honour. The words were poison, and Daemon reacted like the dragon he was.

He entered the fray with a smile that chilled me to the bone. Cold. Predatory. 

His opponent barely had time to draw breath before Daemon descended on him, his blade a silver blur. It was not a fight; it was a reckoning. 

Steel met steel with a fury that stole the breath from the crowd. 

Blood sprayed across Daemon's armour, vivid and wet, painting him in crimson. The fallen knight lay broken at his feet, his life seeping into the dirt.

In the stunned silence, Daemon looked at me. There was no triumph in his eyes—only a cold, unrelenting need that terrified and exhilarated me in equal measure. 

Later, in the quiet of his chambers, he washed the blood from his hands with a strange, reverent care. 

"The red means I love you," he said, his voice soft, as if he were confessing a sacred truth. "Do you see it now?"

I saw it, and it frightened me. I tried to pull away from him, tried to end what had become a labyrinth of madness and passion. 

"This has gone too far," I told him. "Love born from such violence cannot last." 

He listened, unmoving, his face a mask of stone. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but the words dripped with menace. "If you wish to walk away, do so. Just know that there is no place I cannot reach you."

And so I walked away. For three days, I vanished into the shadows of the Keep, avoiding Daemon's piercing gaze and the constant reminders of our bond. 

I retreated to the library, buried myself in old tomes, hoping their dust and parchment would smother the fire inside me. 

I whispered to myself that this was freedom. I dined alone, spoke only when required, but every shadow, every flicker of candlelight, seemed to carry the weight of his absence. 

In truth, I was not free. I was haunted.

The fourth night, I found myself wandering the Godswood beneath a crescent moon. Red leaves rustled in the wind, their sound a soft lament. 

My thoughts were a tangle of memories and unspoken words. 

I nearly missed the figure who stepped from the darkness—Daemon, his presence as inevitable as it was inescapable. 

He said nothing at first, only watched me with eyes that burned brighter than any flame. I should have turned away, but I stayed. I hated him then, for making me feel this way. 

"Why do you haunt me?" I demanded, my voice brittle. "Why can't you let me go?"

He stepped closer, the shadows coiling around him like smoke. 

"Because letting go is not in my nature," he said, each word heavy with truth. "You know that." 

Anger flared within me, a desperate attempt to smother the helplessness. "You would bind me to you, even if it destroys us both." 

His gaze softened a rare crack in his unyielding exterior. "If I must be destroyed, I would rather it be with you." There was pain there, buried beneath layers of arrogance and violence. 

And, to my shame, I felt it too.

I knew it then: loving Daemon was madness. Yet I was bound to him by threads I could not cut. 

"Do you regret this?" I asked him one night as we lay tangled together beneath the heavy velvet of his chambers. His fingers traced lazy circles along my spine, each touch a reminder of how deeply I was ensnared.

"Never," he said, his tone absolute. "I have worn crowns and cast them aside. But you?" He paused, his eyes alight with an unholy fire. "I would set fire to the realm for you." 

The words should have terrified me, but they didn't. Instead, I pressed closer, craving the very destruction he promised. 

"I do not want the realm's destruction," I whispered, desperate and aching.

"You should have thought of that before you let me in," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. 

I shivered, caught between fear and desire. "You are cruel, Daemon."

"I love like a dragon," he replied. "Completely."

As the days darkened, the court buzzed with whispers—of Daemon's ambitions, of the storm that followed wherever he walked, and of the foolish soul entangled with him. 

I tried to escape their words, to find solace in silence. But there was no escaping Daemon. 

He was always there—watching, waiting, a storm ready to break. The intensity of his love suffocated and thrilled me in equal measure. I begged him for reason, for some shred of sanity amid the chaos. 

"You will destroy us both," I pleaded.

"Then we will burn together," he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

It was a promise and a curse. I thought of leaving him, of vanishing into the shadows where even he could not find me. But every time I steeled myself to flee, he found me. 

He would cradle my face, his touch gentle even as his gaze burned wild and desperate. "I would tear apart the world to keep you."

And I believed him.

The end came, as it always would, in blood and fire. An assassination attempt—one meant for me. I would have died if not for Daemon, who met the assassins with a fury that defied even the legends of House Targaryen. 

Blades clashed, screams echoed, and when the battle was done, the chamber was awash in blood, bodies broken like discarded dolls.

Daemon stood at the centre of it all, blood dripping from his sword, his chest heaving with exertion. His eyes found mine, wild and burning. 

"No one will take you from me," he vowed, his voice raw.

I stepped over the dead to reach him. My hands cupped his blood-slick face, trembling with the weight of what we had become. 

"This is what we are," I whispered, my voice cracking. "This is what love has made us."

His lips found mine, tasting of iron and promises that would never be kept. "The red means I love you," he murmured against my mouth.

And I knew then that there was no escape. Daemon's love was a cage of fire, and I was its willing prisoner.

The red means I love you, tasting your blood means I love you, the red means I love you, the red means I love you.

A/n - This song is very Daemon coded!

[courtofjade]

Star Crossed

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’sSister!Reader

Plot- A series of events leading to Eris Vanserra falling in love with the princess of the Night Court.(also lowkey Azriel pining but what’s new)

Warning! Alludes to smut but no actual

“I need to go freshen up. I’ll be right back.” Y/n spoke to Azriel. She began to walk away before he gently grabbed her wrist.

“Here I’ll escort you.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’ve been to plenty of these parties before. I do not need escorting.” He smiled at her softly.

“Yes but this is a party of the Autumn court. You need to be careful around here.” He spoke lowly. Y/n took a step closer to him. Leaning into his ear to whisper to him.

“I know Rhysand put you in charge of watching me tonight and you can tell him to shove it. I’m a big girl I can handle myself.” She smiled and patted his chest before turning away from him- taking a beat to notice the red that had adorned his cheeks and the way he tensed when she leaned close to him.

She made her way down a corridor- eyes scanning the halls. As she continued her search, a deep voice nearly made her jump out of her skin.

“Well well, what do we have here? The princess of the Night Court all by her lonesome?” Eris teased. “Your guard dogs off duty tonight?” Y/n rolled her eyes- flaring her wings and tilting her chin up at him.

