#(its hold on me is always intense but brief)

[bertoyana]

X-MEN: DAYS OF THE FUTURE PAST (2014)

[liketolaugh-writes]

wait why am i looking for green lantern media to watch

i forgot the SUPERIOR way to learn a new canon, which is fanfiction

i need to find green lantern fanfiction

[ddejavvu]

Cigar Burns - Logan Howlett x Reader

Contents/warnings: 18+, minors dni. obvious tw for smoking and cigar burns (on Logan). mild pain kink, giving and receiving. don't like don't read.

You're sure the copious amount of cigars that Logan smokes has to be doing something to his health, despite his supernatural healing abilities. But you can't ever bring yourself to nag too hard, not when they're clearly a release for Logan. What's even more interesting to you about his habit is that he frequently puts them out onto his skin, something you'd initially been horrified at. But time after time, you'd watched on and noticed new details about his bad habit; things you'd missed before, like the way he begins panting each time, or the way he shifts on his feet or in his seat.

You've finally come to the confusing but definite conclusion that Logan gets off on pain.

It's definitely not all he gets off on- you know that for a fact. He has plenty of other ways to get his dick hard, and you know them by heart, but you've watched him writhe in his seat one too many times to ignore the concept now.

"Logan?" You ask, sinking down to your knees in front of where he's settled into an armchair, "Can I put out your cigar?"

He'd already been prepping his palm for the smoldering sensation, but he pauses with an arched brow when you take your place at his feet.

"You wanna put it out?" He confirms, and you nod vigorously, hands settling on his thighs.

"You always put it out on your skin. And you- you like it," A shiver runs up your spine at your words, even though the accusation should be affecting Logan more. He keeps his expression steady and scrutinizing, and that makes the anticipation brewing in your stomach all the more intense.

Finally he grunts, "Alright. Do it."

He holds out his hands, one with the cigar pinched between them and one with an open palm, an invitation. You take the cigar from his left, then switch your attention to the right, but instead of lowering the burning cigar to his palm, you dart it down to the exposed, muscled flesh of his thigh. He's wearing only boxer briefs, and his legs are left mostly exposed- exposed enough for you to press the smoldering cigar to his inner thigh.

He moves with the speed of someone constantly hunted, and his hand is around your throat as a sharp growl leaves his throat raw before you can process anything. But your fingers never stop holding the cigar to his thigh, and his hand loosens its hold before you run out of breath.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He grunts, hand still rough but not as constricting around your windpipe as he holds your head up to face him, "I gave you my hand."

"You like it." You repeat, shifting on your thighs as Logan's thighs tremble, his flesh searing.

"I- you're fucking crazy." He spits, shoving your hand away from his thigh when the cigar proves no longer lit, "You like hurting me?"

"You like being hurt," You nod at the chub of his cock in his briefs, rapidly stiffening as his skin heals and knits itself back together from the blemish, "You're hard."

"You're crazy." He repeats, taking the back of your head in his hand now to drag you forwards, pressing your face into the bulge in his briefs. It silences you, so that all you can do is breathe him in while he grumbles, "You're a fucking freak."

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy

Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!

Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff

It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.

He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.

He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9

But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.

“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.

“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.

“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.

But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.

Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”

He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.

Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.

“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.

But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.

“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”

He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.

Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.

“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.

With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.

“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”

“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”

The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.

“Or she.”

Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.

You matched each other perfectly, in every way.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

taken care of

words: 2.2k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, established relationship, exhibitionism, VERY BARRY HEAVY FIC!, fishing and like description of cooking fish??? does that need a warning lol, mention of drugs, rafe and barry are drug dealers in this but its very brief, drinking, female receiving oral, sharing is caring lol?, p in v sex, male masturbation, voyeurism

“you don't wanna get out?” rafe asks, his hands petting over your thighs.

“im happy watching from here.” you hum, leaning forward to give him a kiss.

“okay.” rafe sighs, digging in his pocket for his keys, placing them in your awaiting palm. “you can keep the ac and radio on if you want.”

“you know me so well.” you coo, giving rafe another peck on the lips as he goes to the back of his truck, pulling out his tackle box and fishing pole. you keep the door open until you reach over from your passenger seat and turn the truck on, allowing you to roll down the window.

you wave at barry when he notices you in the backseat. “brought sweetheart fishing?” he questions, making rafe let out a grunt, while you just giggle.

barry loves to flirt with you in front of rafe, because he gets pissed and you get so shy, always ducking your head or hiding behind rafe.

“just watching.” you shrug, adjusting yourself so you're comfortable, glad the side of the road is so close to the river bank, letting you stay in the truck but still be close enough to listen to rafe and barry as they chat.

“fish on.” rafe calls out, huffing as he begins to reel. you sit up a little bit, trying to spot the fish in the water before it breaks the surface. your boyfriend hauls it out, a large fish but not a kind he usually keeps.

“wanna hold it?” rafe asks, looking to you.

“no.” you shake your head, hand coming to the lock button on the truck just in case he tries to get closer. “but ill take your picture with it.”

you raise your phone, snapping a picture of rafe with his fish before he undoes the hook from its mouth. he tosses it back into the river, the fish quickly retreating into deeper water.

you send the picture to rafe, knowing the grin on his face is only because of you. he doesn't even bother to check when his phone buzzes in his pocket. all notifications are silenced except for yours, even barrys texts being delivered without notification, only his emergency calls making the phone ring.

you don't even realize that you've fallen asleep leaned against the seatbelt, the warm sun on your face and calming sounds of the river flowing. you only blink your eyes open when the drivers door closes. you rub your eyes and look over to rafe, a gentle smile on his face. “sorry i woke you up.”

“it's okay.” you hum, leaning over the center console, arms circling around rafes shoulders, just wanting to cuddle up to him now that you're awake. “did you catch some more?”

“yeah, some nice bass. put a couple in the cooler if you're feeling up for fish tonight.”

“you wanna know what i want?” you tilt your head to the side, pulling back to look at rafe.

“what?” he hums out, eyes glancing between your lips and meeting your gaze.

“you.” you say before leaning in and capturing his mouth in a kiss, frowning when rafe doesn't reciprocate the way you want him to.

you pull away with an intense pout. “rafeyyy.” you whine out.

“uh, babe-” rafe chuckles, a look of mischief in his eye. you hear someone clear their throat in the back seat. your eyes widen, turning to see barry sitting there with a smirk on his face.

“oh my god!” you squeal, turning forward so the seat blocks your view of barrys goofy grin, covering your red face with your hands. “rafe cameron, why didn’t you say something earlier?” you shout, reaching over to slap him on the arm as he laughs.

“you kissed me before i could say anything!” rafe argues back, still laughing as you turn back to barry and apologize. “hes coming over for dinner.” “okay.” you whisper. you know barry is a drug dealer, and you know rafe is part of it too, but he keeps you as far away as he can from the life of crime, insisting that hes being as safe as possible, only dealing to kooks at parties.

rafe and barry chat, with occasional interjections from you, as rafe drives the truck towards your shared house. you don’t even bother going inside as you all head towards the backyard where rafe has a fish preparing station as well as a full outdoor kitchen with an expensive grill that was your birthday gift to him last year. sure, you paid for it with his credit card, but its the thought that counts.

“gonna take a leak, back in a minute.” barry heads towards the renovated pool house instead of the main home as rafe swings the heavy cooler up onto the counter. “is he staying the night?” you ask. barry always stays in the pool house when he ends up sleeping over, usually because hes too drunk to get himself home. 

“why? afraid you’re not gonna be able to be loud?” the only negative is the pool house is not too far from the glass sliding doors that lead into your bedroom with a view of the backyard and then ocean just beyond the fence you insisted get put up to keep anything from getting in your pool.

“stop it.” you whine, propping yourself up onto a clean spot on the counter. “i want you so bad.”

“well, im making you dinner right now.” rafe shrugs. “you’ll have to be patient.”

“but you promise to fuck me tonight? come on, i don’t know how long i can wait and i don’t want you getting too drunk with barry to fuck.” you complain, feet swinging.

“promise you’ll get off.” rafe says, noting that his words don’t seem to truly please you as you continue to have a scowl on your face. he knows how quickly your attitude turns when you get too needy for him.

“what you want to drink, pretty mama?” barry asks as he emerges from the pool house. 

“hard lemonade.” you bat your eyelashes at barry, moving from your spot on the counter as rafe gets out the fish to prepare it. you hate seeing him cutting into it, so you move to sit on the outdoor sofa instead.

“will never understand how you guys can drink those.” you turn your nose up at the beer barry brings for himself, handing one to rafe.

“jeez, whats gotten into you?” barry lets out a stark laugh, cracking open his beer with his keys before doing the same with your hard lemonade, handing it to you. even with the alcohol diluted, you still don't like the taste as your nose scrunches.

“shes horny.” rafe simply says, not turning away from his preparation.

“rafe, oh my god!” you shout. 

“oh.” barry just smiles at you, inching closer. “she gets bratty when shes horny?” he questions, not even talking to you despite his eyes glazing down your body.

“yeah. feel free to eat her out, man. itll get rid of her attitude while i finish grilling.” rafe says it so nonchalantly it takes both of you a second to realize he’s serious.

“really rafe?” you question. hes usually the most protective guy there is, always reacting badly when barry flirts with you.

rafe turns to look at the two of you on the couch. “why not? you’re just getting your cunt licked so you can stop being all pissy.”

“maybe because she’s your girl?” barry is just as surprised, though clearly eager from the way he keeps glancing between your thighs, now pressed tighter together.

“you’re not gonna fuck her. she’s not gonna touch your dick. you’re just eating her out.” rafe shrugs. “it’ll be doing me a favor, keeping her busy while i finish our dinner.” “well, i aint gonna argue. what you think sweetheart?” barry turns to you. you glance between him and rafe, only nodding when rafe gives you an encouraging nod. 

“perfect, now take those shorts off, let me see that pussy.” barry grins, gold tooth on display. 

you look to rafe as you stand up, surprised to see him already turned back to gutting his fish. you push your shorts and underwear down with a quick motion. he glances over his shoulder, simply smirking.

“i can’t believe he’s actually okay with this.” you mutter as you sit down, keeping your thighs pushed together as barry moves to his knees.

“just taking care of his girl for him. like how i take care of his drugs or people who fuck with him.” barrys hands come to your thighs, rubbing gently.

“you don’t have to do this though if you don’t want to-” barry can’t even finish his sentence as your legs spread open, revealing a sticky wet mess.

“i-um…” you blush. “i really am horny.” “i see that.” barry clears his throat, his eyes on your pussy. “now, lemme taste that.”

he leans in slowly, giving you a last chance to change your mind before his tongue swipes through your folds, making you shout out. you lean your head against the back of the couch as barry continues dragging his tongue around your cunt, purposely missing the areas you want him most.

“fuck, that’s good.” you moan, watching as rafe moves the prepared fish to the grill, looking over the way barry is hunched on the ground, knees digging into the pavement, his face surprisingly blank of jealousy.

“not as good as your boy though, right?” barry chuckles, hands coming to your cunt, pulling your folds apart to give him a view of your spread hole. 

“no.” you shake your head. it’s true, while barry feels good, he’s nothing compared to rafe. “sorry, bears.” you use the nickname for him reserved for moments when he lets his sweet side show. not often, but you occasionally get it.

“its alright, mamas.” barry shakes his head, eyes glossing over with lust as he sees the way your hole clenches around nothing, begging to be filled. “i know im just getting to eat you out this one time, i’m not gonna waste it.”

he leans in, done teasing as his tongue pushes into your entrance. you let out a moan, reaching down to grip onto barrys hair, undoing his ponytail so it falls into your fists. you hold his face closer as his tongue pushes in and out.

“god, you’re even tight around my tongue.” he groans, switching between kissing your entrance and fucking it with his tongue.

“and you’ll never get to experience it beyond this.” rafe smirks, knowing he’s the only one who gets to fuck you, your first and only. he flips the fish over on the grill, knowing by the look on your face that you’ll  cum by the time its done cooking.

“like having dessert before dinner.” barry slurps at your juices, tongue traveling up to your clit. 

“isnt she the sweetest?” rafe smiles at you, closing the lid of the grill as he gets the table ready, plates and silverware as well as a prepared salad.

“like candy.” barry murmurs, sucking your clit into his mouth, making your back arch as you let out a squeal.

“keep doing that!” you shout out, not caring that your neighbors may hear the way you’re screaming for him. at least the tall wooden fence blocks any view of your exposed sopping wet cunt.

“cum for him.” rafe commands. “dinner is almost ready.”

barry works his hardest, sucking your clit while his tongue simultaneously flicks over it. you try to hold on for a moment longer before your orgasm rips through your body, hips pushing up as you cum with a squeal.

barry switches to gentle licks as your clit pulses, working you through your high until you let go of his hair, pushing his head away as you pant, chest moving rapidly up and down.

“god, that was good.” barry pulls away, wiping his mouth against his sleeve as he stands, looking down at you as he squeezes his clearly hard length through his cargo shorts. 

barry grabs his beer off the table, moving over to take his seat at the outdoor table. you’re surprised how quickly he’s able to return to normal, as if he wasn’t just eating his friends girlfriend out.

“come on, princess.” rafe grabs your shorts, helping you slide them back up your legs. “fish is ready.” he presses a kiss to your forehead, then cheek, then finally against your lips.

“yeah.” you nod, standing and wobbling slightly, rafe wrapping his arm around your waist to guide you to the table until you’re in your seat.

“feeling better?” rafe questions, preparing your plate for you, seeing you still need a moment to recover.

“way better, actually.” you hum, no longer desperate for an orgasm. “thanks barry.”

“just helping my friends out.” he shrugs, lips still slightly glossy.

--

“leave it open.” rafe says as your hand moves to close the large curtain that covers the sliding glass doors. your eyebrows raise as you turn to rafe. 

“barry did you a favor earlier, might as well give him a view.” he smirks, pulling his shirt off.

you glance towards the pool house, rafe of course keeping him supplied with plenty of beers, enough that he was too tipsy to go home. he’s sitting on the bed, eyes meeting yours as the blinds have been left open.

it doesn’t take much longer for rafe to have you kneeling on the bed, tits bouncing as he plunges into you from behind, hands tight on your waist, holding you up on display for barry, stroking himself, his cock just in view through the window.

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[syluslnd]

If you're still taking requests, I really wanna see how you'd write this situation. Sylus' s/o is visiting the mansion one day. Sylus is in the room when Luke or Kieran (it's probably Luke) accidentally discovers one of her sensitive spots; he poked a random spot on her back to get her attention and she barely holds back a moan.

sylus learns a new discovery about you

your attention fully on sylus while he lays on the bed sprawled out, watching you with that familiar intense gaze.

