#I needed to see her . To watch her and breathe her in and make her mine again and again and again

[specsthesecond]

Being a waitress/bottle girl at a club that caters to monsters.

While serving a table of orcs their drinks you hear whistling from behind you and turn towards the table of werewolves calling you over,

"C'mere Doll, why don't you spend some time with us? It'd be better than looking at those ugly green faces."

The rest of the table barks out laughter and all you do is look back at the table of orcs to gauge their reactions, just incase you have to call the bouncer to stop another brawl.

"Aw yeah cus your slobbering snout's much more attractive ain't it?"

One orc yells and the others hurl their chosen insults across the table as well. The werewolves grumble and snarl insults back and you just stand in the middle of this, trying to think of an escape.

"Maybe she ain't at your table for a reason!"

One of the orcs claims boldly and all the other orcs voice their agreement while the wolves clearly disagree.

"Why don't we let the lady decide" A wolf with greying fur suggests with a smirk and both tables seem to agree on this being just a wonderful idea.

"Well love? Who's better then? Us or the mutts?"

"Aye! The real question is who can treat her better, isn't that right Doll?"

The attention of the two tables are now on you, waiting for your answer with baited breaths and half hard cocks probably.

"....I prefer minotaurs."

This deadpan response takes a few seconds to sink in before a chorus of disagreements and further arguing commences but you're already making your way towards the bar, you're sure they don't mind watching your tiny skirt bounce as you walk away.

That answer wasn't random, it's actually been the only thing you could think of all day. Your Minotaur coworkers cock reaching deep into your stomach while he pounds you into next week. You think that might be why so many customers have been extra forward with you today, they could probably smell the need on you.

You finally make it back to the bar, getting ready to end your shift and finally get some relief-

"You causing trouble?"

You whip around to see just the monster you were so desperate to see. He stands at the edge of the bar in his bouncer uniform, his sleeves hug his biceps very nicely and you nearly purr imagining what that arm would feel like around your throat. He gazes down at you with a knowing look.

"Me? Oh, I would never."

You look up at him and play with the collar of your shirt, successfully drawing his eyes to the generous amount of cleavage your uniform provides.

He huffs in amusement.

"They don't seem to think so."

He tilts his head and massive horns towards the two tables you just left where the occupants are all peering over one another to see the interaction between you and the bovine beast in front of you.

You scoff, take his arm and turn him around so that he's only focusing on you.

"I'm off. You're off in 15...maybe you could come by my place again....or something?"

You nervously bite your lip and he doesn't know why you're getting nervous.

You weren't nervous when you sent him that video of your stuffed cunt clenching around the Minotaur themed dildo you've had since before you were seeing eachother. You definitely weren't nervous when you sent him another video 6 hours ago of you stuffing said dildo into your perfect pussy in the employee bathrooms before slipping your tiny panties on over it, keeping the silicone deep in your cunt.

He pulls out his keys and leans down closer to you,

"Be ready when I get to the car."

You nearly squeal in excitement as you grab the keys and reach up to kiss his cheek. As you skip out the door to his car he looks back at the two tables just to revel a little in the disappointed grumbles and huffs emitting from the groups as they go back to their drinks.

𓄀

[pucksandpower]

I’ll Be Waiting

Toto Wolff x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Hedeby, 952

The crackling fire casts long shadows across the great hall as Toto sits upon his ornate wooden throne. His piercing brown eyes scan the room, filled with boisterous warriors celebrating their latest successful raid. But his gaze keeps returning to you, his most favored thrall, as you move gracefully among the revelers, refilling their horns with mead.

“You there,” Toto calls out, his deep voice cutting through the din. “Come hither.”

Your heart quickens as you approach, head bowed respectfully. “Yes, my Jarl?”

Toto leans forward, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Tell me, how fares the celebration? Are our warriors content?”

You risk a glance up, meeting his intense gaze. “They are in high spirits, my Jarl. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“And what of you?” Toto asks, his voice lowering. “Are you content in my service?”