“Is being a royal asshole a family trait or is that just you and daddy?” She spat.

“Fiery little thing aren’t you?” He smirked. “I don’t believe I’ve ever formally introduced myself. Eris Vanserra- heir of Autumn.” She glanced down as he extended his hand to hers.

“Y/n.” She allowed him to take her hand. She stared into his amber eyes as he brought her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss onto it. She looked up at him curiously as he pushed a piece of her dark hair out of her face. Her heart stuttered a bit when a smirk donned his face. He opened his mouth to speak again- stopping after noticing a swirl of shadows walking down the corridor towards him.

“It appears we’ll have to continue this another time. Save me a dance, princess.” Azriel arrived in time to hear the end of Eris’s sentence, his shadows swirling protectively around Y/n.

“She will do no such thing.” He growled. “Keep your hands off of her.” He grabbed onto her hand, pulling her back to the ballroom. She spared a glance back to where he stood, catching his eyes already staring at her retreating form with something in his eyes she couldn’t put her finger on.

———————————————————————————

Y/n stood stoically to the left of Amarantha’s throne as Rhysand sat next to the red head on his own, slightly smaller, a bored look sat on his face. Beneath the facade, Y/n was beyond terrified of what the day entailed. Just an hour before - Nuala and Cerridwen had come to dress her in a particularly skimpy outfit, informing her that the Queen had something special planned for her. The dress, if you could even call it that, was even more revealing than the normal clothes she was forced to wear being Amarantha’s “pet”. Being the “gift” faes were given when they pleased their Queen.

She regained her focus, feeling something inside of her telling her to look to the entrance of the throne room. Not too soon after, the Vanserra family arrived. Her heart skipped a beat when seeing the eldest son. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the feeling. Eris’s eyes locked with hers. Normally he would tease her, send her a smirk or a wink of some sorts, but his gaze held a tense feeling she couldn’t place. The High Lord and heir made their way to the dais, breaking off the brothers who chose to mingle with the other faes of the court.

“You called, my Queen.” Beron said as they bowed to the redhead in the throne.

“I’ve been very pleased with the work you have been doing for my court.” She purred. “In appreciation for the loyalty you have shown- I have decided to bestow a gift to your heir.” This made Rhysand sit taller, causing and evil smirk to fall onto Amarantha’s lips. Y/n tried to catch his gaze from the corner of her eyes. She put her hands behind her back to hide their trembling.

“Y/n, my darling.” The queen drawled. “Your new position in this court will be to please the Lord’s eldest son. You are to stay with him in his chambers.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her chest. She tried to look to Rhysand for comfort but his eyes remained forward. His jaw locked tight, in attempt to not lash out and make matters worse.

Do not show your fear. She heard in her head from Rhysand. Keep your chin up. I promise you I will not let him hurt you.

Y/n looked forward to Eris, raising her chin ever so slightly, replacing the look of concern with a look of seduction. She descended the dais with a swing in her hips and allowed Eris to wrap an arm around her. He looked from her to Amarantha with a smug look on his face.

“What a lovely gift, my Lady. Have no doubt that she will be of good use.” He finished with a nod and began to direct her to his chambers. They made their way through the halls to where he resided. Past the many rooms she had been forced to spend the night as Amarantha’s personal prostitute. He guided her gently through the door to his room, with a hand grazing her bare back. He turned to shut the door, leaning on it for a brief moment.

Y/n made her way towards the bed. She huffed turning to look at the red head male.

“How would you like me, my lord.” She uttered in a bored tone. Eris turned from the closed door with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Do you really think that low of me?” He breathed with a snarl. “Do you truly believe I think of you so little?”

She flinched- taken aback by his words.

“Well after what you did to my cousin I’m not quite sure how you suppose I see you.”

“You know nothing, girl.” He seethed. “You do not know to the extent of what my father could have done had I helped her that day.”

“Oh it all boils down to daddy, huh?” She laughed lowly. “How am I supposed to know you’re not just like him?” Eris strode up to her, towering over her short figure. He breathed heavily, anger flowing through him like the fire in his veins. The fire she could feel radiating off of him. He raised a pointed finger at her, preparing to go off on a tangent, when Y/n winced as if to prepare for him to hurt her.

He lowered his hand, eyebrows creasing in concern. A frown replaced the snarl that had previously dawned his face.

“She has harmed you.” Eris whispered. Tears began to glisten in her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter.” She said simply, sniffling away the tears that threatened to spill. Something inside Eris twinged. A pull of some sort. A need to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. But also a need to incinerate that red headed bitch who laid his hands on her. He gently placed a hand on her cheek, gazing into her eyes.

“I will not let her hurt you again.” She stared up at him. Into his amber eyes. The eyes that looked down at her longingly. Longing for something he should not want and he could not have.

Y/n suddenly surged forward, kissing Eris like her life depended on it. Eris kissed back just as fervently, grabbing her waist and pulling her into him closely. Her arms slithered up to wrap around his neck and her hands tangled into his hair.

“No.” He breathed as he pulled away with a smack. “I do not need you to please me.” Y/n jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. Eris caught her with ease, keeping his hands on her waist respectfully.

“I need this. A distraction.” Y/n breathed. “I need you.” Eris prayed to the mother before laying her down onto the bed and attaching their lips once more.

———————————————————————————

Y/n sat to Rhysand’s left, Feyre to his right, at the table of the High Lord’s meeting. Next to her sat Azriel who currently sat brooding at Eris across from them. Eris sat smirking, unbothered by the Shadowsinger’s glare. She sat directly across from him, glowering while holding his gaze.

“Pity the other sister couldn’t come. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

Y/n felt a pang in her chest. The corner of her mouth turning down ever so slightly. Of course not going unnoticed by Azriel who looked to her curiously.

Thankfully, Mor stepped in replying smoothly. “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things never change over the centuries.” Eris’s eyes broke away from Y/n, lips curling into a smile.

“Good to know that after 500 years you still dress like a slut.” Azriel moved to stand before Y/n placed her hand on his shoulder, sitting him down while simultaneously standing up harshly.

“You’re a bastard.” She spit harshly, slamming her hands onto the table. Cassian let out a low whistle from a couple seats down. “You are a selfish, arrogant, sorry excuse of person.”