You were rambling on about something, your words tumbling out in an effort to distract yourself from how his presence always seemed to consume the space.

Sylus had a way of making the air feel heavier, as if every word exchanged between you carried weight. But right now, you were doing your best to ignore that pull.

Luke and Kieran were also in the room, leaning against the far wall, barely acknowledged by you. They hadn't said much and you hadn't felt the need to involve them in your conversation with Sylus. It wasn't unusual-you always focused on him and the twins usually stayed in the background.

But then, without warning, you felt it—a finger brushing down your spine, light but deliberate, starting at your neck and trailing all the way down. The touch was so sudden, so unexpected, that your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, your breath hitching and then, to your horror, an involuntary moan slipped from your lips.

The room went dead silent.

Your heart pounded as you froze, feeling heat rush to your face. Every nerve in your body was suddenly on edge and you became painfully aware of how every eye was on you. Luke's finger still hovered at the small of your back but your mind couldn't focus on anything but the sound that had escaped you. A blushing mess, you struggled to regain composure but it was too late. The damage was done.

Sylus's expression darkened immediately, his gaze narrowing as he shot a look toward the twins. "Out" he ordered, his voice low, dripping with authority.

Luke and Kieran didn't hesitate, quickly leaving the room, though you could still feel the heat of their lingering stares as they exited. The door clicked shut behind them and now it was just you and Sylus. The tension in the room became suffocating.

Before you could even speak, you felt a shift, a pull. Sylus's evol had kicked in and suddenly you were dragged onto the bed, your body moving against your will. You gasped as you found yourself straddling him, your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his hips. His power forced your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling you close until your face was inches from his.

"Sylus-" you started but your voice caught in your throat as you felt his fingers, cold and deliberate, start to glide up your spine.

Slow. Painfully slow.

He dragged his fingertip over your back, tracing the same path Luke had touched moments ago, only now it felt a hundred times more intense. The gentleness of his touch was at odds with the dark, predatory look in his eyes, and your body tensed with the growing tension.

"You flinched when he touched you" Sylus murmured, his voice dangerously low. His finger made another slow pass down your spine, making you shiver involuntarily. "But that sound you made... that was for me, wasn't it, kitten?"

His words sent a chill through you, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your body responded to every calculated movement of his finger. He knew exactly what he was doing, toying with you, making you squirm without even needing to move more than a fingertip. It was maddening, the way he maintained control over you, even now.

You tried to speak but the words wouldn't come. Sylus tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a dark, knowing smile. "You're mine and I don't like sharing." His finger paused for a brief second before continuing its slow descent down your back, dragging out the sensation. "I think I'll remind you of that."

Your breath hitched again as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the side of your neck, teasing but not quite touching. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the possessiveness behind every subtle move.

His evol kept your arms locked around his neck, keeping you trapped against him, powerless to resist. And despite the darkness in the air, the intensity of his touch, you felt your body betraying you, drawn to him in ways you couldn't control.

"You like this, don't you?" he whispered, his voice rough, his finger finally reaching the small of your back before trailing up again at an agonizingly slow pace. "I can feel it. Don't deny it."

You whimpered, the sound escaping before you could stop it, your body reacting to the tension he was building with such little effort. Sylus's smirk deepened as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"Good girl."

There was no escape. His evol had you trapped and you were completely at his mercy and the worst part was-you didn't want to get away.

[moonyswoony]

Lost and found

Pairing: Five hargreeves x reader

Summary: You an Five discover more than just plants and strawberries in the greenhouse

Warning(s): kissing, fluff, nothing really

“What the hell is this place?” Five muttered, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“Beats me,” you replied, stepping further inside. “But it’s not like we’ve stumbled upon a better place than this one so far.”

The two of you had been on the run for what felt like an eternity. Your attempt to figure out the subway had gone sideways—again—and now you were stuck in this strange, green timeline with no clear path back.

Five stayed close as you ventured deeper into the greenhouse, his sharp eyes scanning every inch. “This doesn’t make sense. None of this should be here.”

You brushed your fingers against a nearby vine, feeling the life pulsing through it. “Maybe this is just a small piece of the world that refused to die.”

Five huffed, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “That, or we’ve stumbled into some kind of twisted fairytale.”

“Great. Does that make you the grumpy old troll under the bridge?” you teased.

“If I’m the troll, that makes you the annoying adventurer who won’t stop asking questions,” he shot back, though his tone was more fond than bitter.

As you explored, you found yourself drawn to a patch of strawberries growing along the far wall. They were perfectly ripe, a vibrant red that stood out against the greens and browns around them. Without thinking, you plucked one and popped it into your mouth, savoring the sweetness.

Five watched with raised eyebrows. “You sure that’s safe?”

“If it’s not, at least I’ll go out with a decent meal,” you replied, plucking another and offering it to him.

He hesitated, then took it, biting into the fruit with a thoughtful expression. “Not bad.”

“High praise from you,” you quipped.

There was a brief, comfortable silence as you both absorbed the strange beauty of this place. The tension that had been winding tighter and tighter over the past few days—or even years—slowly began to ease, the peacefulness of this place working its way into your entire being.

As you wandered deeper, you came across a patch of wildflowers bathed in golden sunlight. You knelt to touch them, their delicate petals soft under your fingers. “This feels like a dream,” you murmured.

“Or a trap,” Five countered, though his voice lacked its usual edge.

You looked up at him, catching an unguarded expression in his eyes,something softer, more vulnerable than you were used to seeing. “Five?”

He stepped closer, the sunlight casting a warm glow across his features. “You’ve always been fearless,” he chuckled,though his voice was quieter than usual.

You blinked in surprise. “What are you talking about? I’m not fearless, I’m—”

“You are,” he insisted. “And I should have told you sooner.”

“Five…”

“I’ve spent so much time trying to fix everything, trying to keep us all alive, that I forgot there are things I want, too,” he said, his gaze pined on you.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut as you realised what he was implying—not in a painful way, but in a way that left you breathless. You had always known there was something between you, a connection that went deeper than partnership or friendship, but his words still had that affect on you.

Without giving yourself time to overthink it, you reached up and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic, but slow and deliberate, a promise in every brush of your lips against his. Five responded in kind, one hand slipping around your waist while the other cupped the back of your neck, holding you close.

The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing your lower lip before slipping into your mouth. You felt your knees weaken as a wave of heat washed over you, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt as if to support yourself. His hand slid down your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew more intense, more desperate.

It was a kiss that spoke of everything you had both been holding back,years of unspoken feelings, of missed opportunities, all coming to the surface in this one, perfect moment.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath.

“I love you,” he said, his voice rough but certain.

You smiled, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “I love you too.”

For a moment, you both stood there in silence, the reality of what you had just confessed settling over you like a warm blanket. The world around you didn’t feel as interesting anymore, not when he was in front of you.

Five glanced around at the greenery, his expression contemplative. “You know, we don’t have to leave right away.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want to stay?”

“Just for a little while,” he admitted, surprising you with the softness in his voice. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a moment of peace. We could use the rest and some proper food.”

You looked around at the lush greenery, the golden sunlight filtering through the broken skylight, and felt a sense of calm settle over you. “Yeah,” you agreed, smiling up at him. “Let’s stay.”

With that decision made, the tension that had been a constant companion began to melt away. You found a spot to sit, leaning against a wall covered in ivy, and Five joined you, his hand finding yours and holding it tightly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself relax. No missions, no timelines, no disasters—just the two of you, in a place that felt almost unreal.

Five squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “if we’re staying here, we might as well make the most of it.”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring every second. “I couldn’t agree more.”

[tsumuus]

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the UA High grounds, highlighting the changing leaves of the nearby trees. You stood by the training field, watching the other students practice. The laughter and shouts of your classmates filled the air, but your attention was fixed on one particular figure: Katsuki Bakugou.

You and Bakugou had become close over the years. What started as a forced friendship, born from your brief relationship with Eijiro Kirishima, had evolved into something much deeper. You spent countless hours together, training, studying, and sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence.

Bakugou's intense focus was something you admired, and you found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn't explain. Yet, there was always an unspoken barrier between you, a lingering shadow of your past with Kirishima.

Bakugou's sharp eyes met yours from across the field, and he gave you a small nod before turning back to his training. His movements were powerful and precise, a testament to his dedication. You couldn't help but smile, proud of how far he'd come.

"Hey, you okay?" Kirishima's voice pulled you from your thoughts. He stood beside you, his usual grin in place.

"Yeah, just watching Bakugou," you replied, trying to sound casual.

Kirishima chuckled. "He's something, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he really is."

There was a pause, a moment of silence filled with unspoken words. You and Kirishima had never really talked about your brief relationship. It had ended abruptly, leaving both of you confused but still friends.

"He's lucky to have you as a friend, you know," Kirishima said, his voice softer.

You glanced at him, a question in your eyes.

"I mean it," he continued. "You've been good for him. And... well, I think he feels the same about you."

Your heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

Kirishima shrugged, looking out at Bakugou. "Just a feeling."

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself sitting on the steps outside the dorms, lost in thought. Bakugou joined you, his presence comforting in its familiarity.

"What's got you so quiet?" he asked, his voice gruff but tinged with concern.

You hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject. "Just thinking about... us."

Bakugou stiffened slightly but didn't look away. "What about us?"

You took a deep breath. "About how we became friends because of Kirishima. And how... things have changed."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze intense. "Yeah, things have changed."

"I don't regret it, you know," you said softly. "Becoming friends with you."

Bakugou's expression softened, just a fraction. "Me neither."

There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath. You could feel the weight of his unspoken feelings, the tension that had been building between you.

"Listen," Bakugou said finally, his voice low. "I know about the whole thing you had with Kirishima, but... I can't keep pretending I don't feel something more for you."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "Bakugou..."

He looked away, frustration evident. "I just... I needed to say it."

You reached out, your hand brushing against his. "I'm glad you did."

His eyes met yours, a mixture of relief and uncertainty. "What about Kirishima?"

You smiled softly. "We'll figure it out. Together."

Bakugou's hand tightened around yours, and for the first time, you saw a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "Yeah. Together."

‘what's the problem? i don't know. well, maybe i'm in love’

masterlist

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home

Hey guyss, I wanted to write a story for Charles to celebrate his victory in Monza. I know this part is very reader x Arthur but let me know what you think and if you want more parts :)

You’ve known the Leclercs all your life. It’s hard not to when you’re their neighbour. With you and Arthur being the same age and going to the same class, you naturally became best friends, spending every moment together. From school to afternoons playing at each other's houses to accompanying his family to the track for their races, your lives were intertwined.

You grew up with them. You were there when Arthur won his first race, when Charles got into Formula 1, when you graduated high school. Your life has always been surrounded by the Leclercs, so it was almost inevitable that you’d fall for one of them—Charles.

It was evident to everyone. Even Arthur noticed, and he didn’t like it at all. He made you promise you would never date his brother. After all, how could he stand that when he was in love with you, even if you had no idea?

Your crush on Charles was just that—a crush, an infatuation, a dream. He was older than you and often had a different girl on his arm. You didn’t stand a chance, or so you thought.

Aside from your love dilemmas, everything seemed to be going okay, until one day, your father received a job offer that involved moving to Spain. Your life changed drastically from one day to the next. You spent your last night in Monaco with Arthur, savouring your final hours together before your departure.

The moon hung low over Monaco, casting a soft glow on the city. You and Arthur sat on the steps of the Leclercs' home, the cool night air surrounding you. It was quiet, the kind of silence that carries a weight of unspoken words.

"I can't believe you're leaving," Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't either," you replied, looking down at your hands. "It all happened so fast. One moment, everything was normal, and the next, we're packing up our lives."

Arthur nodded, staring off into the distance. "It's not going to be the same without you here."

You felt a lump in your throat. "I'm going to miss you so much, Arthur. We've done everything together since we were kids. I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

He turned to look at you, his eyes soft but filled with something you couldn’t quite place. "You'll do great things. You always do. Spain…it's just a new adventure for you."

"But I don't want to go," you blurted out, the tears you had been holding back starting to spill over. "I want to stay here, with you, with everyone. I don’t want to leave my life behind."

Arthur reached out, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. The touch was tender, lingering longer than usual. "Hey, don’t cry. We’ll still be friends, no matter where you are. You know that, right?"

You nodded, sniffling. "I know, but it's not the same."

He hesitated for a moment, as if battling with himself. "I just…I want you to know that…you mean a lot to me. More than you probably realize."

You gave a small, shaky laugh. "You mean a lot to me too, Arthur. You're my best friend."

He looked like he wanted to say something more, his mouth opening slightly before he closed it again, shaking his head. "Yeah…best friends."

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Arthur gazed at you, his eyes searching yours, and you thought you saw something flicker there—a brief, intense flash of emotion that was gone as quickly as it appeared. Before you could decipher it, he pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly against him.

"I'll always be here for you, no matter what," he murmured into your hair.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "And I'll always be here for you."

You stayed like that for a while, neither of you wanting to let go, until the sky began to lighten with the first signs of dawn. With a heavy heart, you pulled back, knowing it was time to go.

"Goodbye, Arthur," you whispered.

"Goodbye," he replied, his voice barely audible.

As you walked away, you missed the way he watched you, the way his hand reached out, almost as if he wanted to call you back, to tell you everything he’d been holding inside. But he didn’t. He let you go.

Years had passed since that night. You had spent the last four years in Spain, earning your degree and living a different life. But now, you were back in Monaco, ready to start your master's degree.

The airport buzzed with activity, a mix of tourists and locals rushing to their destinations. You walked through the arrival gate, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

And there he was.

Arthur stood near the entrance, leaning against a pillar with his hands in his pockets, a smile spreading across his face as he spotted you. His hair was a bit longer, and he looked more mature, but his eyes still held that same warmth you remembered.

"Welcome back," he said, pulling you into a hug as you reached him.

"It's so good to see you!" you exclaimed, squeezing him tightly. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he replied, his voice softer. He pulled back, looking you over. "Spain's been good to you. You look great."

"Thanks," you said, blushing slightly. "You look good too, Arthur. Really good."

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks. It's been…different without you here."

You smiled, linking your arm through his as you started walking towards the exit. "Well, I'm back now. We have a lot of catching up to do."

As you talked, Arthur felt his heart swell with every word you said, every smile you gave. Seeing you again brought back all those feelings he’d tried so hard to bury. But he knew better than to show it. You still saw him as your best friend, nothing more. And after all this time, he didn’t want to risk ruining what you had.