A flush creeps up your neck. “I am honored to serve you, my Jarl. There is no greater joy.”

Toto nods, satisfied. “Good. I have a task for you. Meet me in my private chambers after the feast.”

As you turn to leave, a hand grabs your arm. It’s Ingrid, Toto’s wife, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What did my husband want with you?” She hisses.

You try to keep your voice steady. “He merely asked about the celebration, my lady.”

Ingrid’s grip tightens. “Do not think I am blind to the way he looks at you. Remember your place, thrall.”

She releases you and you hurry away, your mind racing. As the night wears on, you can feel Toto’s eyes following you, and the weight of Ingrid’s glares.

Finally, the feast winds down. With trepidation, you make your way to Toto’s private chambers. You knock softly.

“Enter,” comes his voice from within.

You step inside, finding Toto standing by the window, silhouetted against the starry night sky.

“Close the door,” he says without turning.

You obey, your pulse quickening. “You wanted to see me, my Jarl?”

Toto turns, his expression unreadable. “I did. Come closer.”

You approach cautiously, stopping a respectful distance away. Toto closes the gap between you, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“Do you know why I summoned you here?” He asks softly.

You swallow hard. “No, my Jarl.”

Toto’s hand cups your cheek. “I think you do. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. It mirrors the way I look at you.”

Your eyes widen. “My Jarl, I-”

“Shh,” he interrupts gently. “You need not speak. I know your heart, as you know mine.”

He leans in, his lips a breath away from yours. “Tell me to stop and I will. But know that you hold my heart in your hands.”

Unable to resist any longer, you close the distance, your lips meeting in a passionate kiss. For a moment, the world falls away, and there is only Toto and the fire he ignites within you.

Suddenly, the door bursts open. You jump apart to see Ingrid standing there, her face contorted with rage.

“I knew it!” She screams. “You treacherous whore!”

Before either of you can react, Ingrid pulls a dagger from her belt and lunges at you. Pain explodes in your abdomen as the blade finds its mark.

“No!” Toto roars, catching you as you collapse.

He lowers you gently to the floor, pressing his hands against the wound. “Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice breaking. “Don’t leave me.”

You try to speak, but only a gurgle escapes your lips. The world starts to fade around you.

“Guards!” Toto shouts. “Fetch the healer!”

But you know it’s too late. As your vision darkens, the last thing you see is Toto’s anguished face, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I will find you,” he whispers fiercely. “In this life or the next. I swear it.”

With your last breath, you manage to whisper, “I’ll be waiting.”

As your eyes close for the final time, you feel Toto’s lips press against your forehead, sealing a promise that will echo through lifetimes to come.

Vatican City, 1493

The opulent halls of the Vatican echo with hushed whispers and the rustle of silk as you make your way through the winding corridors. Your heart races, not with the excitement of a bride-to-be, but with the desperate resolve of one about to take a drastic step.

As you round a corner, a strong hand grasps your arm, pulling you into a shadowy alcove. You find yourself face to face with Cardinal Toto, his eyes filled with concern.

“My love,” he whispers urgently, “what are you doing here? The wedding is but hours away.”

You place a trembling hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the rich fabric of his robes. “I had to see you one last time.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean? Speak plainly, I beg you.”

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “I cannot go through with this farce of a marriage. My father may sell me to the highest bidder, but he cannot sell my heart.”

Toto’s eyes widen in alarm. “What are you planning? Tell me you haven’t done anything foolish.”

You pull a small vial from the folds of your dress. “It is already done, my love. The poison courses through my veins even as we speak.”

“No!” Toto gasps, gripping your shoulders. “How could you? We would have found another way!”

Tears well in your eyes. “There is no other way. My father’s ambition knows no bounds. This was the only path left to me.”

Toto pulls you close, his voice breaking. “Then I shall follow you into the darkness. I cannot live in a world without you.”

You push him away gently. “You must live, Toto. Live and remember me. Perhaps in another life, we will find each other again.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “I will not let you go. Not again. I’ve only just found you in this life, and I refuse to lose you once more.”