“Easy now, little fox.” He spoke calmly. Holding her gaze with an amused look. He knew the real reason behind her anger wasn’t necessarily the words he had spoken to Mor. Well a good part of it was that. But the other part? That was jealousy. Jealous at the words he had spoken about Elain. And part of it was anger. Anger at the fact that this was the first time she had seen him in a long while.

It was true, he had been neglecting his “duties” as a distraction for Y/n. Most of it had been for good reason. With everything going on with Hybern, he hardly had time to breathe let alone find time to bed the princess of Night. But the truth was, he could’ve found time. Gods he wanted to find time. But that was the problem. He had been finding himself wanting to see the dark haired beauty. And not just for the sex, though that was a good incentive. He had been wanting, craving, to hear her laughter, see her smile, look into those beautiful violet eyes. He had longed for the feeling of her touch. To feel her hands running along his chest and through his hair as he kissed her in all the places he could. And that-that was a problem. That could not happen between the sister of the High Lord of Night and the heir of Autumn. So he began to push her away. And now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

“You are nothing but a coward. A-a cruel little weasel whose own head is shoved so far up his own ass he wears it like a hat.” She continued to ramble, feeling her power begin to bubble up in her chest. Rhysand could feel the power radiating off of her- eyeing Azriel to step in. Before he could, Y/n gasped, cutting herself off while holding her chest.

Rhysand stood up when he watched his sister lean over gripping her chest, her eyes wide with shock.

“Y/n? Is everything alright?” He whispered. He moved to comfort her when she whipped her head to him, stopping him from touching her.

“I’m fine.” She huffed. She quickly excused herself from the room, rushing out but not before sparing Eris a second glance. Eris who looked like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Though everyone else had been too focused on Y/n to notice, Nesta had been the only one to witness the twitch in Eris’s face when she had gasped. Her gaze pierced into him as she watched him glance towards Y/n’s retreating figure- quickly running his hand over his aching chest nonchalantly.

———————————————————————————

Eris Vanserra for once in his life was left speechless. He paced his room back and forth, absentmindedly burning a trail into the carpet where his feet had stepped.

Admittedly, he had always felt something for the Illyrian girl. Some sort of pull he couldn’t quite place. Though he always chalked it up to something relevant to lust. Not something as deep as a mating bond. And for it to have snapped at the High Lords meeting of all places. Luckily his father was not focused on him at the time. Didn’t see the slight flinch in his normally nonchalant face. And Eris was thankful for that- not wanting to know what would’ve happened if he had found out.

The feeling he had felt before it had snapped had been akin to a crush. Frequently having her on his mind. Thinking about her beautiful violet eyes, her smile, the lips he couldn’t seem to pull away from no matter how hard he tried, the body he couldn’t keep his hands off of even though he knew it was wrong. Now that the bond had snapped, it was so much worse. He couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. Not when the bond sang for her. Craved her like a drug he couldn’t quite kick.

His thoughts were put on hold when a knock sounded at his door. He marched towards it, swinging it open harshly.

“Yes?” He exasperated to the servant. She eyed him with concern- noting his disheveled hair and the deep bags under his eyes. She handed a letter to him cautiously before bowing and turning back down the hall.

Eris scanned the letter. The dark purple wax seal could only mean one thing.

Not soon after, he arrived at the cozy cabin just on the outskirts of the Night Court, residing in Day. One he had frequented quite a few times after returning from under the mountain. He had been in practically every room in that place. He had taken her in practically every room in that place.

He stood at the front door, knocking gently. It was opened quite fast, revealing the striking violet eyes that made his heart quicken its pace. She stepped aside letting him enter. He leaned against the table in the kitchen, waiting for her to address what he knew she wanted him here to say. For once, not choosing to make a snarky remark or arrogant comment.

She took a moment to turn around from closing the door. Taking a deep breath as to regain her stability, and to also resist the urge to turn around and let him bend her over the dining table. Again.

“Does your father know?” She questioned. Choosing to stay a good distance away from the male.

He shook his head. “What about your clan? Do any of them suspect anything?”

“Just Nesta. But I’ve been adamantly trying to convince her that I think you’re a disgusting and vile person who I would wish to never make physical contact with.” She uttered, which made him let out a chuckle. “Which I’ve honestly been trying to convince myself the same for a while.”

Eris sighed. “I know my comments don’t really make you think I’m a great guy. But I assure you I don’t wish anything bad upon your family or friends and I have no qualms against them. If my father thought I had any sort of alliance with any of you…. I do not know what he would do to me.”

This made Y/n’s eyes soften, knowing the things his father had put him through. He continued, pushing off the table and walking closer to her.

“And although I know that the mother was cruel for doing this. For fating us together when there are so many reasons we should not want each other. I also know that I cannot stop thinking about you. And I have not been able to stop since I laid my eyes on you at the ball all those years ago. You, little fox, have been the bane of my existence. You have tormented my mind and my soul. And I know that if I spend another second denying this bond, I might burst into flames.”

Y/n sucked in a breath before closing the distance between them. She placed her hands on his chest, looking up into his amber eyes with a longing she once tried so hard to push away.

“If Rhysand finds out, I garuntee he will kill you. And if he doesn’t Azriel will most definitely.” Eris chuckled, moving his hands up to her face, like he once did so long ago under the mountain. But this time it was so different. “We cant do anything right now. Not with Hybern and your father and-and..”

He cut her off with a kiss, gentle and full of love. “We can worry about all that later.” Y/n trembled on weak knees.

“Maybe there’s one thing we can worry about right now.” She moved towards the table, perching herself onto it. She slowly leaned back, letting her legs part showing off the lacey bottoms she knew he loved.

Eris smirked, gripping her legs and using them to pull her hips towards him.

“Oh I would love to worry about that.”

———————————————————————————

A harsh tug on the bond pulled Eris out of the trance he was held in, working on important business of the Autum Court. The feeling wasn’t something totally abnormal. On many occasions, Y/n would send something down the bond. Whether that be feelings of affection, a gentle caress to calm his stress, or a mental imagine of her in a particular risky position. Though normally, her pulls on the bond were not this harsh.