"Yeah, we do," he agreed, keeping his voice light. "So, where to first? Home or food?"

You laughed. "Definitely food. I’m starving!"

Arthur chuckled, guiding you towards his car. "Food it is, then. I've got just the place in mind."

As he drove, he stole glances at you, soaking in every detail, every expression. He had never stopped loving you, even after all these years. But for now, he was content just having you back in his life, even if it was just as friends.

Because being near you, hearing your laugh, seeing your smile—that was enough. At least, for now.

Part 2

[virgoilluminati]

Jude and Y/N going to a wedding - maybe Jude is her plus one and they're all over them because he's famous and he's just so in love with Y/N that he doesn't notice 🤭❣️

Numero uno

Inspo: Set in the World Class series, y/n's older brother Rowan decides to finally tie the knot with his girlfriend Rosemary. In turn, Y/N invites Jude as her plus one. Little did she know that inviting her boyfriend who almost won the euro's would cause such a stir.

You hated weddings. You hated the formality, the expectations, the grand declarations of love. How could anyone promise to love someone forever when life was so unpredictable, so fragile? People fell out of love, people changed, and worst of all, people died. You had seen it firsthand and the pain it caused.

The memory of Noah, your eldest brother, loomed large in your mind. He had been the glue that held their family together, his laughter and warmth filling every room he entered. But in 2020, a tragic accident had taken him from them, leaving a gaping hole that time could never fully heal. Rowan had been especially close to Noah, and you knew that today, more than ever, he would be feeling that absence acutely.

Yet, this wedding was different. Your older brother Rowan, who had been with his girlfriend Rosemary for as long as you could remember, had finally proposed. Rowan and Rosemary’s relationship had weathered many storms, and their love had only grown stronger. It was a day of joy and celebration, something you couldn’t deny them, despite your own reservations.

You stood in front of the mirror in your hotel room, your hands trembling slightly as you tried to zip up your dress. The gown was a stunning mix of red and black satin, elegant and bold, but the zipper seemed to have a mind of its own. You struggled with it for a moment, your thoughts drifting back to all the times Noah had teased you about your dramatic views on love and marriage. He would have laughed at you today, seeing you all dressed up and ready to support Rowan.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from her reverie. “Y/N, are you okay in there?” Jude’s voice, warm and concerned, came through the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you called back, though your voice wavered slightly. “Just having a bit of trouble with this zipper.”

Jude entered the room, his presence instantly calming you. He looked impeccable in his tailored suit, every bit the professional athlete who had just come off an incredible performance at the 2024 Men’s Euros. But here, in this moment, he was just Jude, the man who had captured your heart.

“Let me help,” he offered, moving behind you. His fingers brushed lightly against your bare back as he took hold of the zipper, sending a shiver down your spine. He slowly pulled the zipper upwards, your eyes meeting in the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, his voice husky with admiration.

Your breath hitched, a blush creeping up your neck. “Thank you,” you replied softly.

As his fingers lingered on your back, you thought again of Noah. The thought of him brought a pang of sadness that you couldn’t shake.

“Y/N,” Jude’s voice pulled her back to the present. “You okay?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… thinking about Noah. He should be here.”

Jude’s eyes softened with understanding. “I know. He would have loved this.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But you’re here, and that’s what matters to Rowan."

You nodded, drawing strength from Jude’s presence. “You’re right. Thank you.”

He smiled, his eyes filled with love. “Always.”

You turned to face him fully, your hands resting on his chest. “You look pretty good yourself,” you teased, your voice trembling slightly.

Jude grinned, his eyes darkening with desire. “Well, I have to look my best if I’m going to keep up with you.”

You shared a brief, passionate kiss, the intensity of your love wrapping around you. When you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, you felt a thrill of excitement. Despite the sadness, despite your doubts, this day held a promise of happiness and love.

“We should get downstairs,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Jude stole one more quick kiss. “Yeah, we should,” he agreed, but his eyes told her he was in no rush. You steal one last kiss, before Jude gestures an arm for you to take and you slowly make their way down the stairs.

You and Jude arrived at the wedding reception, a beautifully decorated hall filled with flowers and twinkling lights. The soft murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses created a warm, celebratory atmosphere. You found a quiet corner near the entrance, waiting for the rest of your family to arrive.

You fidgeted with the strap of your bra, trying to adjust it discreetly. Jude noticed your discomfort and stepped in front of you, shielding you from view.

"Need some help?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

"Just trying to fix this strap," you whispered back, your fingers fumbling with the fabric.

Jude placed his hands gently on your shoulders, his body acting as a shield while you adjusted your strap. He kept glancing down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, noticing his intense gaze.

Jude's lips curled into a small smile. "No, nothing's wrong. It's just... you look really hot right now."

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. "Thanks," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude's hand slid from your shoulder to your waist, pulling you closer. "Seriously, you’re making it very hard to focus on anything else," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. His other hand rested briefly on your ass, giving a gentle squeeze before moving away as he heard footsteps approaching.

Your heart raced, the heat between you two intensifying. "Who says you have to?" You whispered back, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him even closer.

Jude's eyes darkened, his other hand drifting down to your hip, fingers lightly grazing the fabric of your dress. His lips found your neck, planting soft, teasing kisses along your skin. Your eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping your lips. His touch was intoxicating, and for a moment, you were lost in your own world.

"You're driving me crazy," Jude whispered against your skin, his voice husky.

Your breath hitched as his hand trailed up your back, lingering at the nape of your neck. "Good," she managed to say, your voice shaking with desire.

Jude pulled back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of lust and affection. "If we weren't at your brother's wedding..."

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest. "I know."

Your moment was intense, the world around you fading as you both focused solely on each other. Jude's thumb brushed against your jawline, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Before you could get further lost in each other, the sound of approaching footsteps and voices broke their intimate bubble. You reluctantly pulled apart, your connection still palpable, and turned to face the incoming relatives.

As you and Jude were still adjusting from your intimate moment, Aunt Karen approached with her warm smile, her eyes flickering with a hint of curiosity. "Y/N, darling! It’s so good to see you!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. Then she turned to Jude, her eyes twinkling with familiarity. "And Jude, always a pleasure. How’s everything going?"

Jude smiled, his gaze locking onto yours, a silent message passing between you two. "Good to see you, Aunt Karen," he replied smoothly, but there was a heat in his eyes that made Your breath catch.

You gave a distracted smile, your attention drifting back to the way Jude’s tuxedo fit him perfectly, accentuating the strong lines of his body. Your heart skipped a beat, the memory of their earlier closeness still tingling on your skin. You could feel the warmth of his touch lingering, and despite the ongoing conversation, all you could think about was how impossibly handsome he looked tonight.

Your Grandma appeared next, her eyes sharp yet affectionate as she took in the sight of you two. "Well, if it isn’t my favorite couple," she said with a teasing lilt in her voice, her gaze lingering on the space between you. "I must say, Jude, you’re looking dashing tonight."

Jude's smile widened, but his hand subtly brushed against You, sending a thrill up her spine. "Thank you. It’s great to see you," he responded, though his attention never fully left you.

Your gaze lingered on Jude, your thoughts clouded with admiration and something deeper, something that made your heart race. Your Grandma’s words barely registered as she continued, “And how was the Euro final? We were all glued to the TV, cheering for you!”

Your Uncle Michael joined the conversation, his face lit up with excitement. "We were screaming the house down! Me and the lads from the pub couldn’t believe it when you scored that winning goal. Everyone was talking about it!”

You shifted uncomfortably. The praise directed at Jude felt overwhelming, especially as your own achievements were being overshadowed. They each forgot the Women’s World Cup again, with the conversation seemingly revolved solely around Jude’s Euro final. You bit your lip, focusing on Jude’s sleek, tailored tux instead of voicing your frustration, but the intensity of your feelings were hard to ignore.

Another relative, Cousin Lisa, chimed in enthusiastically, “Honestly, Jude, you were phenomenal. The whole neighborhood was talking about it. I think they’re still raving about it!”

Jude’s eyes shifted to you, noticing your distant expression. He could sense your discomfort, the subtle tension between you growing as he decided to address it with a hint of humor. “Well, I don’t know. What do you think, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he glanced at you with a playful smirk.

Uncle Michael raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “What would she know? She’s not the one who made it to the final.”

Jude chuckled, his gaze never leaving you. “Actually, I think Y/N has a pretty good perspective. She didn’t just make it to the final—she won the whole Women’s World Cup,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of pride and admiration.

The room fell silent for a moment, and you felt a surge of pride and attraction. The way Jude acknowledged your achievements made your heart race, adding to the growing warmth between you. You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his with a newfound intensity, the air between you tao crackling with unspoken desire.

"Well, congratulations to both of you," Aunt Karen said, her voice sincere. "You both have so much to be proud of."

You managed a smile, though your attention remained focused on Jude. His presence, the way he spoke up for you, and the genuine admiration in his eyes made your heart swell with affection, and something more—a hunger that you couldn’t quite quell.

As the relatives continued to chat and praise Jude, you found it difficult to pull your gaze away from him. His tuxedo, his confident demeanor, and his unwavering support for you in front of everyone only amplified your attraction to him. It was a reminder of why you were so drawn to him, beyond the accolades and the excitement of the evening.

Amid the chatter, you reached out and took Jude’s hand under the table, your fingers lacing with his. You squeezed it gently, your touch lingering. "Thanks for standing up for me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Jude’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb brushing against your hand in a slow, deliberate caress. "Anytime," he replied, his voice low and reassuring, filled with a promise of more.

As you continued to mingle, the focus gradually shifted back to the others, but your thoughts were miles away, lost in the way Jude’s touch made you feel. There was a contentment in knowing that despite the overshadowing praise, you had Jude by your side.

As you and Jude settled into your seats in the church, the soft murmur of guests filled the air, blending with the gentle strains of the prelude music. Your attention was immediately drawn to Isabella, your six-year-old niece, who stood near the front with the other bridesmaids. Isabella, or Bella as the family fondly called her, looked absolutely adorable in her tiny ivory dress, a crown of flowers delicately perched atop her bouncy curls.

Your face lit up as she leaned forward, unable to contain her excitement. “Bella, you look like an absolute princess!” You gushed, your eyes twinkling with pride.

Bella smiled brightly, her cheeks flushing with happiness. She gave a little twirl, letting the layers of her dress float around her. “Thank you, Aunty Y/N! Do you really like it?” she asked, her voice full of hope.

“I love it,” You replied warmly, your smile wide and genuine. “You’re the most beautiful bridesmaid here.”

Jude sat beside you, his eyes soft as he watched the exchange. There was something incredibly heartwarming about the way you interacted with Bella—how you made the little girl feel so special and loved. He could see the natural ease with which you connected with your niece, and it stirred something deep within him.

As Bella giggled and skipped off to join the other bridesmaids, your gaze lingered on her, still glowing with affection. You turned back to Jude, your expression full of warmth. “She’s such a sweetheart, isn’t she?” You said, your voice tinged with pride.

Jude nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “She really is,” he agreed, but his mind was elsewhere.

Watching you with Bella made Jude think about your future together. He could so clearly imagine you as a mother, holding your own children with the same tenderness you showed Bella. The thought filled him with a deep sense of warmth and anticipation, a quiet longing that he kept to himself. He knew how much you cared for your niece, but he also knew that the idea of starting a family someday made you nervous. It was something you hadn’t really discussed, and Jude didn’t want to push it, especially not now.

Instead, he simply admired you, letting the image of your possible future settle in his heart. You had a way of making people feel cherished, and he knew you would be an incredible mother someday—but that was a conversation for another time.

You noticed the thoughtful look on Jude’s face and gave him a gentle nudge. “What are you thinking about?” You asked, you tone light and curious.

Jude shook off his thoughts, offering her a soft smile. “Just how good you are with Bella,” he said, keeping his voice casual.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you laughed softly. “She’s been my little Bella since the day she was born,” you replied, your voice filled with affection.

Jude squeezed your hand gently, his smile lingering as you turned your attention back to the front of the church, where the ceremony was about to begin. He didn’t need to say anything more. For now, he was content to simply be by your side, holding onto the quiet knowledge of what he hoped your future would hold—dreaming of a day when you would be ready to take that next step together.

The ceremony soon began, and You watched as your sister Eden took her place as a bridesmaid, while your brother Elliot stood proudly as Rowan’s best man. The anticipation grew as everyone waited for the bride.

As the music swelled, the doors at the end of the aisle opened, and Rosemary appeared, radiant in her wedding gown. You felt a lump form in your throat as you saw Rowan at the altar, his eyes brimming with tears as he watched his bride walk towards him. The emotion in the room was palpable, and you felt yourself getting choked up.

You couldn’t contain your excitement, smiling and gushing as you watched your brother. You had never seen Rowan so happy, and the joy in his eyes was contagious. Although you wished Noah could be there to witness this moment, your heart swelled with happiness for Rowan.

Little Isabella, the flower girl, walked ahead of Rosemary, carrying a basket of petals. Every few steps, she would delicately sprinkle the flowers along the aisle, her concentration adorable. You couldn’t help but admire Isabella’s dedication to her role, smiling each time the little girl looked up with pride.

Jude noticed the way your eyes lit up, how you seemed to be the embodiment of joy and love in that moment. He was completely besotted with you, watching you as you took in every detail of the ceremony. He knew, without a doubt, that you were the one he wanted to spend his life with.

The officiant began the ceremony, and soon it was time for Rowan and Rosemary to exchange vows. Rosemary took a deep breath and smiled at Rowan.

“Rowan, from the moment Noah introduced us, I knew you were special. I promise to always laugh at your jokes, even the terrible ones. I vow to support you in your dreams and to love you fiercely, no matter what.”

Rowan chuckled, wiping away a tear. “Rosemary, I promise to always let you have the last slice of pizza. I vow to support your dreams and to love you through every adventure, every challenge, and every joy.”

Jude felt his throat tighten, his emotions mirroring the couple’s. As Rowan and Rosemary exchanged their vows, he couldn’t help but imagine standing up there with you one day, saying those same words, making those same promises. The thought made his heart swell with a mixture of hope and longing.

The mention of Noah made your tears spill over, and you rested your head on Jude’s shoulder, finding comfort in his presence. Jude’s eyes were misty too, and he wiped away a tear discreetly, his emotions matching yours. He tightened his grip on you, feeling a surge of protectiveness and love.

As Rowan and Rosemary shared their first kiss as a married couple, the guests erupted into applause. You joined in, your heart full despite the bittersweet memories. You looked up at Jude, who smiled down at you with so much love and understanding that it made you feel incredibly grateful to have him by yiur side.