Confusion flickers across your face. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

Toto cups your face in his hands. “I’ve had dreams, vivid as memories, of us in another time. A great hall, a celebration ... and a tragic end. I swore I would find you, and I have. I will not be parted from you now.”

You sway on your feet, the poison beginning to take effect. “Toto, please. You must let me go. Your life, your position ...”

“Mean nothing without you,” he finishes firmly. “Come, we must get you to a physician. Perhaps there is still time to counteract the poison.”

As he tries to lead you away, you stumble, your legs giving way beneath you. Toto catches you, lowering you gently to the floor.

“Help!” He calls out, his voice echoing through the halls. “Someone, help us!”

You clutch at his robes weakly. “It’s too late, my love. But know that I go to my death with a heart full of love for you.”

Footsteps approach rapidly. A group of guards rounds the corner, led by your father, Pope Alexander VI. His face contorts with rage at the sight before him.

“What is the meaning of this?” He thunders. “Cardinal Wolff, explain yourself!”

Toto looks up, defiance blazing in his eyes. “Your daughter lies dying, Your Holiness. Will you not call for aid?”

Your father’s gaze hardens. “My daughter knows her duty. She will marry as I have decreed.”

“She has taken poison rather than submit to your schemes,” Toto spits out. “Is your ambition worth more than your daughter’s life?”

For a moment, shock flickers across your father’s face. Then his expression hardens once more. “Guards, seize the Cardinal. He has clearly bewitched my daughter’s mind.”

As the guards move to comply, you summon the last of your strength. “Father, please. Let me die in peace, with the man I love.”

Your words give the guards pause. They look to the Pope, uncertainty in their eyes.

Your father’s face twists with conflicting emotions. “You would throw away everything for this ... this upstart Cardinal?”

“I would throw away everything for love,” you whisper. “Something you have long forgotten the meaning of.”

A tense silence falls over the group. Then, to everyone’s surprise, your father waves the guards away. “Leave us,” he commands.

As they retreat, he kneels beside you, his voice softer than you’ve heard it in years. “My child, what have you done?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “I have chosen my own fate, father. For once in my life, I have made my own choice.”

Toto holds you closer, his tears falling freely now. “Is there truly nothing to be done?” He asks, his voice raw with anguish.

Your father shakes his head slowly. “The poison she favors ... it is swift and irreversible. I had thought to use it on our enemies, not ...” He trails off, unable to finish the thought.

As your breath grows more labored, you turn to Toto. “Promise me something, my love.”

“Anything,” he vows without hesitation.

“Live,” you whisper. “Live and do good in this world. And when your time comes, look for me in the next life. I will be waiting.”

Toto presses his forehead to yours. “I swear it. I will find you again, in this life or the next.”

With your last ounce of strength, you pull him into a final kiss. As your lips part, you feel the life leaving your body.

The last thing you hear is Toto’s anguished cry, a sound that seems to echo not just through the halls of the Vatican, but across time itself.

As darkness claims you, a strange sense of remembrance washes over you. You’ve been here before, you realize. And somehow, you know you’ll be here again. For your love is one that transcends death itself, destined to play out across the ages until, at last, you and Toto find your happily ever after.

Virginia, 1863

The makeshift field hospital buzzes with frantic activity as wounded soldiers are brought in from the front lines. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Amidst the chaos, you move with practiced efficiency, your nurse’s apron already stained with the day’s grim work.

Suddenly, a commotion at the entrance catches your attention. Your heart stops as you recognize the unconscious figure being carried in on a stretcher.

“Toto!” You cry out, rushing to his side.

The soldiers carrying him look grim. “It’s the Commander, ma’am. He took a bullet meant for one of his men.”

You quickly assess the wound, your medical training warring with your rising panic. “Put him here,” you direct, indicating an empty cot.

As they lay Toto down, his eyes flutter open. “Y/N?” He murmurs weakly. “Is that you, my love?”

You grasp his hand tightly. “I’m here, darling. You’re going to be alright.”