He shrugged it off, chalking it up to her toying with him, probably having sensed he was up late again. Something she often reprimanded him for while rubbing his temples or stroking the creases that have made permanent residence on his forehead. So like normal, he tugged back.

Not even a minute later, he felt another tug. This time though seemed more urgent. The pull was rough and a feeling of urgency, panic, and pain came with it. He stood up abruptly, eyes creasing in concern.

Y/n? Is everything alright dear? He sent down the bond. Though no word back. Panic reverberated through his body. Something was wrong. Though he wasn’t sure it was the best answer, Eris winnowed to the border of Night and Day.

Rhysand halted from his pacing, eyes shooting to Cassian , who sat with his head in his hands.

“Someone got through the barrier.” Immediately after, a harsh knock sounded from the door of the townhouse.

The door opened for Eris revealing a confused and disheveled Feyre Archeron.

“Y/n. Where’s Y/n?” He huffed frantically, pushing through the door and into the main room. This made Nesta, who had been sitting on a lounge chair in the corner, raise an eyebrow. It had appeared her suspicion had been confirmed.

Rhysand stormed into the sitting room, power radiating off of him. Though his power normally flowed strong and with intention, this time it seemed sporadic. Like the panic that flowed through him was affecting him in more ways than one.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here right now.” He spat. His power pushed Eris into a nearby wall, which caused his brows to furrow. Rhysand was normally pretty hotheaded towards Eris. They’ve always threw petty banter at each other. But he has rarely ever used his power against him. “I have never once questioned the mother for her choices. But this? This I can’t seem to get behind.”

“What are you talking about?” Eris huffed.

“Oh don’t act foolish.” Rhysand got in his face. “I know you’re mates.” How he had found out was beyond him. They were always extremely careful when going to see each other and always used their magic to mask the scent of the mating bond. If Rhysand knew- something really must’ve happened.

“Listen, I know something is wrong. All I can feel from her is panic and- and pain. I just-“ he let out a broken sigh, “I just need to see her. I need to see her.”

“Like hell.” Rhysand growled. Feyre approached him, putting a hand on his chest and guiding him away from the redhead.

“Rhys,” she spoke softly. “You and I both know what it is like being kept apart from your mate. Let him see her.” Rhysand looked at his mate and remembered the time she had been in the Spring Court with Tamlin. Remembered how awful it had been to feel the pain she had felt, the terror, and not be able to do anything about it. He let out a defeated sigh.

“Madja is just finishing up now. She um-they,”Rhysand’s voice broke before he could finish the sentence. “They took her wings.” Eris’s heart dropped. His beauty. His little fox. He didn’t know who did it but whoever they were- they were going to pay.

Rhysand began to walk in the direction of Y/n’s room, gesturing Eris to follow him. Nesta shook her head in disbelief before looking at Feyre knowingly.

“Is it an inappropriate time to say I told you so?”

Madja placed 2 containers on the nightstand next to Y/n’s bed before looking at Azriel who sat in a chair next to her. Though having been attended to by Madja for his wounds already, still looking mentally affected by what had occurred.

“This one is to be taken for pain and swelling and this one is to be applied to the wounds twice a day. Once in the morning and once before going to bed.” She then turned to Rhysand who appeared in the doorway. “If she needs more or if you have any concerns just send for me, dear.” She then bowed and made her way out the door.

Rhysand entered, giving Azriel a warning look before Eris stepped in hesitantly. The shadow singer stood abruptly, shooting a glare to Rhysand before looking harshly to the heir. But Eris paid no mind. He couldn’t really. Not when he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his mate, who lay on her stomach, a permanent look of pain etched onto her face.

“What is he doing here?” Azriel hissed at his High Lord. “He has no right to be here.”

“Spare me the dramatics, Shadowsinger.” Eris snarled. “It is no fault of mine that the mother didn’t choose you as her mate.” That struck a nerve in Azriel, who had pined after the princess for many years. Hoping that one day the bond he hoped to feel with her would snap into place. Whose heart had shred into a million pieces when he smelled the bond on her as she had let her guard down during those moments that her wings were being hacked off. Who had only hoped that it was unrequited.

“Fuck you.” Azriel spat. “She deserves more than the likes of you.” He took a step closer to Eris. The boys basically nose to nose huffing in anger. Rhysand, noticing Y/n stirring, pulled Azriel back and sent him a mental message to cool it for the sake of his sister. Azriel looked between Rhysand and Eris with a fury in his eyes before pushing his way out of the room.

Rhysand moved to kneel beside Y/n while Eris chose to stay behind, letting the siblings have their time together. Y/n blinked her eyes open and attempted to move before a pain radiated through her, making her wince.

Rhysand shot forward. “Don’t move too fast, sissy.” He helped Y/n move to her side. His emotions got the best of him for a moment. How could he let this happen? His baby sister, the only family he has left. She reached a hand up and rested it on his cheek, which he then reciprocated.

“I’ll be okay Rhysie.” She whispered, wiping a stray tear from his eye. She let her eyes drift behind him, noticing the all too familiar fiery red hair she had grown to love. Her eyes softened for a moment before they almost popped out of their sockets when she realized what him being here had entailed. She had remembered reaching out to him right before it had happened. Right before Hybern’s men had hacked into her wing, severing it from her body. She had also remembered that right before she passed out from the pain and from the blood loss, she had been too worn to mask the scent of her bond any longer.

“Yeah we’ll talk about that later.” Rhysand teased. He leant forward and placed a kiss on her forehead before turning out of the room and giving her and Eris time alone. Not before shooting him a warning glare. Eris smiled at his mate softly, walking towards her pulling the chair closer to her bed.

“Hello, little fox.” He spoke gently, grabbing her hand and lifting it to his lips. “Quite a scare you gave me, darling.” Though his attempt at teasing did make the corner of her lips lift up slightly, they began to tremble as the weight of the situation hit her full force.

“My wings,” she choked out. “They- they took my wings. They’re gone.” By the time she finished her sentence she had begun full out sobbing. Eris moved to her- maneuvering her the best he could without hurting her so that she could lean onto him while he held her. He stroked her hair, shushing her as she sobbed into his arms.