“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Jude whispered, his voice slightly choked with emotion.

You nodded, wiping your tears. “Yeah, it really was.”

You sat there for a moment, soaking in the love and joy that filled the room. Jude’s thoughts wandered to the future, to the possibility of a life with you, filled with moments like this. He couldn’t help but dream of standing at an altar, looking into your eyes, and making vows of his own.

Later that evening, the reception is in full swing. The dance floor is alive with energy, guests mingling and celebrating Rowan and Rosemary’s union. The lights are dimmed, casting a warm, intimate glow over the scene.

You find yourself in the middle of the dance floor, smiling as Jude lifts little Isabella onto his shoulders. Her giggles are infectious as she waves her arms, trying to keep up with the rhythm. You dance alongside your sister Eden, the two of you moving in sync, laughing and twirling.

Isabella’s laughter rings out, her tiny hands clapping in delight. "More, more!" she shouts, and Jude obliges, spinning around and making her squeal with joy. Your heart swells with love as you watch Jude interact with your family. He fits in so perfectly, and it makes you think about what the future might hold for both of you.

You glance around the room, taking in the sight of your loved ones celebrating together. Rowan and Rosemary are glowing with happiness, sharing a private moment at their table. Your parents are dancing nearby, looking as in love as ever. The warmth and joy of the occasion fill you with a sense of peace. God, Noah would've loved this.

The DJ’s voice echoes through the speakers, “Can all couples please make their way to the floor for a slow dance?”

Isabella is gently lifted off Jude’s shoulders and handed over to Eden, who continues to twirl and dance with her. Jude turns to you, extending his hand with a playful bow. "May I have this dance?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with affection.

You giggle and take his hand, allowing him to lead you to the center of the floor. The music slows, and the soft, romantic melody fills the room. Jude’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you close. You wrap your arms around his neck, and together you sway gently to the rhythm.

As you move together, everything else seems to fade away. The chatter of the guests, the clinking of glasses, and even the music itself become a distant hum. It’s as if time has stopped, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

You look up at Jude, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing a tailored black tuxedo that fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and athletic build. His dark hair is styled neatly, and his deep brown eyes are filled with love and adoration as he gazes down at you. The way the dim light catches his features makes him look even more handsome, if that’s possible.

Jude’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes locking onto yours with a gaze that speaks volumes. His hands move gently up and down your back, sending shivers down your spine. You feel so safe, so cherished in his embrace.

“You know,” Jude murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “I could get used to this. Dancing with you, being with you. Forever.”

Your heart flutters at his words, your breath catching in your throat. You smile up at him, your eyes misty with emotion. “Me too,” you reply softly. “Me too.”

You lose yourself in his eyes, feeling the world around you blur into insignificance. His touch is gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment. The way he looks at you makes you feel like the only person in the room, and you know without a doubt that this is where you’re meant to be.

The music envelops you both, the melody weaving a cocoon of intimacy around you. You rest your head on Jude’s shoulder, closing your eyes and savoring the feeling of being held by him. His scent, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him, fills your senses, making you feel even closer to him.

You’re wearing a stunning dress that’s a mix of red and black, the fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places. The intricate lace details add an air of elegance, while the deep red color highlights your features, making your eyes sparkle. Your hair is styled in loose waves, cascading down your back, and your makeup is done to perfection, highlighting your natural beauty.

As the song progresses, you feel Jude’s hand slip down to rest on the small of your back, his fingers tracing light patterns that send a thrill through you. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong, and it matches the rhythm of your own.

You tilt your head up slightly, your lips brushing against his ear. “I love you" you whisper, the words coming straight from your heart.

Jude tightens his hold on you, his lips grazing your temple. “Me too, your my numero uno.” he replies, his voice filled with emotion.

The world around you ceases to exist as you sway together, completely lost in each other. You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of peace and happiness you’ve never known before. Being with Jude feels like home.

As the song comes to an end, Jude leans down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. It’s a promise, a silent vow of the future you both dream of. When you pull apart, the room comes back into focus, but the magic of the moment lingers.

You glance over to see Rowan and Rosemary sharing a similar moment, their love shining brightly. Your parents are still dancing, your mom resting her head on your dad’s shoulder with a contented smile. Even little Isabella is now nestled in Eden’s arms, looking sleepy but happy.

You feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the love and support surrounding you. And as you look back at Jude, you see the same emotion mirrored in his eyes. He gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering on your cheek.

“Ready for another dance?” he asks, his smile soft and inviting.

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Always,” you say, your voice filled with love.

The next song begins, and you lose yourself in Jude’s embrace once more. As you move together, you notice Jude’s expression shifts slightly, a familiar look of deep contemplation crossing his face.

“What is it?” you ask softly, curiosity piqued.

Jude looks slightly startled. “What do you mean?”

“You did that face earlier,” you insist. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Jude hesitates, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Jude, tell me!” you press, your eyes searching his.

He sighs softly, pulling you a little closer. “It’s just... when you were with Bella earlier, I couldn’t help but imagine what you’d be like with our kids. And when you were looking at Rosemary during the ceremony, all I could think about was how beautiful you’ll be when we get married.”

You’re taken aback by his honesty, your heart skipping a beat. “Jude...”

He quickly continues, sensing your apprehension. “I know, not now. But I also know that I want it with you. Whenever that is.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and love there. It’s a lot to take in, but there’s a comforting certainty in his words. He isn’t pushing, just sharing his dreams, dreams that now feel a little less frightening and a lot more wonderful.

“I... I want that too,” you admit softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Someday.”

Jude smiles, a look of pure adoration on his face. “Then someday it is,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you again, sealing the promise with a tender touch.

As the music plays on and you continue to dance, the future seems a little clearer, a little brighter. And with Jude by your side, you know that whatever comes, you’ll face it together.

[cofigelly]

ೀ SIX EYES

——————————————————————————pairing; college au!gojo satoru x reader

synopsis; you couldn’t help but notice a pair of wandering eyes during your 10am lecture

word count; ~2k words

contents; sfw, f!reader, no curses au, rich college student gojo, cocky/playful gojo, six eye/infinity references

notes; THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A QUICK LIL DRABBLE IDK WHAT HAPPENED? i <3 run ons and sentence fragments apparently

——————————————————————————

the first thing you noticed about him were his eyes.

well, technically, his eyes noticed you first.

in the midst of your monday 10am lecture (known for its lengthy, soul-wrenching talks about finance), you felt his sharp gaze pierce straight into your soul. it was a brief, quick glance — but it was an intentional glance, nonetheless.

you simply brushed it off. it must’ve been him zoning out, or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. that was until you caught him repeating the same habit again. and again. over the course of the next three weeks.

that same, hungry gaze, taking in every intricacy of your features. a look that felt like it set your entire body on fire, despite the icy blue hue his pupils reflected each time you returned a glance. his stare would only last a few seconds at most, but something about it felt so intense, so overbearing— it made hold your breath each time.

in all honesty, you didn't mind the attention. in fact, you kind of reveled in it — a handsome, 6'3 guy always ogling at you every lecture. it even had you thinking that maybe he was into you?

but that was at first. as more weeks passed, the more your ego shrank. 'is there something on my face,' you wondered, patting at your cheeks to search for some sort of makeup residue or food crumb, 'do i look stupid?' the large, echoey lecture hall felt evermore revealing as you struggled to find a way to shrink into your plastic-clad seat. but you couldn't hide, not from a stare like that.

paranoia getting the best of you, you slide your phone out of your pocket as you send a hasty text to your best friend, “bro who is this guy? he keeps staring at me EVERY lecture,” you send a 0.5x photo, clearly taken from afar.

just as quickly, your friend responds, “NO FUCKIN WAY is that gojo???” “who the fuck is gojo?”

you could almost feel her attitude burst through the text bubbles, “bro… GOJO. his family is literally loaded?? did you not see his dad surpass bill gates on the global ranking of billionaires?” that text takes you a little by surprise, alternating your eyes between him and the message upon your screen. “okay maybe it’s starting to sound familiar, but still. what’s he doing cosplaying as a broke college kid in my finance class?” you sigh as you continue to tap on your screen, “idgaf that he’s loaded it’s pissing me off that he’s staring at me like 🧿🫦🧿 every lecture.”

your friend reacts with a quick “haha” to your text before responding, “idk man maybe you just caught the attention of the richest guy on campus ;)”

you decided you’ve had enough after reading that text. you’re not about to feed your delusions this early on a monday morning. you’ll admit, he’s a good —no, stunning— looking guy, but you have no time to babysit a boy who was never taught that staring was rude. not to mention, this boy isn't even in the same tax bracket as you. 

brushing it off yet another time, you let out a deep sigh as you flip the page, copying your professor’s notes on the board.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

a whole month has passed and this gojo guy is growing more and more cocky with his stolen glances. he's not even trying to hide it anymore.

this fateful wednesday, as you walk into class, he immediately locks onto you. his bright blue orbs follow you from the door to your row, not releasing his gaze in the slightest after you settle into your seat. your grit your teeth in annoyance as you flip through your notebook pages. who does this guy think he is? it’s been a month and he hasn’t even procured the balls to say a single word to you. yet, he’s feasting on you like you’re his final meal on death row. 

the second the class is excused, you immediately beeline towards his seat — stopping in front of his leaning frame while he packs his bag. “dude, what the hell is your problem,” scowling at him as you approach, “i’ve seen you stare at me for weeks now and it’s getting straight creepy."

his ears perk at the sound of your voice, haphazardly zipping up the final pocket of his backpack. when he looks up, his eyes glint with a hint of mischief as he scrunches his nose in a grin — a grin that’s somehow even cockier than his stare.

“i’m just taking in the view, princess,” he jeers, delight in his tone. 

you stare at him incredulously as you take his confession in. so he really has been staring at you? “for one, i’m not your princess," you scoff at his clear disregard of your concern, "second, you might want to think again before you decide to stare at me one more damn time.”

he hums amusingly, shaking his foot in a steady rhythm, “you’re right. i might think about it again.” his grin is even wider now, “why, what are you going to do about it?”

“—look, i don’t know what you’re getting at,” your eyebrows furrow deeper, “but if you keep this shit up, this won’t be the last time you hear from me.”

briskly, you swing around, completely ignoring his bickers as you head straight out the hallway door. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

to gojo, everything you said on wednesday was music to his ears.

he strolled into the next lecture, on monday, with the same shit-eating grin on his face. ‘this wont be the last time he hears from you?' god, he hopes that was true. it made him wonder why he didn’t just stare at you harder in the first place.

everything about you captivated gojo satoru.

from the first day of lecture, he was already mesmerized — by the wafting scent of your cologne as you walked past his row, the way your head cocked to the side whenever you thought through a problem set, the distant clicks as you tapped the end of your pencil against your arm nervously.

he simply couldn’t help but steal that initial glance. he also couldn’t help but steal another one the lecture after.

and another. and another.

he knew he was getting ahead of himself, being so selfish with his dangerous stares, but you just had that effect on him. an effect that he's never experienced with anyone else. he bit back his pride when he couldn’t even approach you first, as he normally did with his prior interests.

there was just something so serene, so heavenly about you. he almost wanted to leave you undisturbed, opting to observe you from afar — not wanting to disrupt his delicate masterpiece from behind the red rope at the museum.

but the day you approached him changed everything. ‘how can someone so innocent have such a mouth on her,’ he chuckles to himself, taking his ipad and apple pencil out of his backpack before laying them flat on the table.

you were completely unlike his initial impression of you, much to his amusement. he prefers it this way —actually— he likes a girl who has a bit of a bite. besides, he finally has an excuse to talk to you and do what he knows best: get under your skin. metaphorically (and literally).

he glances at the door as he hears the familiar clanking of your keychain against your water bottle, more excited for the lecture than he's ever been before.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

there is no fucking way.

gojo satoru is now sitting in the seat directly next to your unassigned assigned seat in this 300-person lecture hall. the entire classroom is almost packed too. how early did he have to be to even get that seat? why is he in that seat? your thoughts are cut off as he waves his hand at you, muttering a short "yoohoo~," ushering you to sit next to him.

hell no. you still have no idea what he's playing at. is he stalking you? does he have some sort of ulterior motive? what if his scary billionaire family kills you, a dirty plebeian, for sitting so close to their perfect, trust fund baby?

you immediately switch gears, practically running away to find a new seat, catching a glimpse of his pout in the corner of your eye. you ignore him and situate yourself in the very front row, directly in front of the professor's podium. you let out a deep exhale as you unpack your notebook when you hear a loud shuffle next to you.

this guy has no shame.

gojo, in all his glory, happily claims the empty seat next to you —unloading the entire apple store (or so it feels like) onto the desk. "good choice, doll. more leg room up here," he stretches his long, lanky legs before crossing them — making sure his knee briefly makes contact with yours.

"are you serious right now— bro your entire apple ecosystem is getting onto my side of the desk," you scowl at him once again as you shove his macbook closer to him. "serious about what?" he mocks, that signature smile gleaming down on you.

"whatever this is? are you obsessed with me or something," you mutter the last part under your breath, but he takes note of you rolling your eyes at him. "hmmm," he taps his chin all philosophically, "if anything you're the one obsessed with me."

wow, this guy really is insane. you felt your eyebrow twitch in anger as you jerked your head up, "me obsessed with you? how does that even make any sense—" "you said you noticed me staring for weeks," he muses, still looking straight at you, "but you don't think i noticed you staring back?"

you scoff, "i was simply just returning your gaze; not everything is about you!” “untrue.”

after refusing to make eye contact, you finally meet his eyes. "i'm not gonna play this damn game with you, look—"

you've never seen him this close before. you've never seen anyone this close before, really. in this cramped lecture hall, with its seats compressed like sardines, it felt like he was only mere millimeters away from you. your breath hitched as the air seemed palpable, heavy. he was so close, but it felt like he was untouchable — almost as if an infinite void was cast between you two.

for the first time, he dropped that condescending smirk. he dropped the facade altogether. beyond the icy blue hues, his eyes glistened a shade that he only shows to you, a shade you've never noticed in all those times you two locked eyes. they were powdery blue — the same softness as the edges of the clouds in the sky or the frothy, tidal waves lightly crashing against the beach sand.

it made you wonder if it was physically possible for one person to hold so much power in just their eyes. a power that felt like three whole people, six eyes-worth, were constantly peering into every fiber of your being. except this time, it was intense in a whole different way, completely unlike before. the closest feeling you could think of was a warm oven, fresh after a batch of cookies — an inexplicable warmth in contrast to his icy appearance.

lost in each others' eyes, he parts his lips as if to finally say something—

"i would really appreciate if you two kept your eyes on the board instead of on each other," a voice boomed from the podium in front of you.

you both tense up, quickly spinning your bodies around to face the front as the snickers began to fill the classroom. you completely forgot about how close you were sitting to the professor.

you felt a tinge of heat start on your cheeks, creeping its way up onto the cartilage of your ears. the embarrassment was more than enough to shut you both up for the rest of the period, but you knew.

you knew you wanted to feel this way again.

——————————————————————————

final notes; i wrote this in my actual lecture hall instead of taking notes guys😎😎 (i am severely ill)

[endless-ineffabilities]

this world was never meant for a fire like yours (part 4/5)

Daemon Targaryen x modern f!reader

word count: 6k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

series synopsis: After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.

themes/warnings: language, separation, intense yearning, actual bonding between Daemon and Vizzy, magic use, manipulation

September 2023 / the 9th Moon, 113 AC

The fire in the hearth flickers weakly, casting shadows on the stone walls in Daemon’s chambers. His fingers drum restlessly on the arm on his chair, his mind elsewhere.

Across from him, Viserys is lounging calmly, the faintest smile playing on his lips. He had invited himself in Daemon’s company, under the pretence of discussing the plans of the Realmwalkers. And they did just that, but the King’s eyes remain bright with amusement—a cruel irony, given his brother’s predicament.

Daemon has been back from Korzion for several moons, and he yearns for you to such a degree that it lingers like an ache in his bones.

“So, what was this other realm like?” Viserys breaks the silence, his voice curious. But Daemon mistakes it for taunting. 

“What was it like?” Daemon repeats, his voice a low rumble. He can feel his temper rising, as it almost always does when anything related to you is mentioned. When he has to speak of you, and be reminded that you are an entire world away.

Viserys leans forward, with a boyish eagerness to listen to tales of distant lands. “We never did get to have a proper discussion, brother. I would love to know. The… priestesses… called it the Realm of Steel. Now what does that mean? And its inhabitants are connected to devices? That must have been odd, indeed.”

Daemon stares at the fire, its fading warmth doing little to soothe the melancholy creeping into his thoughts. “You saw it.”

“Why, yes, brother,” Viserys nods thoughtfully, reclining again. “In the brief whisper of a moment that I spent in that realm, I was certainly able to familiarise myself with their ways.” His tone is clearly teasing, but Daemon finds no humour in it.

Daemon clenches his jaw, forcing the words out. “The only thing worth mentioning from the realm, the one thing that would have kept me there—”

“—is her, as you have mentioned before.” Viserys cuts in smoothly.

Daemon glares at his brother icily, his jaw clenching.

Viserys’ smile only widens. “Must you be so cross?” 

“I am not cross,” Daemon responds petulantly. “I am mourning.”

Viserys waves a hand dismissively, as though swatting away a trivial complaint. “You will see her again!”

“And until then, I will remain in mourning.” The finality in Daemon’s tone seems to sober Viserys, if only for a moment. 

“Daemon, you and your penchant for theatrics,” Viserys says, leaning back in his seat, indulging in a private jibe only he understands.

“Are you mocking me?” Daemon’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper. For all his love for his brother, there are moments—far too many moments—when Daemon considers drawing his blade, simply to see if Viserys would still be so smug with Dark Sister at his throat. 

Viserys holds up a hand in a placating gesture, though his eyes still sparkle with mischief. “What if I am? Will you strike at your King?” When his brother merely glowers at him, he continues, “There was something on her table. It possessed a dark hue, with a sheen to it. It looked stiff and peculiar…”

“Aye, she calls it a laptop,” Daemon says, his voice turning softer. He could see it so vividly in his mind—the glowing screen, the smooth surface of the strange object that seemed to hum with a life of its own. You had been understanding when he broke the one you owned originally in a fit of desperation, when the sentient overlord in the object called Google offered no answers.

Viserys’ face twists with confusion. “A lap… top?”

Daemon chuckles darkly at his brother’s obliviousness. “I called it a magic box at first.”

Viserys laughs out loud, the sound filling the chamber. “A magic box?”

“Pray tell,” Daemon drawls, “are you simply going to echo every word I utter?”

“Forgive me, brother,” Viserys says, his laughter dying down. “I am simply… amused.”

Daemon turns to face the hearth, the smirk that tugs at his lips growing impossible to hide. It was absurd, really—the man he had become in that world. A prince, warrior, and dragonlord brought low by strange, glowing boxes and foreign jargon that tumbled awkwardly from his lips. 

But you… you had made him feel like none of it mattered. In your arms, he wasn’t so out of place. 

Daemon sits silent for a moment, the memory of your time together tugging at him as he stares blankly into the flames. His lips twitch into the rarest of smiles—something soft and affectionate, uncharacteristic of the Rogue Prince.

“I nearly set fire to her home once, trying to cook us supper.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow. “You? Cooking?”

“I was so determined. Yet I managed to make a complete mess of something they call pasta. She ended up fixing what I ruined.”

“She must possess the patience of the Mother herself.”

Daemon hums in affirmation. You were a marvel, an anomaly, because you took him in—a complete and total stranger. You saw him, accepted him… and you loved him.

You love him still, Daemon hopes.

“She once took me to this…gods, what did she call it?” Daemon waves a hand vaguely, trying to summon the word from his mind. “A farmer’s market. A market without any actual farmers, mind you. Just a sea of stalls with trinkets and food. She insisted we buy strawberries, and they were strange—too sweet—but she fed me one anyway. Right in front of everyone.” He chuckles at the thought. “We were walking along, her hand in mine, not a care for the smallfolk surrounding us.”

Daemon’s eyes glaze over with a fondness that was rare for him, as he continues sharing more of your world with Viserys. He speaks of how you worked as something called a nurse– a healer—but you were far more skilled than even the Grand Maester himself. He shares how you introduced him to coffee—some bitter, muddy brew he loathed at first but came to crave due to its association with early mornings spent nestled with you on your couch. And how you made him try pizza, which he found oddly addictive.

“She insisted on doing things,” he says, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “Not just ruling or politicking. Simple things. Like spending hours in a bloody shop trying on clothes that I did not need. But... It made her smile. And I would have done anything to see that smile.”

For a moment, the tension between them lifts, and Viserys watches his brother with an expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. Daemon, the fearsome warrior, enchanted by something as lowly as venturing into a mundane market, utterly captivated by a woman who lived a life so unlike anything he had ever known.

But as Daemon’s musings grew quieter, his gaze hardened again, the sweetness slipping away. “Enough of this,” he says gruffly. “We must direct our attention on how I will be with her once more.”

October 2023 / the 10th Moon, 113 AC

The hospital’s antiseptic scent wraps around you like a damp cloak as you trudge through the hallways. Every beep of the machines and the chatter of your fellow nurses feels like a reminder of the normalcy you are desperately trying to hold onto. Little do they know, you are living a life that has been effectively tinged by dragonfire. 

You don’t quite feel like a beacon of hope; more like a walking, talking paradox. You try to save lives while secretly plotting how to summon a Targaryen prince from his world.

Your mind flickers to Daemon as you begin your shift. His silver hair, that smug smile, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world — any world. If only he was back at your apartment to welcome you after your rounds, maybe things wouldn’t feel so heavy. But alas, you’re stuck in scrubs and not some elegant and puffy gown like those worn by the noble ladies in his kingdom. 

Hours pass, and after a particularly exhausting shift, you finally make your way to Dessa’s apartment, your mind buzzing with excitement. She is an odd mix of energy and seriousness, her presence a grounding force. The moment you enter her living space, you’re assaulted by the scent of herbs and spices, the walls adorned with what looked like genuine dragon scales. Or maybe they’re just really expensive home decor from an antique shop? Who could say?

“Ready for another night of magical chaos?” Dessa asks, grinning as she sorts through her collection of peculiar knick-knacks.

“Chaos is my middle name,” you quipped, waving a hand dramatically. “At least it is now, thanks to you.”

“Just what I want to hear, my child. And I am honoured to be your guide through this madness.” She picks up a sliver of moonstone and winks. “Shall we start with the moonstone or the raven’s feather this time? Or should we just sacrifice a bloody goat and see what happens?”

You snort at her dark humour. “Let’s stick to the gemstones for now. I’m not ready for gruesome sacrifices.”

Dessa grins as she hands you the moonstone. “Good choice.”

The two of you settle in for your practice, the atmosphere thick with magic and your unspoken hopes. You take a deep breath, recalling the steps that would lead you to Daemon. This is your chance to strengthen your connection, to reach through the veils of reality and grasp him once more.

“Envision your destination clearly,” Dessa instructs, her voice encouraging. “You don’t want to end up in the middle of the Dothraki Sea.”

You laugh nervously, though you’re unsure what or where a Dothraki is. “Right.”

“Priorities, my dear.”

You prick your palm with the moonstone, and the sharp pain jolts you into focus. The blood meets the raven’s feather, and you begin to chant in High Valyrian. The words roll off your tongue, you can feel the energy building, swirling around you like a hurricane, almost intoxicating in its intensity.

But as the ash begins to swirl around you, that familiar sensation of panic surges in your chest. You focus harder, envisioning Daemon, and that wicked smile of his that haunts your dreams. The way he smells, the way he tastes. Just when the memory is strengthened in your mind, a wave of fatigue crashes over you, and everything immediately falters.

“Dessa, I—” You gasped, collapsing against the couch. “I can’t… It’s too much.”

“Take a breath, you can do this,” she urges, but the energy flickers out like a dying flame. “We can try again.”

“I’m starting to feel like a joke,” you mumble dejectedly. Are they sure that you are one of them? Maybe this was all a fluke.

But you try once more and you fail. Over and over. Each attempt feels more hopeless than the last. You could practically hear Daemon's mocking laughter in your head, though you knew he wouldn’t be so cruel—not to you. 

“Let’s take a break,” Dessa suggests, concern knitting her brow. “You’re pushing too hard. It’s not a race.”

But all you could think about was the chasm of distance that lay between you and Daemon. “I just want to see him. I want to feel him.”

After the long night of failure, you trudge home, fatigue pulling at your limbs like lead. You slump onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. The room feels empty, devoid of magic and warmth and Daemon. The excitement that had buoyed your spirits is now like a distant memory.

Just as you begin to drift off, the memory of Daemon flickers behind your eyelids. Suddenly, something sparks within you, igniting the embers of your determination. You shoot up, adrenaline surging through your veins. The thought of giving up is unbearable. The very real possibility of losing him for good is enough to pull you out of your rut.

With a newfound sense of purpose, you gather the same tools from earlier, the moonstone and raven’s feather, and focus your thoughts. You envision Daemon, standing with him in the middle realm.

This time, your heart races not with self-doubt and gloom but with renewed hope. “I will find you,” you whisper to yourself. “I will.”

You prick your palm again, reciting the chant with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed. The energy swirls around you, coiling and tightening, feeding off your will. The feather turns to ash, and the world around you begins to shimmer and crackle, and with a rush that sends a thrill through your core, you feel yourself being pulled into the connection. The fog envelops you, and suddenly, you reach it.

But it isn’t just the middle realm. It’s everything you wanted, everything you long for. 

And then, just like that, he appears. His silver hair gleamed in the soft light, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of surprise and wonder.

“This is real?” 

Your voice comes out soft, hesitant. You’re unsure if you’re speaking to Daemon or to yourself. 

Your senses are overwhelmed, and you feel somewhat floaty, as if you’re nowhere at all. Perhaps you are nowhere, not in your realm and not in Daemon’s, but somewhere in the middle. Everything feels so distant and dreamlike as you glance around, taking in the fog that seems to curl around the furniture, draping your bedroom in a surreal haze. 

“Am I doing this?” You murmur in disbelief. “Is it working?”

Daemon doesn’t answer immediately. He stands frozen, his eyes wide and burning with an intensity that nearly undoes you. Then, something in him breaks, and he charges forward with a purpose, as if nothing else in the world matters but closing the space between you.

He grips you, his hands rough, desperate, holding onto whatever part of you he can—your face, your hips, your hands. His touch is possessive, like a man who fears he’ll lose you again. His lips crash into yours with a raw hunger, and it’s as if the entire world melts away, leaving only him. Your Daemon.

“My darling,” he breathes between kisses, his voice rough with desire. “All of this is fucking astonishing, and we can certainly marvel at what you can do to no end, but quite frankly, right this moment I could hardly bring myself to care.”

His lips devour yours, moving against your mouth with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. He kisses you as if it’s been years, as if this moment might be the last chance he’ll ever get. And for a brief second, the sensation overwhelms you — the smell of him, the feel of his hands gripping you with such raw need. Your fingers tangle in his silver hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your two bodies together.

Daemon is not one to waste time, that’s for sure. His lips trail down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbone as you arch into him.

“I miss you,” you breathe, as he kisses the hollow of your throat.

“As I you, my love.” Daemon purrs, breathing you in. “You simply have no idea…”

But even in the heat of his touch, the fog surrounding you reminds you of the truth. This moment, as real as it feels, is a trick—a fragile connection. You feel him, but not entirely. His body presses against yours, but there’s something missing. You can’t feel the warmth of his skin, can’t hear the familiar rustle of his breath against your ear.

It’s not enough.

“Daemon… this is…” You try to voice out your concern, despite the moment. Dessa was right, your corporeal forms cannot meet through your projection; the two of you stand in your bedroom, but everything seems to be enveloped in a thick haze. If you press hard enough, you think your fingers will simply pass through Daemon as if he were a spectre. You realise that he knows this, too, but chooses to ignore it. 

He tries to brush it off, tries to ground you in the present. “This is the closest we’ve been in far too fucking long, my love.” His voice cracks slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “It would have been sooner if those cunts made greater effort to—”

You snort, confronted once more with how brash he can be. “Daemon, those cunts? Really? I am one of them, you know. Besides, it’s not their fault.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he mutters, his lips tugging into a slight smile as he rests his forehead against yours. His hands roam your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “Let me have this. Have you. I need you.”

He’s right. In physical form or otherwise, he is still your Daemon. And you have craved each other too much to be denied any kind of reunion.

“Okay.” Your hand reaches up to cradle his face, and he leans into it. He then looks around, appraising your chambers, as he used to say.

“Nothing has changed.” He hums, while holding you tightly to him, as if he’s afraid that you might dissolve into the fog. “What is this now? Ever the reader, my heart.” He reaches for the crisp, new paperback novel lying on your dresser. 

You snort softly. “Oh, that’s… yeah, someone lent it to me.”

“It certainly does not seem too suited to your tastes.” His tone is bemused, and he turns the book over in his hand. 