“I’m never going to fly again. I’ll never have races with my brother, I’ll never feel the wind in my hair, I will forever be grounded.” She cried.

“I know, my dear, I know.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, his free one reaching to wipe the tears off of her face. “I am so sorry I could not protect you.”

“It is not your fault.” Y/n stated, turning her head to look into his eyes.

“Perhaps not,” he started. “But I will forever wish I could have done something.” She gave him a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his lips. She leaned her head onto his shoulders as they fell into a comfortable silence.

“Rhys didn’t hurt you did he?” She whispered a couple minutes later.

Eris chuckled. “Almost.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well I’m glad it didn’t end in a fight.”

“I’d fight armies for you, my darling.” He said dramatically. She giggled lightly, softly swatting his chest. He leaned his cheek onto the top of her head, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “I love you.”

She whipped her head to look at him. A look of awe dawned her face.

“Say it again.” She whispered. Eris smiled grabbing her chin and placing a deep kiss onto her lips.

“Y/n, princess of the Night Court, my darling mate, I love you. And even though I couldn’t admit it, I have loved you from the moment I saw you. From the moment you gave me a snarky remark and glared those beautiful violet eyes into mine. And one day, when all of this is over, we will have a wonderful ceremony, and I will make you my High Lady.” A gasp left Y/n’s lips. “And we will have beautiful babies. We wi have a happy life. And I will love you till my last breath.”

He waited a beat.“If that’s what you would like, of course.”

“I would love nothing more.”

[earthlybeam]

What about reader surprising them with lingerie

I’ll definitely be making more for all the other characters (Celeborn, Círdan, Glorfindel, Haldir, Lindir, Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir and anymore) but for now, enjoy the ones I’ve done until I write the rest. ❤️‍🔥🫶✨

Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celebrimbor version below. (You the reader are their spouse and Gender-Neutral Reader.)

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The great wooden doors of the royal bedchamber creaked open, revealing the familiar silhouette of Gil-galad, tall and regal even in his weariness. His silver-threaded robes, a mark of his station, hung slightly looser on his frame as exhaustion from the day’s burdens weighed upon him. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow upon his golden circlet, highlighting the tired yet determined expression on his noble face. He stepped inside, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the endless duties that clung to him like shadows. His deep blue eyes, sharp with wisdom yet clouded with fatigue, lifted as he closed the door behind him—and then he froze.

There you stood, poised in the soft glow of the chamber’s lanterns, adorned in red lace that clung to you like a whispered promise. The fabric, delicate and intricate, traced over your skin like the weave of Elven craftsmanship, elegant yet enticing. It was a stark contrast to the usual soft silks and regal attire you wore, something daring, something meant only for his eyes. Gil-galad’s breath hitched ever so slightly. He was a king, a warrior, a leader of elves and men alike—but at this moment, he was simply a husband. And his composure, honed through centuries of leadership, faltered in the face of you.

“By the stars…” he murmured, his voice a hushed reverence. The tension in his posture melted away, replaced with something deeper, something more intimate. He took a slow, measured step forward, as if giving himself a moment to fully take in the sight before him. His eyes traced over you, appreciation gleaming in their depths, though there was also something tender, something devoted. “You have rendered me speechless,” he admitted, his lips curving into the faintest, rarest of smiles. He reached for you then, fingers brushing against your arm, tracing lightly over the lace as though it were something precious—as though you were something precious.

You smirked slightly, tilting your head as you watched the shift in his expression, the way exhaustion gave way to something softer, something hungry. “Good,” you murmured, voice laced with teasing warmth. “It is not often I manage to leave the High King of the Noldor at a loss for words.” A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, low and rich. “It is no easy feat,” he agreed, his hands finally settling at your waist. His fingers curled around you, his hold firm yet reverent, as though grounding himself in the reality of you. “You must know,” he continued, voice low, rich with the weight of emotion, “that after the trials of this day, there is no sight in all of Middle-earth I would rather come home to.”

You reached up then, fingertips tracing over the fabric of his robes before finding the cool metal of his circlet. Gently, you removed it, setting it aside with care before running your fingers through his dark hair. “Then let me help you forget the trials of today,” you whispered. “Let tonight belong only to us.” His breath caught slightly at your words, at the sheer devotion woven into them. His forehead lowered to yours, his breath warm against your lips, and for a moment, he simply held you there—silent, reverent. “You humble me, my heart,” he whispered. “And you tempt me beyond reason.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing along the strong lines of his jaw. “Then why resist?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. There was a flicker in his gaze then, something smoldering beneath the restraint he always held. The great High King, ever composed, ever in control—yet here, in your presence, that control wavered. One hand tilted your chin up slightly, his thumb brushing against your cheek as his lips barely ghosted over yours. “You are certain this is what you desire tonight?” he asked, because no matter how deep his own longing ran, his first thought would always be of you.

You let your hands slide down his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. “I would not have gone through the trouble of surprising you if I was not certain,” you teased gently. But then your voice softened, your gaze locking with his. “I want you, Ereinion. Not the High King, not the warrior, just you.” Something in him unraveled then. And for the rest of the night, the weight of kingship, the burdens of war, the looming shadow of duty—none of it mattered. Only you did.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand doors of the royal bedchamber swung open with a near-silent grace, their polished wood gleaming in the candlelight. Thranduil stepped inside, the weight of the day’s burdens evident in the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed absently at his sides as if trying to banish the stiffness from long hours of court and counsel. His silver robes, regal and refined, rustled with each step. His crown of interwoven branches and silver leaves had been removed, allowing the cascade of his pale-golden hair to flow freely down his back.

But then he saw you. You stood at the foot of his grand, canopied bed, bathed in the flickering glow of the nearby hearth. Wrapped in crimson lace, the intricate fabric wove delicate patterns across your skin, leaving enough to the imagination while promising decadence in its sheer elegance. The deep red hue stood in stark contrast to the cool, moonlit blues and silvers of his chambers, as though you were a flame beckoning him forward.