You let out a humourless laugh. “Astute observation. It’s my neighbour’s. He apparently thought I needed something new to read.” When he gave you the book, Tom happily explained how he thought you should, “…expose yourself to other things. Things you possibly haven’t tried out before. New films, books, friends. You know to help you forget all about…”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, the shift in his posture immediate, almost imperceptible, but you’ve always been able to read him. He lowers the book slowly, his gaze hardening with suspicion. “Your neighbour — what was he called? Tim?”

“You remember his name, Daemon.” You roll your eyes at your lover, and his poorly-veiled jealousy. You were one and the same.

Daemon’s lips curl, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “You have been letting him inside your house?” His voice drops an octave, the dangerous undertone unmistakable. His hand rests on your waist, possessive, reminding you that you are his.

You nod slowly, carefully. “He’s been visiting every now and then. It’s not a big deal.”

Daemon tilts his head, his smirk darkening into something more sinister. He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “Has that mongrel taken my place, dearest?”

Your breath catches in your throat, his words sending a jolt of heat through your veins. There’s an unspoken challenge in his voice, and your heart races in response. But you don’t back down.

With a calm you don’t entirely feel, you lift your chin and meet his gaze, eyes locked in a battle of wills. “Has any lady taken mine? In that amazing, grand realm of yours, Prince Daemon?” Your fingers slip beneath the collar of his tunic, the soft fabric yielding to your touch as you ghost your fingertips across his skin.

 Only Daemon has ever been able to elicit this out of you.

He enjoys the way you directly meet his eyes, unwavering in your stead. No one ever looked at him in such a way; not one has ever seen him as you do. Daemon has always inspired fear and intimidation in others. Those who find themselves comfortable enough to hold a conversation with the Rogue Prince tend to feel ill at ease or on their guard. As if he might turn on them at any moment. 

People usually mosey up to him because of a favour. Because of his status, his reputation. Because they want something out of him. 

But not you. No. Daemon knows that he has only ever inspired love in you.

Well, that and what might have been absolute surprise followed by wariness, when he was suddenly sprung into your world, injured and in a coat of full armour.

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound, before kissing you again, slower this time, savouring the feel of your lips against his. The kiss is deep, full of promises and unspoken words, and when he pulls away, he whispers, “No one can ever replace you.”

He has never been a devout man, but in that moment, he curses all the gods that you two are apart. Meeting in this middle-realm is insufficient. He feels you, somehow. But he does not feel you truly, not the goosebumps on your skin and the hitches in your breath. You are there, but you are not. 

But it will have to do. For now.

“Is this ailing you? Sustaining a connection like this, in this place?” Daemon asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

You shake your head. “Not really,” you admit, though there’s a heaviness in your limbs that you know will come crashing down later. “Dessa says I’ll feel quite exhausted afterward, but it shouldn’t take too big of a toll on me. At least, it’s not as bad as when I will actually be able to transport myself fully. I’m learning the ropes, and there’s a lot to learn. I mean… this is fucking insane.”

Daemon’s eyes flicker with something unreadable—pride, awe, something deeper. “And here you thought me extraordinary. When it was you all along.”

“Hardly.” You smile in return. “I’m not the only one, it seems. And, my great-grandmother… she was from your world.” 

He brushes a stray strand from your face.

Suddenly, the memory of that first night hits you, and maybe you had already known then. Maybe you had always known.

“The Rogue Prince and his Realmwalker. We were always meant to find each other.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them away quickly, unwilling to break the fragile spell that’s bound the two of you in this moment. “Always,” you whisper, the word filled with every ounce of longing you’ve carried for him.

But then panic grips you as the fog begins to dissipate. You can feel your magic waning, the connection fraying. 

“Daemon!” you call, but his figure fades quickly.

With a sudden rush, you're pulled back into your realm, losing him once more. 

“Fuck!” Daemon curses aloud, his voice echoing through the empty tower. Treesa, ever watchful, takes a cautious step back, unsure whether to comfort or retreat. She’s seen Daemon angry before, but this—this is different.

“My prince?” she inquires softly. “I felt the shift. She made contact, didn’t she? You saw her?”

He shoots her a dark glare, emotions swirling within him. “Get out,” he growls, the anguish unmistakable in his tone as he wrestles with the loss of you.

“She will find a way,” Treesa says, her voice filled with conviction, just before walking through the doorway. 

He wonders what you’re doing now. Are you just as exhausted, lying back in your bed, trying to regain your strength after the toll of the projection? He imagines you staring at the ceiling, thinking of him, feeling the same ache in your chest that he feels now.

He curses under his breath again, fists clenching at his sides. 

This is unbearable.

December 2023 / the 12th Moon, 113 AC

The clutter of your apartment feels oppressive, and you feel as if you don’t recognise it anymore. Like it’s no longer yours, but not only because of Daemon, but because of everything you've been going through in the past month.

 Shadows cling to the corners, stretching out as the waning light filters through the window. Shards of moonstone and ashes are strewn across the floor, remnants of failed attempts, each one a testament to the desperation that fills the air. In the centre of it all, you stand, your palm decorated with pinpricks of blood.

Dessa, once a nurturing figure whom you thought you can lean on, has become an intense shadow, her eyes blazing with expectation. “Again,” she commands, her voice unwavering.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to focus. You feel the familiar warmth of your magic stir within you, a fountain of energy waiting to burst forth. “I can’t keep doing this,” you admit, your voice strained. “I’m exhausted.”

Dessa’s expression hardens, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You must,” she insists, her tone sharper now, laced with an urgency that makes your stomach churn. “Time is running out. You need to learn to harness your power. It’s the only way to reach Prince Daemon.”

A flicker of anger rises within you, as it had several times before. On one occasion, you had nearly screamed in an outburst, saying, “If it’s that important, why can’t you just transport me to Westeros yourself? You’re the one with the experience.”

The air had grown thick as Dessa’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “If I could, don’t you think I would have done it already? It takes immense power to transport another Realmwalker, and it might harm me in the process.”

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you. Dessa has sacrificed so much,  and it’s not fair to place your own frustrations on the woman who has dedicated herself to training you. Yet, beneath the guilt lay an undercurrent of anger—a rising tide that threatens to drown you in self-doubt. 

“I’m tired of feeling weak,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dessa’s expression softens for just a moment, but it quickly hardens again. “Weakness is a luxury we cannot afford,” she replies, her voice firm. “Every moment you hesitate, you risk losing him forever.”

The words strike a chord, igniting a fire within you. You feel the heat of your magic surge, almost instinctively. It catches you both off guard, your energy force spilling out unbidden. 

The air crackles around you as your power begins to swell, something that demands to be unleashed. Your connection to Daemon calls to you, guiding you through the storm. And for a moment, you stand on the precipice of something immense.

“Channel that feeling!” Dessa encourages. “Let it guide you! You’re capable of so much more than you realise.”

With a determined breath, you extend your hands, feeling the now-familiar rush of energy coiling within you. You recall the incantation, the rhythm of the words echoing in your mind, and you begin to chant.

Dessa watches, her expression shifting from pride to mania, and you catch a flicker of something darker behind your mentor’s facade. The obsessiveness in her eyes, the way she leans in closer as if willing the magic to surge faster—it’s unsettling.

“Keep going!” Dessa urges, her voice now tinged with a hint of urgency that hints at deeper stakes. “You’re almost there!”

Your pulse races, the magic thrumming through you like a living entity. But you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. It feels like a game of cat and mouse, where you are the latter, running from unseen predators lurking in the shadows.

You feel the world around you dissolve, and in the swirling chaos, you steel yourself for what lies ahead. 

With a final surge of strength, you push yourself into the void. 

You are no longer in your apartment.

The familiar surroundings of your measly apartment have vanished, replaced by a darkness punctuated by the soft glow of stars overhead. A cool breeze brushes against your skin, carrying the earthy scent of pine and damp soil. As your heart races, a thrill courses through your veins—you’ve done it. 

You’ve Realmwalked, so to speak, and the woods you stand in are unfamiliar, but you sense that you’ve landed in Westeros. Hopefully, close to where Daemon is, if your visualisation proved effective. 

But something feels off. As you stand there, trying to catch your breath, an uneasy sensation creeps into your chest. There’s something lurking in the shadows. Something—someone—is watching you. 

With quick, purposeful steps, you begin making your way through the dense trees, senses heightened as you listen to every rustle of leaves, every whisper of wind. The path before you is faint, but you follow it, hoping it will lead you closer to Daemon. The thought of him fuels your determination, but the further you walk, the deeper the sense of unease sinks into your bones. The woods feel alive, as though the very ground beneath your feet is shifting. Something is wrong.

Then, as if answering your fear, a figure steps out from the shadows. She’s tall, with sharp, regal features and eyes that seem to pierce through the darkness.

You freeze, heart pounding in your chest. 

“You are finally here,” the stranger says, her voice smooth yet dripping with sinister intention. “We have been waiting for you.”

Panic rises in your throat. “Where… where is Prince Daemon?” The question flies out of you.

Her lips curl into a predatory smile as she steps closer. “You have come to us, just as we hoped. Dessa was right. I can… feel you… and you are more powerful than my sister made you out to be.”

“What do you want from me?” you demand, though a part of you already knows the answer. If Dessa is her sister, this can only be Treesa or Verness. Realmwalker too, from what little you’ve heard of them. 

There’s something deeply unsettling about the way she looks at you—like you’re not a person but a weapon, an object, something to be used.

“The time has come to fulfil our plans,” Treesa replies, her smile chilling as she closes the distance between you. “You were the last Realmwalker in Korzion. Your power is vital for what is to come.”

“I won’t be part of your plans. I just came here for Daemon,” you spit, taking a step back. But as you do, you feel the weight of Treesa’s magic press down on you, nigh inescapable.

“You do not have a choice,” she says, her voice soft and musical, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “You are part of something much bigger than you can comprehend. You cannot escape it.”

And then it hits you. This was a trap all along. You were led here—by Dessa, by their lies—and now they have you. All the training, the pushing, it was never about helping you find Daemon. It was about getting you here, into their hands.

Before you can react, Treesa makes her move. With a flick of her wrist, a sudden wave of magic surges toward you. Your entire being feels heavy as the force of it pulls you down. You try to fight it, adrenaline roaring through you as you attempt to run, but it’s too late. She has the upper hand.

Treesa steps closer, her voice laced with satisfaction. “You are ours now.”

Your vision blurs as Treesa’s magic takes hold, and suddenly, everything becomes fuzzy.

“No,” you mumble weakly, your body collapsing against the cold, damp earth. “I won’t let you…”

“Let me?” she laughs mockingly. 

Just as you succumb to nothingness, you mumble weakly, “Daemon will find me...”

Not far from the edge of the woods, a few smallfolk huddle near their huts, tending to their evening fires. The sky above is painted with the deep coating of the midnight hour when they notice something strange—a woman, dressed in unfamiliar garb, struggling against another in the distance. They don’t dare get too close, but they watch, wide-eyed, as the second woman drags the first into the shadows of the trees.

A few whispers are exchanged, and soon, one of the men runs off to report what he’s seen to the Gold Cloaks.

Hours later, word reaches the Red Keep. The rumour travels quickly—Gold Cloaks to the Kingsguard, the Kingsguard to the Hand, and finally, it reaches the ears of King Viserys himself.

He listens with a frown, trying to make sense of the strange report. But it isn’t until Daemon enters the room that everything clicks into place.

Daemon’s expression shifts the moment he hears the tale. The description of the woman—the unfamiliar clothes, her behaviour—it all points to one thing, one person.

You.

“She is here,” Daemon says, voice tight with certainty. “I know it.”

Viserys looks at him, startled by the sudden intensity in his brother’s voice. “Do you truly believe so?”

Daemon nods, his heart pounding. “She has to be.”

Before Viserys can respond, the heavy doors of the throne room swing open. Otto Hightower enters, purposefully striding towards the gathering at the head of the room.

“Your Grace,” Otto begins with a slight bow, his eyes flickering over Daemon. “There has been another incident. The priestess Treesa… She is nowhere to be found within the Red Keep. Her chambers have been emptied, and we also questioned the servants, to no avail. She is no longer here to be subject to questioning.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, a fury building inside him. His voice is cold, his temper barely contained. “When did anyone last see her?”

“in this previous twilight's hours,” Otto replies. “Since then, there has been no sign of her. I have sent guards to roam the keep, but nothing.”

Daemon lets out a harsh laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Of course she is gone. Mayhaps they have been planning this the whole time. And we let them.”

The realm feels unsteady beneath his feet, the ground trembling with the potential for chaos. Do they not know who he is? Are they not afraid of what he is capable of? Even devoid of sorcery and magic and whatever fucking trickery those priestesses have devised, he is still Daemon Targaryen.

“Prepare the men,” he orders, voice sharp and decisive. “We will search every inch of the Seven Kingdoms until we find her.”

If they think they can take what is his, they will learn that he is not called the Rogue Prince for nothing. 

And he will find you.

*flashback* February 2023 / the 2nd Moon, 113 AC

One chilly evening, you decided to introduce Daemon to the concept of proper movie night. You had gathered a few classics, a mountain of blankets, and an assortment of snacks that would put any royal feast to shame.

“I still cannot believe that this is how you spend your evenings, ” Daemon mutters sardonically as he examined the spread.

“You know it. It’s all about relaxation and enjoyment,” you replied, tossing him a handful of popcorn.

You settled onto the couch, and as the opening credits rolled, Daemon found himself surprisingly captivated, laughing at moments that you found endearing.

“What sorcery is this?” he exclaimed after a particularly action-packed scene. “How can a mere flickering light command such power?”

“It’s all about storytelling,” you explained, leaning closer. “It takes you away from your world, even if just for a moment.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “And what story do you wish to escape to, my love?”

As you paused to consider his question, you felt a warmth spreading within you. The film played on, but your mind raced to find the right answer. For the first time in your life, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to escape to anywhere anymore. 

You glanced at Daemon, his eyes reflecting the light from the screen, a small smile dancing on his lips. In this shared space, enveloped by blankets and laughter, you understood that he had become a part of your story. Whether it be in distant lands or magical realms, or simply in the confines of your apartment, if he was with you, then it would be an adventure.

It would be a tale worth telling. 

“I think,” you said softly, as you faced the screen with a faraway look in your eyes, “I’ve found a place where I want to stay.”

Daemon’s brow furrowed slightly, and he studied you with a look that suggested he understood more than you had said.