His steps halted. For the briefest moment, there was no expression on his face—only silence. The deep, ancient pools of his blue eyes swept over you, drinking in the sight with a deliberation that sent heat curling through the air. Slowly, the tension in his posture shifted, something unreadable flickering in his gaze, a fire ignited from exhaustion to something far more primal. “You are full of surprises, meleth nîn.” His voice, low and velvet-smooth, resonated in the stillness, carrying with it the edge of something unspoken, something dangerous.

You tilted your head slightly, a knowing glint in your eyes as you took a slow step toward him. “You have worked tirelessly today. I thought you deserved a distraction.” His lips curved—just a ghost of a smirk—as he reached for the heavy clasps of his outer robes, fingers working with practiced ease to undo them. His eyes never left you, not as the rich fabric slid from his frame and pooled onto the floor, revealing the fitted tunic beneath. His movements were unhurried, savoring the moment, as if daring you to look away.

“You tempt me,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice a silken thread wrapping around you. “You always do.” He reached out, gloved fingers ghosting over your arm, tracing the lace where it met your skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, anticipation thrumming between you both. “And yet…” He exhaled softly, the scent of Dorwinion wine still lingering faintly on his breath. “You test my patience.”

His fingers trailed up, tracing the elegant curves of the fabric, lingering at the delicate straps. With a flick of his wrist, he guided you around, allowing his gaze to travel the full expanse of your back, where the intricate lace barely concealed the shape of you beneath. His voice dipped lower, laced with something heady and possessive.

“You are a vision,” he murmured, his breath brushing against the nape of your neck as his hands came to rest at your hips, drawing you closer until his body pressed flush against yours. “And you are mine.” The finality in his tone sent a rush through you, a mix of anticipation and the sheer, intoxicating weight of being under his gaze. He tilted your chin up with two fingers, making you meet his eyes, their usual icy depths molten with something that burned only for you.

His lips brushed against your temple, featherlight, before trailing down to your jaw, a deliberate tease, just barely touching but never quite giving in. “Tell me…” His voice was a low whisper against your skin, laced with amusement, desire, and something deeper. “Did you plan this to seduce me? Or to reward me?” Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth of him, the power that lay just beneath his elegant restraint. “Perhaps both,” you admitted, voice barely above a breath. A soft, rich chuckle escaped him, deep and indulgent. “Then I shall take my time… savoring my reward. But how do You expect me to be gentle after such a sight?” His lips hovered near your ear, breath warm against your skin. “I have spent all day enduring the tedium of diplomacy, restraining my words, my thoughts… And now you tempt me with this?”

A slow exhale, then his lips finally found yours, firm, claiming, his tongue sweeping against yours with the taste of Dorwinion wine still faint on his breath. His grip on you tightened ever so slightly, a silent warning of what was to come. “You will not be leaving this bed anytime soon, meleth nîn.” With one fluid movement, his arms wrapped around you, and in the next heartbeat, you found yourself beneath him as the bed met your back, Thranduil’s gaze hungry, reverent, and utterly claiming as he loomed over you. And then, the night was his.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

As the moonlight spilled through the tall, arched windows of Elrond’s bedchambers, the soft candlelight flickered against the elegant carvings of Rivendell’s finest elven craftsmanship. The chamber was a sanctuary of tranquility, its silken drapes billowing faintly in the evening breeze, the scent of lavender and aged parchment lingering in the air. Weariness clung to Elrond’s shoulders as he finally stepped into the sanctuary of his bedchambers, the weight of the day’s burdens pressing heavily upon him. Countless matters had demanded his attention—councils, diplomacy, the endless concerns of Rivendell’s people. Though his face remained composed, there was a quiet exhaustion in the way he exhaled, his long fingers coming up to ease the tension at his temples.

You waited, anticipation thrumming through your veins as you reclined against the vast bed, adorned in red lace that contrasted beautifully with the cool, silver-embroidered sheets. The fabric was delicate, whisper-soft against your skin, carefully chosen for this moment. You knew Elrond appreciated beauty in all its forms—history, wisdom, the music of the stars—but you wondered how he would react to this kind of allure. The door eased open with a soundless grace, and there he stood—Lord Elrond of Rivendell, draped in flowing robes, his brow smooth from the weight of the day’s burdens now lifted. His sharp, discerning eyes took in the sight before him, and for the briefest of moments, the great lore-master, and master healer was rendered silent.

His fingers tightened subtly around the edges of his sleeves as he stepped forward, his measured breath the only sound between you. Then, after a moment’s stillness, his gaze softened, darkened with something deeper—something reverent. “Meleth nín…” he murmured, his voice lower now, laced with a weight he rarely allowed himself to show. He moved toward you with slow precision, as if unwilling to shatter the image before him. You watched as his hands, strong yet elegant, reached out, the pads of his fingers grazing over the lace at your shoulder before tracing lightly down your arm. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, amusement tempered by something far more tender. “You weave enchantments without a single spell,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. A small smile played at your lips as you tilted your head into his touch, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And yet, my lord, it seems you have fallen under my spell all the same.”

Elrond had seen the rise and fall of empires, had walked among the greatest of kings and warriors, yet here, in this moment, you held him utterly captivated. He cupped your cheek, his thumb gliding along your skin with a touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine. “This is a sight I shall etch into memory,” he said, tilting his head, studying you as one might a long-lost poem rediscovered. “For all my days.” Your fingers brushed lightly against the embroidered fabric of his robe, tracing the intricate patterns as you whispered, “Then I shall make sure you have many more memories to cherish.”

His lips curved slightly at your words before he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours—slow, warm, deliberate. His other hand ghosted along your waist, mapping the intricate lace as if it were woven of starlight itself. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, his expression unreadable, yet his devotion unmistakable. “Tell me, meleth nín,” he whispered against your skin, lips tracing the shell of your ear, “shall I worship you as you deserve? Or ravish you like a beast?” A soft hum left your lips as you trailed your fingers up his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your touch. You let your lips hover near his ear, your breath warm against his skin.