“As do I,” he replied. 

series taglist: @omgsuperstarg @moonmaiden1996 @iilsenewman @padfootsvixen @teapartydreams @sleephereicome @dixie-elocin @simplymurdock @cecespizza01 @imissyoudarling @rentsturner @itevilhag @kindaslightlyacidic @naelys-the-aster @zoleea-exultant @moongirl27 @schniiipsel @dreaming-for-an-escape @llovinjoonie @outocean @caspianobsessed @grimistangel @ladespedidas @nanabarnes @luckythirtxn97 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @stella-cadante @milber32 @canvashearts @nitimurinvetitumsposts @kryzeira @captainweirdo42 @eternallyvenus @fuzzybunny83 @cookielovesbook-akie @queenofshinigamis @avadakadabra93 @rebeccawinters @partypoison00 @misspendragonsworld @praline357 @mysingularitybts @milber32 @rikishima19 @ivvypg @novellaquill @fan-goddess @ayamenimthiriel @uniquecroissant

Some notes in the margins...

This chapter was a bit dry, I must admit. But consider it as a setup for the fiasco that is the finale, which will be 18+. Just a heads up.

Any guesses on what will happen? As always I am keen to hear your thoughts 🖤

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 10 - Overstimulation

Soap x F!Reader - 1.4k (on ao3)

summary: You and Johnny drive yourselves wild with a little help from a sybian. (You POV)

cw: overstim (duh), double penetration (dildo & cock), some light objectification, minor cbt, affectionate verbal humiliation, brief nipple play

note: reader is trans fem and the words used to refer to her genitalia are prostate, taint, length, clit/clittie, member, cock, hole, cunt, pussy

You can hardly breathe through the vibrations wracking your frame, your weight held up by only your elbows and the sybian beneath you turned up to its highest intensity, the small dildo attachment vibrating deliciously against your prostate and taint in a way that makes it feel difficult to even get a breath in. 

You’ve been reduced to nothing but moans and whines for what must be hours, rocking your hips as best you can to hump the toy beneath you but failing to get much sensation past the machine’s automatic vibrations. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Johnny chants, hunched over you and fucking you ruthlessly. It couldn’t be more obvious that he’s using your body for his own pleasure, any sort of consistent rhythm completely out of the question as his hips work almost manically. “Jesus!”

You can’t respond, not with the dildo inside of you being held steadily against your prostate by Johnny’s cock as he thrusts in and out of you. The attachment is driving Johnny nearly as insane as it’s driving you. You can commiserate with him, your own length pressed flat to the block of the sybian by your stomach. 

You’d gone a little stupid the moment Johnny had held your hands and helped you settle onto the toy, the stretch hardly anything for you to take and the vibrations mind-numbing even at half strength. Johnny had held onto his always minimal patience as best he could, holding his fingers tight at the base of his cock while he watched you ride your toy and pluck your own nipples, twisting until they ached. 

“So good,” he slurs over your shoulder now, mindless in his own pleasure. Your tits swing beneath your chest, back arched so you can hold yourself as tight to the sybian as possible. “‘S it– shit, fuck, ‘s it good for you, bonnie?”

You make a sound that’s as close to an affirmation as you can manage, body pulled taut as a bowstring. You’re right on the edge of something mind blowing, ecstasy just out of your reach.

“Hey,” Johnny pants, holding himself buried to the hilt when you don’t respond. “Hey, answer me.”

He taps your ass harshly, and you moan and the sting of pain. You slam your fist against the ground, straining desperately for a release.

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” you cry, voice cracking on nearly every syllable. “Please, please, I’m so– God, Johnny, I’m so close, please just–”

The sound he makes is animalistic and he bucks once against you, strong enough that you and the sybian rock forward an inch. You yelp, scrabbling against the floor and inching that much closer to an orgasm. You can feel it right there, so close that you can’t believe you haven’t come yet.

“Whaddya need, pretty?” You think maybe he meant to purr, but the dildo is vibrating too strongly for Johnny to keep his composure and his words come out as breathy instead, as desperate as you are.

“Touch me, touch me, touchme, touchme–”

“Touch ye where?” His damp palms slip along your hips, squeezing your sides and trying to squeeze his fingers between your stomach and the sybian. “Your pretty clittie? I cannae reach her, lovie.”

You sob, pushing up from your elbows to your hands so quickly that you nearly faceplant, just barely catching yourself with trembling hands. The sensation shifts just enough for you to gasp when you lift your torso from the toy, the sudden relief of pressure making you jolt.

“Please, please–”

“C’mon, there we go,” Johnny hisses, pressing his palm to you, his entire hand easily hiding your member. “‘S that it?” He coos. “I cannae find it, lass, ye gotta tell me when I–”

The heat of him, the calluses on his palms and the heat of human touch is enough to have you finally coming, a wail tearing out of your throat as you paint the floor. You feel nearly hysterical as he rubs his palm against you, pushing you into the vibrating toy.

“Johnny!” You cry, hand flying to his thick forearm and scratching desperately. He pinches you in retaliation, just beneath the plush head of your cock, and you’re certain the sound that comes from you isn’t human. Spit dribbles down your chin as you pant open mouthed, orgasm seemingly never ending as Johnny doesn’t let you away from the vibrations for even a moment.

“Love your sounds, bonnie,” he pants, grinding himself deeper into your hole. You clench sporadically, feeling like you’ve been struck by lightning. The dildo pulls against your hole as Johnny tugs your hip back with his free hand, stretching you wider on his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, starting to fuck you again as the last bits of come dribble from you. “Tight fuckin’ cunt, perfect pretty girl…”

You mewl, leaning back against his chest even though you want to collapse forward. You’re not sure your clit could handle the overload of sensation, you already feel lobotomized with your member resting limp against the toy. 

The deluge of continuous sensation – the vibrations against your clit and inside of you, pressed to your prostate, Johnny’s cock sliding smoothly in and out and in and out – keeps you from floating in the bliss of an orgasm wrung dry. On every breath out you whine, your breathing itself timed to Johnny’s thrusts. 

You feel like his puppet, moving on his toy how he wants, fucked on his cock how he wants, breaths lined up to his movements. 

“Pussy from fuckin’ heaven, Jesus,” Johnny keened, grip on your hips bruising as he holds you still so he can fuck you at his own pace, using you like just another toy. “Stunning girl, never been close to a hole like yours, fuck!”

“Johnny,” you whine, heartbeat in your fingers and toes, the overstimulation slipping quickly to painful. “Johnny, please, too much, it’s too much!”

He snarls, jerking you back against him and you nearly scream at the dildo pulling you wider for him. “Don’t be selfish.”

You’d have lost your balance if not for his hands, your own hands flailing for purchase and your cock slowly filling with blood, even after such a powerful orgasm. “Please, ow–”

One of his hands flies from your hip to your length, grip harsh. His palm comes down in a smack, and you squeal, arching away from him and only managing to hold yourself more firmly against the sybian.

“Cunt like this and you want me to stop?” He growled, breath hot against your neck. You nearly yowl at his continued torment to your clit, pinching and twisting and smacking, your length hardening in moments in spite of the pain. “You’re a smarter girl than that.”

You try to call his name but he tightens his hold on you again, all but guiding you back and forth on his cock with just his grip. The mix of pain from his hands and pleasure from his thrusts nearly makes you go blind, vision whiting out. 

“So close, keep– fuck, keep squeezin’ me like that, perfect fucking hole–”

He jerks you once, twice, wrist twisting right at your tip, and you scream when you feel another orgasm rush over you, every muscle drawing tight and twitching in ecstasy. Your own sounds drown Johnny’s out, but you can feel his cum flood your cunt hardly a breath later, and he buries his teeth in you as he grinds himself as deep as he can get. 

You can’t stop the tremors in your hands, made mute when Johnny still doesn’t turn the sybian off. Everything is so much that it nearly fades to nothing, a baseline of overstimulation and pleasure like you’ve never felt, cunt holding Johnny tight and twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, just like the rest of you. 

You have no idea how much time passes before he pulls his teeth away from your shoulder, pushing his face beside yours, nuzzling cheeks. Your lips quiver, unable to keep a single train of thought. 

“That was so good,” he slurs against you, turning to press messy kisses to your cheek. “And you’re still so tight, bonnie, can hardly– Christ, I cannae fuckin’ breathe with you huggin’ me like this.”

“Jo– Johnny–”

“Hush,” he dips his head, presses more kisses to your shoulder. “Just– shit, just gimme a sec and we’ll go again, yeah?”

Tears streak down your cheeks at the idea, fingers trembling when you reach up to run them through his hair, and your lips twitch into a cock-drunk smile as Johnny pets your sides.

[anakin-skywalker-always]

padawan/atoc era anakin x reader, they're in love with each other (both jedi) but obviously can't come forward. Anakin confides in Padmé, reader becomes convinced/jealous that anakin is with padme

(bonus points if you can make it angsty and fluffy)

As Easy As Breathing

Hi nonnie! Thank you so, so, so much for this rec! It’s my first one on this account and it’s really quite the christening. Hope its okay, I’m not the best at angst! 

Pairing: Padawan!Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Reader (Star Wars) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none!! Should be all good, let me know if you caught anything I may have missed. Not beta read! 

Words: 1.8k

Author’s Notes: Anakin is canonically 19 in AOTC, reader is the same, maybe a year younger. Clone Wars have not yet started in this fic, I’m just assuming Padmé and Anakin stayed besties after the whole nonsense in Phantom Menace.

The warm sun filtering through the windows fell upon Anakin’s face, in a soft moment of solitude, the sounds of the Coruscant cityscape provided him with a brief reprieve to Padmé’s chastising. He often thought that his ability to talk to Padmé about anything was his strength, but in this moment he couldn’t help to think of it as a weakness. Anakin cringed as Padmé continued to berate him; On a rare afternoon off the nineteen-year-old padawan found himself lounging on the senator’s couch. 

“Seriously Anakin, you should just-” Padmé stilled, her slender hands finding her hips, huffing, she continued, “Are you even listening to me, Ani?” The forceful tone on his nickname got Anakin’s attention once again. 

“I am!” Anakin raised his eyebrows in addition to his hands, in mock surrender. “I swear Padmé!” 

The senator found it easy to roll her eyes at his antics, like always. But she could see the change in Anakin, could see how his emotions for his fellow padawan learner have caused conflict in him. Her friend wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t eating. Padmé knew Anakin was an intense person, a strong personality, everyone knew that about him. But this, this was different. He seemed lost, like he was missing something he needed to operate. Padmé found her way to the couch, sitting beside Anakin, grabbing his tanned, calloused hands in her own. 

“Anakin, if you do truely care this strongly for her, you must tell her.” Anakin’s eyes found Padmé’s own. “It would be cruel, to withhold this love.” There was a time in Anakin’s life where this is all he wanted, being with Padmé and he knew his nine-year-old self would be so excited by innocent hand holding. But his nineteen-year-old self was happier to have such a strong, nonjudgemental friend. 

“How did you know that you loved Sabé?” Anakin asked gently, knowing how the senator safeguarded her relationship with her handmaiden fiercely. 

Anakin noted how Padmé seemed to glow at the mention of her lover. A warm smile graced her pink lips, eyes crinkling at the sides, a faraway glaze coated her sparkling eyes. Her signature in the force felt warm, it wrapped around Anakin’s brain, made him feel safe. Padmé’s love for Sabé was so tangible it extended outside herself, adjusting her force signature. 

“I realised I loved Sabé when being around her became a necessity, an honesty, a truth that I did not know I was constantly seeking out.” Padmé gushed, a light trail of pink lit itself over her high cheekbones and freckled nose. “I felt as if Sabé had breathed new life into me everytime I saw her, it was natural, it was right.” 

Anakin was quiet for a moment, Padmé became worried that she had overstepped somehow, projected to far onto Anakin’s feelings. 

“Loving y/n is as natural as breathing.” He replied. 

Anakin rolled over on his hard, standard issue, Jedi temple bed. A sleepless night was not uncommon for him, but this felt inherently different. Padmé’s words from earlier in the day rattled around his brain, demanding to be dealt with. Anakin never saw love as a weakness, never saw attachment as weakness. How could he? Love was the basis of the light, the well of Jedi power that Anakin drew from was a labour of love, was purity, was peace, was built with empathy and centered by knowing himself. His love for you did not make him a bad person. 

But he knew it would make him seem like a bad Jedi. 

Not knowing your stance on him, on the rule of attachment was slowly eating away at Anakin’s peace. 

Groaning aloud, Anakin ran his hands down his face. 

Your head whipped around, anxiously. You knew it was embarrassing that you always looked for him in a crowded room, but you could not help it, you felt as if the force was electric until he calmed it. His signature singlehandedly smothering anything else it came in contact with. Being around Anakin, to you, felt as natural as breathing. 

“Looking for young Skywalker, are you?” Your master, Mace Windu asks, a small smirk whispers across his face, lightly nudging you in the shoulder. The two of you stood in one of the reception rooms of the Republic building. The Senate was hosting a charity gala with the invite extending to the Jedi temple. So, there you stood, in your best robes, breaking your neck to catch a glimpse of The Chosen One. 

“No Master.” You said, quietly. Turning your head away from the powerful Jedi Master to not embarrass yourself further with the luxury of him catching your furious blush. Your master excused himself, laughing, finding Master Plo Kloon. 

So, you stood there, alone, foolishly searching the room for your fellow padawan, the one that consumed your mind and soul. 

It wasn’t completely unlikely, you reasoned with yourself. You and Anakin were friends, were very well matched, sparring partners. But, Anakin was a good Jedi. A strong Jedi. Following orders wasn’t Anakin’s strongest suit, you’d admit. Pondering whether he would disregard the rules of attachment for you, however, was different. 

Nonetheless, like a junkie craving death sticks, you craved Anakin’s presence, his force signature was all you needed to feel right. The anxiety of the gala was too much. Closing your eyes, tightly, you reached out into the force to find him. Anakin’s signature, golden like it always was flocked to your senses, like always. 

Opening your eyes, you began to weave through the bustling crowd as quickly as one could who was masquerading as casual. 

“I’m not going to say anything to her now, Padmé.” Anakin huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest, defensively. “Not in front of all these people, you’ve got to be joking.” He scoffed. 

Sabé giggled quietly, the two women joined their arms at the elbow. Padmé just rolled her eyes at Anakin’s supposed insoclence. 

Your frame weaving through the crowd in his direction caught Anakin’s eye. He smiled, quikly raised a hand, and was delighted when your devastating smile echoed back. 

“Anakin.” You greeted him, with a small bow of the head. His name sounded heavenly whenever you deigned to let it fall from your lips. Anakin was convinced he could breathe easier with you around, like he had been purged of something suffocating him. 