“Why not both?” you murmured, your voice a sultry challenge. “Show me the patience of an elf… and the passion of a man.” Elrond exhaled slowly, as if savoring every syllable of your request, and then—his restraint cracked, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. “The night is long, meleth nín,” he murmured, fingers slipping beneath the delicate lace as he guided you beneath him. “Let us not waste a moment of it.” And so the night stretched before you, endless and unhurried—much like the love of an immortal bound to you in soul and spirit.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The door to the bedchamber creaked open, the warm glow of candlelight flickering as a tired figure stepped inside. Celebrimbor exhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the weight of the day. His silver hair was slightly tousled, a sign that he had been absentmindedly running his fingers through it, lost in thought. His robes bore the scent of forge-smoke and parchment—proof of his long hours in council and at the anvil.

But the sight before him froze him mid-step. You sat on the edge of the grand, ornately carved bed, bathed in the golden hues of firelight. Draped in delicate red lace, the intricate fabric clung to you, its patterns casting faint shadows on your skin. The color—bold and striking—stood in stark contrast to the usual soft silks and flowing robes of Elven attire. The lace was sheer in places, leaving just enough to the imagination, teasing but not entirely concealing.

For a long moment, Celebrimbor simply stared. His sharp, smith’s hands twitched as though resisting the urge to reach out immediately. His lips parted, but no words came. You tilted your head slightly, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Lost for words, my lord?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, still unmoving. Then, his hands slowly unfastened the heavy belt at his waist, letting it fall soundlessly to the floor. His voice, when it came, was hoarse. “Where… did you get that without me knowing?��

You smiled, shifting slightly so that the lace caught the light in new ways. “Does it matter?” Celebrimbor finally moved, crossing the room in measured strides. His exhaustion seemed forgotten, replaced by something far more intense. He paused before you, fingers tracing the fine embroidery of your sleeve as though inspecting craftsmanship. “No…it doesn’t..but This,” he murmured, voice deep with admiration, “is… exquisite.”

You could feel the warmth of his hands even though he barely touched you, the callouses from years of smithing rough against the delicate lace. His touch lingered at your shoulder before trailing down your arm, reverent, as though he were handling something rare and priceless. “I take it you approve?” you teased, fingers grazing the embroidered collar of his robes. His chuckle was low, breath warm as he dipped his head toward you, silver strands of hair brushing against your cheek. “That would be an understatement.”

There was something endearing in his expression—awed, captivated, as though you were a masterpiece beyond even his most intricate designs. And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned in, lips brushing against your temple before murmuring, “But tell me, my heart… shall I admire it longer, or shall I remove it?” The night was still young, and Celebrimbor was nothing if not thorough in his appreciation.

[s4svnn]

first big argument of oub couple pls!!!

Shower (teaser)

Your stubbornness is part of what brought you together—it’s a fire that keeps things passionate and exciting. But at times, it can also be exhausting, especially when neither of you is willing to admit fault because of your pride. Arguments can escalate quickly, with both of you refusing to back down each determined to prove a point, so when things heat up maybe the best way to cool off is together…in the shower.

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

Warnings/content tags: couples argument, egos, stubbornness, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation kink, hair pulling, boob play, fingering, mirror sex, back shots, orgasm denial, sub + dom dynamic, spanking

The door slammed shut behind us with a force that rattled the walls, the echo reverberating through the tense silence. My heart pounded against my ribs, my breaths coming in uneven gasps still heated from the argument that had started long before we even reached his house.

The air between us was thick with unspoken words, the weight of frustration pressing down on my chest. The dim glow from the entryway lights cast jagged shadows across Jungkook’s sharp features, emphasizing the tight clench of his jaw and the flicker of something dark in his eyes. His fists were curled at his sides, his posture rigid, as his entire body radiated barely restrained frustration.

"He likes you. I can tell."

I spun around so fast my hair whipped over my shoulder, my blood boiling at the audacity of his words. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I glared at him.

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

Jungkook exhaled sharply, the sound more of a scoff than a sigh, his lips twitching in something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t entirely devoid of amusement either. His head tilted slightly, the way it always did when he didn’t believe a single word coming out of my mouth, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as if he was holding back the urge to laugh at my denial.

"You really believe that?" he asked, his voice slow and skeptical, every syllable laced with quiet challenge.

I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet firmly against the floor as I met his gaze with unwavering defiance, refusing to let him intimidate me. "Yes, because it’s the truth," I said, my voice steadier now.

Jungkook took a step forward, closing the distance between us just slightly, but enough for the air to shift, enough for the space between us to feel too small, too charged. The weight of his presence was suffocating, the intensity in his gaze making my pulse pound harder, though I refused to let him see the effect he had on me.

"People don’t look at their friends like that, Aylah," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost like a warning. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you alive."

A sharp, incredulous laugh burst from my lips, my head shaking as I fought the urge to scream at how ridiculous this entire conversation was. "I told you, he doesn’t like me!" I repeated, my voice rising in frustration. "And even if he did, I don’t like him!"

That should have been the end of it. That should have been enough. But of course, with Jungkook it never was, he just had to get the last word.

Before I could take a step back and create even an inch of space between us, he moved faster, quicker than I could react. His arms came up in an instant, trapping me between them, his hands pressing against the couch behind me as my back met the soft fabric. My breath caught in my throat, my pulse spiking as my body suddenly became hyperaware of the heat radiating from him.

"You sure about that?" he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but somehow even more dangerous than before. His eyes flickered over my face, searching, watching, waiting for something—an answer, a reaction, a crack in my defense. "I see the way you smile at him."

I scoffed, forcing myself to hold his gaze even though my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. "What, so I can’t smile at people now?" I shot back, my voice sharp, desperate to shift the focus away from the way his words made my stomach twist.

Jungkook exhaled, the sound rough, like he was trying to push down something simmering just beneath the surface. "That’s not what I’m saying," he muttered, his jaw clenching. "It’s just… I don’t trust that guy."

"Wow," I said, my voice dripping with disbelief. "So you don’t trust him, but you trusted Jade?"

His entire body went still. His grip on the couch tightened, his knuckles turning white as he processed my words, as they settled into the space between us like a ticking time bomb.

"What did you just say?" His voice was colder now—but I didn’t care.

I held my ground, refusing to flinch under the weight of his stare. "You trusted a bitch like Jade," I said, voice steady, unwavering, my eyes locked onto his. "But you draw the line at my harmless secretary?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, suffocating and heavy.

Then, Jungkook let out a dark, humorless laugh, one that sent a shiver down my spine. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t light. It was empty, hollow, laced with something almost cruel.

"Like you’re any better," he muttered, his voice laced with venom. His gaze flickered with something dangerous. "You were friends with the guy that tried to kill me."

The words barely registered before my hand moved on its own. The slap echoed through the room, the sharp crack of skin against skin cutting through the heavy silence like a gunshot. Jungkook’s head snapped to the side from the force, his cheek instantly reddening where my palm had struck. My chest heaved, shock rushing through me, overtaking the anger in an instant.

My lips parted, my voice barely above a whisper. "S-Shit, Jungkook, I didn’t mean to—"

Slowly, he turns his head back to face me, his gaze dark and unreadable. The tension in the air thickened as the sound of my pulse hammered in my ears.

Before I could fully register what was happening, his fingers tightened around my wrist, his grip firm and unrelenting as he pulled me forward. A startled gasp slipped past my lips, my feet barely keeping up as he led me up the stairs with a determination that left no room for hesitation. 

A strange mix of nervousness and excitement twisted in my stomach, making it impossible to tell whether I wanted to pull away or let myself be dragged deeper into whatever this was turning into. The hallway blurred around us, my focus narrowing to the burn of his fingers against my skin and the charged energy radiating off him in waves.

The moment we reached his room, he didn’t stop. With a swift motion, he shoved open the bathroom door and pulled me inside, the sharp sound of the lock clicking into place sending a shiver down my spine. Finally, his grip loosened, my wrist slipping from his grasp. I barely had time to catch my breath, to make sense of the storm raging inside me, before my eyes widened at his next move.

Jungkook reached for the hem of his shirt, and in one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. My breath hitched as the dim bathroom light cast shadows across his toned chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing making the tension between us all the more unbearable. He took a deliberate step forward, his gaze locked onto mine, dark and unreadable.

"You wanna fight?" he murmured, his voice low.

I swallowed hard, but he didn’t give me time to answer.

He took another step forward, and suddenly there was nowhere left to go, my back meeting the cool tile wall as his presence surrounded me once more. His eyes flickered over my face, watching, waiting.

"Then let’s fight."

[darlingstarkey]

think later - pt 20

series masterlist

summary - y/n, formerly a pogue princess, finally had her big breakthrough and got signed to a record label in LA. little did she, her boyfriend rafe cameron and the rest of her friends know how things would really change as soon as she becomes famous.

anything in dark mode is rafe's phone!

authors note: i really enjoyed writing/doing this part and getting back into the swing of writing this fic!! a few of my old readers are inactive and it makes me so sad to see my bbys gone but thank you to the new readers who are reading now! lowkey a three week break is insane of me lol

warnings: swearing, anger, fighting, stealing, long word fic!

-

with that text from topper, rafe stood from the couch and grabbed the keys to his ferrari. all he saw was red in this moment, what the fuck could jj possibly do to try to get you? he gave his truce to this crush he had on you when rafe had texted him about you. what the fuck could he possibly want? would he be able to get you? thousands of questions ran through rafes head as he practically ran to his car and got into it as quickly as possible.

the engine roar echoed throughout the neighborhood along with the sound of tires screeching, signaling rafe's departure.

white knuckling the wheel, going a steady 65 mph in a 25 mph, rafe sped past the neighborhood in mere seconds. he sped through the bridge that connected figure eight and the cut, almost nauseous at the thought of being here. sure, he had been down this road multiple times back when he would pick you up or bring you flowers. but this time, it was different.

this time it was to track down that pogue boy who always preyed over you. who always took your kindness and in his mind would twist it into something more. but of course, you being you, you let him do it because you simply didn't know he felt that way. but there was no way to know, the only person who did know was jj himself and rafe.

he always had.

rafe was close enough to see jj's stolen glances at your perfect lips, the soft grazes of the back of your arm, how he would hold onto your hand just a second too long when you did your handshake that was made up by the 5 year old versions of yourselves, the way jj made you laugh so hard you snorted, your inside jokes, your secret code words and signals, the way you two could just make eye contact and just know what the other was thinking.

rafe knew he couldn't compare to that.

"no. no. no.no. no. no." you yelped as you scurried between the two boys. rafe has already had his hand planted on jj's shoulder, a dark look in his eye as he stared at the pogue boy while gripping his boney shoulder sharply.

"guys. get away from eachother. now." you demanded as the boys continued their feral eye-contact. the silence is deafening as they stood, still as statues, while you try to break them apart.

"y/n, step away." rafe said between gritted teeth. "no!" you shot back,heat racing. . "leave eachother alone. god, what is with you two lately? can you just fucking stop for once and listen to me?"

for the first time, they both blinked. simultaneously, they looked down at you as you fumbled for your phone, which would not stop buzzing in your pocket.

"i-i- have to go.." your voice wavered you look up at the two boys, only to quickly turn and jolt instinctively back to your car.

rafe and jj could have sworn that you disappeared into thin air. they had never seen anything like it. they had seen your face turn white, immediately squeak words of utter nonsense, then bolt away.

confused and also terrified, the two boys were left standing there, a truce in their war for your devotion.

-

HOW AMAZINGLY FUN THIS WAS TO WRITE! next part tmrrw! do we like?!

taglist: taglist: @madkohi, @yesshewrites1, @grapejuice32, @leotapes , @givemylovetoall, @inlovewrafe, @bee-43, @larvalerius, @masongetinmybed, @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not, @mystargirl-interlude, @eddxemxnson, @sqfewrd, @pogueprincesa, @frankoceanluvr11, @raeven-marie43, @marleymarleymarleymarley, @mindfulmesses, @akobx, @spenceatiny18, @fluoxetinys, @lolxdswag123, @st8rkey, @ethanthequeefqueen, @drewrry, @jjmaybankmylovee, @disaster-rose, @sunshinedaisy21, @chillgal135, @amterasuu, @wtfisastiles, @sassyvillaintrophy, @bananaminn, @barnesboo1967, @pi4st81, @stvrkeysgal, @yktayy9669, @yesterdaysproblemm, @rafesbuzzcutseason, @dylsdaily, @jjasmiineee, @imjustagirl713, @voidangxls

xo, dylan