“Y/N, this is Sen-” You quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear the name of your rival come from his beautiful mouth. Your jealousy that you held for Padmé reared its ugly head, and you couldn’t help to feel shame burn deep inside the space between ribs. 

“Senator Amidala, a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” You stuck your hand out, awkwardly hoping for a handshake. “Anakin has told me so much.” Cordial. It was a good tactic. You were a good person, a good jedi. You would not succumb to jealousy. Besides, Padmé had other qualities you were far more jealous of than just her nonexistent romantic relationship that you deludedly conjured up in your mind when you tried to sleep at night. 

“All good things I should hope.” She smiled, her soft hand finding your own, a small shake. You could empathise with Anakin for falling in love with someone like her. Someone so intelligent, powerful, beautiful. 

It was not lost on you, the way the senator’s hand quickly found the one of the woman she stood beside. 

“This is Sabé.” Anakin started, introducing Padmé’s guest. “Padmé’s hand-” For the second time tonight, but surely not the last, Anakin was cut off. 

“My partner.” Senitor Amidala said firmly, though her eyes twinkled with pride. Sabé’s own shock manifested itself into a wide smile. The two looked eachother in the eyes and you couldn’t help but feel silly. Of course. Of course. 

For whatever reason, the words you thought you had died swiftly in your mouth,  “Oh.” was all you managed to get out. “A pleasure to meet you too, Sabé.” You tried quickly to save the situation, to save embarrassment. But Padmé’s slight smile, Sabé’s coy smirk. You felt like the two Naboo women knew you, saw you. They somehow, in this embarrassing blunder of a meeting had already clocked that you harboured feelings for Anakin Skywalker. It made you feel foolish, moreso than what you already did. 

“If you’d excuse us, Jedi, we have futher business to attend to.” Sabé quipped strongly, leading her senator lover to the next group of politicians. The art of smalltalk was something else you could add to the list of Padmé’s items you were jealous of. 

Anakin turned to you, chuckling. His standard-issue Jedi robes moving effortlessly with his chest. Running a hand through his cropped hair, you felt his eyes scanning your face. You knew your blood would betray you, like it so often did around your friend, rising to the surface of your cheeks, splattering down your neck and chest. Embarrassment clung to you like a rash. 

“Don’t mind them, they like setting me up.” Anakin scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Setting you up for what?” You asked, eyeing him micheviously. Chatting with Anakin felt natural; He was quick witted and liked challenging you, he was a tease. 

And, more often than not, a flirt. 

This was different though, Anakin had an air of nervousness about him. You noticed as your fellow padawan’s large, veiny hands found the way to the back of his neck, rubbing sheepishly. 

“Oh you know…” He trailed off, looking everywhere except for your eyes, his own blue ones scanning the ornate ceiling of the reception room. “Setting us up to be alone together.” He admitted, squinting as if the words bought him some kind of physical pain. 

You quirked a brow, your arms quickly crossing your chest - a defensive stance. “Would that be so bad? Being alone together?” The words meant to be teasing, non-serious. But it was too late, the seed was planted in Anakin’s brain. 

To him, that felt like an admission of sorts, an admission that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. Well, if he squinted it seemed like that. 

In a tender moment, something rare for Anakin, he reached out. Tucking stray hairs behind your ear, gently following your padawan braid around the cusp of it. 

“You know, y/n, that I want nothing more,” He smiled. It was pure, and real. You felt the sincerity in the force, the truth within him. Moreso, you felt your ear burn from the brief contact, felt your heart swell in your chest at the mere thought of being alone in close quarters with him. “I want nothing more than to be alone with you.” 

He retracted his hand, but you still felt alight with his closeness. His force signature felt palpable, you were enraptured in his warmth. He was golden. Your golden boy. 

“Why don’t we go get lost then?” You whispered, scared anything too loud would betray your eagerness. Anakin’s smile split across his face, eyes crinkling and dimples showing. Smirking he placed a strategic hand at the low of your back. He was so incredibly tall, bending over you to whisper back, 

“After you, my lady.”

—--

AN: Hehe all done! Left it open for more if you wanted, but teasing enough to be left as it is! Hope it’s alright and I hope you could enjoy at least some of it <3 

P.S This is a side account, my main is @mayhemories, so I will be answering any comments with that account but rest assured it is still me :) <3

Much love, El. 

[renku]

Write a smut with a Bini member 😅

Cherry (Not) on Top

BINI Aiah x Male Reader

tags: smut

A/N: Taglish (mix of English and Filipino language) fic incoming, since Aiah is a Filipina. I've been planning this one after the Sana fic and even before this request because of @octoberautumnbox 's piece. I might post another version of this in full english. Anyway, hope you'll enjoy this one. Completely unedited.

~ ~ ~

Past lunchtime, you just arrived at your front door. A mix of light pink and white pair of sneakers were left before your doorstep; there's no doubt, Aiah Arceta—your girlfriend—is inside.

"Aiah? Babe? You here? Where are you?"

"Oh babe, you're already here! Nadito ako sa kwarto," Aiah replied, "just trying an outfit for the Bikini Ball."

"Bikini Ball?"

"Yup, it's a summer and charity event at the same time. All winners will get to choose the community they want to support. Have one in your mind?"

"Hmm... 'di ko alam. May I enter the room first?" you asked, "I want to see you."

Aiah always loved that about you—asking for her permission despite being with her for years. Knowing almost all of her sides, and still chose to stay. Those little things matter to her the most and finds it sexy.

The door opened, and it did not disappoint what it revealed. Floral bikini top, paired with chainmail skirt that covered her intimate area and right leg, exposing the other. She almost gave you a heart attack as you didn't expect to see her wearing that fit. That midriff, well, yeah, it's fucking sexy and turning you by the second.

"I know that look, mister!" Aiah jokingly exclaimed, "Tingin mo pa lang hinuhubaran mo na ko, tss..."

"Can you even blame me? I just got home from work past noon time, not having my lunch yet, tapos ganito makikita ko? I think you're the one having bad intentions here, Ms. Arceta," you confidently remarked, "but I'm not going to complain, though."

"Hmp, pervert!"

"But kidding aside, you're absolutely stunning, babe," you said in a serious tone, "parang gusto tuloy kita bantayan sa event. I can't afford knowing that those men will be preying on my woman, my Queen."

Aiah almost burst into laughter, "You're thinking too much! Calm down, babe!"

"Tell that to my junior down here."

"Oh, so mas nauna pa sya magalit?"

"Don't be so sure, Aiah..."

Aiah came closer to you, placing her palms on your chest sensually rubbing it up and down. "So, Daddy's getting mad at me?" she said, giving a sultry look with her fierce, expressive eyes while both forefingers fidget on your shirt.

"Damn, Aiah..."

Aiah gave a quick kiss on your lips, before going down on her knees. Eyes still locked on you. Aiah took her time to unzip your pants, delighting herself to touch firm muscles you have in your legs, sending chills going up to your spine.

"You're already leaking, daddy..."

A small patch was visible on your briefs, before finding itself on the floor. The look that Aiah has on your cock was turning you on even more, making it twitch. She noticed it but just grinned.

Aiah worked on her magic, as usual. Her tongue started its assault on your balls; licking, slurping both of it with utmost passion and desire, while holding onto your thighs.

"Puta! Fuck, ang sarap! Shit!" you exclaimed, holding her head with your hand as a reflex.

Aiah wasted no time going from your balls to your shaft. Giving the underside a slow lick before reaching your head, parting her lips before wrapping her tongue around it.

Moan after moan, Aiah is skillfully giving her all blowing you. Taking every inch bit by bit, until your entire length is inside her warm, wet mouth.

She's taking all her time, bobbing her head up and down in a growing, steady pace. "Babe, ugh, fuck! Putangina!" you groaned, pleasure meter growing inside you exponentially.

That intense feeling is growing, and you know you're about reach the promised land. But Aiah had other plans.

"A- Aiah? Why did you stop?"

She stood up, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, inching her way towards you ear, "Hindi pwedeng ako lang ang kakain, eat me down there, too, daddy."

She quickly removed the skirt before pulling down her panties, making a trail of her sticky juice before entering the bedroom where she lied down, her hand inviting you.

Getting off from your clothes in a swift motion, you joined Aiah on the bed. Taking a moment to appreciate her beauty, your eyes roamed from her head down to her toes. Perfect. The sweet perfume she got from you last Christmas was the only thing invading your nose at that moment.

Aiah's legs were already spread out, her puffy lips soaking wet. "Ano pang hinihintay mo, babe? Please, 'di na ko makapaghintay, I want you so bad, I want to feel daddy now!"

The Queen should not be kept waiting. Getting into position, your tongue immediately collected her sweet nectar. Tracing every nook and line of her folds, thumb on its way to stimulate her clit. Aiah's mouth agape to the sensation your tongue does to her, even both of you were each other's firsts, she knows no one can do this but you.

"Oh- oh, shit, yes. More. More pa, daddy, please!"

Hearing the words of affirmation made you more fired up. A finger went inside her as you continue to assault her clit with your tongue, lick and sucking it in intervals.

Aiah's body can't stay still, her hands grabbed the sheets but you couldn't care less. You need to make her cum, even she begs you to stop. The finger inside her did its work like a key to a keyhole, hitting all the right spots. You knew she's close.

"Hnnngghhhh! Babe! Malapit na 'ko! Make me cum! Fuck!"

With one last stroke, she squirts; moaning madly while her body's twitching. "Shit, oh my God...," breathing heavily.

"Mas masarap ka, Aiah, pero hindi pa tayo tapos. I wanna fuck you right now."

"Yes, please fuck me. Wreck me, breed me, gawin mo lahat ng gusto mo sa'kin, I want to feel all of you. Please me, daddy!"

Primal instinct took over. You positioned yourself right into her entrance as you pinned her wrists down before giving her a messy kiss, tongues invading each other's mouths like first time before breaking it.

"Papasok na ko, Aiah," you said, her response was just a gentle nod as you pierce her pussy with your cock. Missionary position was her favorite. Aiah finds it romantic yet hot. That's why you always do it for her.

Your hips gets into motion, pounding her still sensitive pussy. "Hmmmm... yes, ang sarap, sige pa. More! More pa, please... Ahh!"

Aiah's sweet yet dirty pleas are all you need to go berserk. Mercilessly drilling her hole, creating lewd sounds. But it didn't matter. What matters is Aiah's face distorted and eyes almost blank due to extreme pleasure. As if it's her soul slowly leaving her body. But the same truth also goes to you, as the pending release earlier is turning now into reality.

"Aiah, ma- malapit na ko. Fuck," barely letting out the words. "Sige lang, don't hold back! Cum for me, daddy!"

"Aiah!"

The last two forceful thrusts marked the end. Ropes and ropes of cum painted Aiah's pussy, milking you out at the same time. Making sure she does every drop before kissing you slowly; it's a kiss expressing the love she has. A message. A promise. She broke the kiss and just maintained eye contact with you.

"I love you," she noted.

"I love you, too. Maraiah Queen Arceta."

[pandapetals]

New Dress

logan howlett x fem!reader - fluff, inspired by clairo's song juna, new dress, suggestive, cute

Your put on a new dress and Logan loves it.

read on Ao3

“C’mere.” Logan’s voice was low, a playful command threaded through the syllables, as he lounged against the doorframe, arms crossed. His eyes flickered over you, taking in the dress with a heat that made it hard to ignore him.

But you did.

You shook your head, biting your lip as you twisted in front of the mirror, fingers smoothing the fabric down your sides, trying to catch every angle. “Wait,” you murmured, barely glancing his way. “I just need to see if it—”

Logan pushed off the doorframe with an easy stride, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. In a few steps, he was behind you, his large frame almost swallowing your reflection. He didn’t touch you—yet. He just stood there, the weight of his presence filling the room.

“It looks good,” he said, his voice softer now, a quiet certainty in the way the words fell between you.

You let out a small huff, rolling your eyes but still turning slightly, trying to get a better view of your back in the mirror. “You say that about everything , Logan.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Because you look good in everything.” His eyes met yours in the reflection, the intensity of his gaze sending a flicker of warmth down your spine.

You hesitated, your hands dropping to your sides. “Be serious,” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice betraying the casual banter. “What if it doesn’t—”

Logan’s hands finally moved, his fingers brushing your waist lightly, almost testing the waters. You stiffened at first, but then his grip firmed, pulling you gently back against him. His body was warm and solid, the contrast between his steady confidence and your anxious self-assessment making your heart race.

“I am being serious,” he murmured near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid to your hips, guiding you so you stood still, forcing you to stop twisting and turning. “Look at yourself.”

“I am—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice now a little more firm. “Not like that.”

He shifted slightly, lowering his head so his lips hovered just above your ear, his breath sending a shiver through you. “You always do this. You look at yourself like you’re trying to find something wrong.”

You swallowed, your pulse quickening as his words sank in. In the mirror, his eyes stayed on yours, unflinching, steady.

“But there’s nothing wrong,” he continued, his fingers tracing small, soothing circles on your hips. “Not with this dress. Not with you.”

For a second, you couldn’t look at him. Your gaze dropped, focusing on the way his fingers moved against the fabric, the way his chest felt pressed against your back. It was grounding, the way he held you as if he could sense the flutter of doubt still lingering beneath your skin.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” Logan said quietly, his voice softer now, the teasing long gone. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, the words sticking in your throat. His sincerity hit harder than you’d expected like it peeled back layers you hadn’t realized you were wearing along with the dress.

“Good.” His lips brushed the top of your head, a brief, gentle touch that left warmth in its wake. “Now let me see this dress properly.”

He shifted you slightly, making you face the mirror again. But this time, his hands didn’t leave you. He stayed close, his fingers at your waist, his eyes still on your reflection.

You looked at yourself again, but this time through his gaze—at the way the dress hugged your body, the fabric flowing over your curves as if it belonged there. And in the mirror, you saw more than just yourself. You saw the way his expression softened when he looked at you, the quiet admiration in his eyes, the way his lips parted slightly as if even now, he was holding back something deeper.

“It’s not just the dress, you know,” he said after a beat, his voice thick with meaning. “It’s you. You make it look good.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The room seemed smaller, quieter, as if the air between you had shifted, the playfulness melting into something heavier, more unspoken.

You exhaled the tension that had been knotting in your chest slowly unraveling under his touch. “You really think so?” you asked, still tentative, but there was a warmth creeping into your voice that hadn’t been there before.

Logan’s smirk returned, this time slower, more deliberate. “I know so.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “Now, c’mere for real,” he murmured against your skin, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you fully into him, his grip more sure, more insistent.

This time, you didn’t resist.