Toto manages a pained smile. “You always were a terrible liar, my dear.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you scold, fighting back tears as you begin to clean his wound. “You’re not going anywhere. I won’t allow it.”

He chuckles, then winces. “If only your determination could heal bullet wounds.”

As you work, you keep up a steady stream of conversation, partly to distract Toto from the pain and partly to keep your own rising fear at bay.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You ask, your hands moving swiftly to staunch the bleeding. “At that ridiculous ball in Washington?”

Toto’s eyes soften at the memory. “How could I forget? You were the most beautiful woman in the room, and I was the fool who spilled champagne all over your dress.”

You laugh despite yourself. “And then you insisted on giving me your jacket to cover the stain, even though it was three sizes too big.”

“It was worth the embarrassment,” Toto says softly. “It got you to talk to me.”

A sharp intake of breath from Toto makes you pause in your ministrations. “I’m sorry, love. I know it hurts.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing your best. You always do.”

You blink back tears, focusing on the task at hand. “We have so much left to do, Toto. Remember our plans? The house by the lake, the children we talked about ...”

Toto’s hand finds yours, squeezing weakly. “Tell me about them. Our children.”

You swallow hard, playing along even as your heart breaks. “Well, there’s little Torger, of course. He would have your eyes and your stubborn chin.”

“Poor lad,” Toto quips, his voice growing fainter.

“And our daughter,” you continue, your voice wavering. “She would be as smart as her father and as headstrong as her mother. Heaven help us when she would’ve gotten older.”

Toto’s eyes begin to drift closed. “They sound perfect.”

Panic seizes you. “Toto? Toto, stay with me. Please, darling, you have to fight.”

His eyes open again with visible effort. “I’m trying, my love. But I’m so tired.”

You look around frantically. “Doctor! We need a doctor here!”

But the overwhelmed medical staff are all occupied with other critical patients. You’re on your own.

“Look at me,” you plead, cupping his face in your hands. “Do you remember what you promised me on our wedding day? You said you’d love me in this life and the next. You can’t break that promise now.”

A strange look passes over Toto’s face. “The next life,” he murmurs. “Yes, I remember. I’ve always remembered, somehow.”

Confusion mixes with your fear. “What do you mean?”

Toto’s gaze becomes distant. “I’ve loved you before, Y/N. In other times, other places. I don’t know how I know this, but I do.”

You shake your head, tears flowing freely now. “You’re delirious, my love. Save your strength.”

“No,” Toto insists with surprising force. “Listen to me. This isn’t the end. I will find you again. I swear it.”

His words stir something deep within you, a sense of déjà vu so strong it takes your breath away. “Toto, I-”

But before you can finish, Toto’s body is wracked by a violent coughing fit. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“No, no, no,” you chant, redoubling your efforts to save him. “Don’t you dare leave me, Toto Wolff. Don’t you dare.”

Toto manages to lift a hand to your cheek, wiping away your tears. “My brave, beautiful Y/N. How I wish we had more time.”

You lean into his touch. “We will. You’ll get better and we’ll have all the time in the world.”

But even as you say the words, you can feel Toto slipping away. His breathing becomes more labored, his skin growing cold beneath your touch.

“Kiss me,” he whispers. “One last time.”

Choking back a sob, you lean down and press your lips to his. You try to pour all your love, all your hope, all your desperation into that kiss.

As you pull back, Toto’s eyes meet yours one final time. “Until we meet again, my love,” he breathes.

And then he’s gone.

For a moment, you’re frozen in disbelief. Then a wail of anguish tears from your throat, echoing through the hospital tent.

As you collapse across Toto’s still form, sobs wracking your body, a strange sensation washes over you. It’s as if you’re remembering something you’ve never experienced — other lives, other deaths, other heartbreaks.

In that moment, you know with absolute certainty that this isn’t the end. Somehow, someway, you and Toto will find each other again.

As the chaos of the field hospital swirls around you, you whisper a promise against Toto’s cold lips. “I’ll be waiting for you, my love. In this life or the next.”

And somewhere, beyond the veil of death, a spark of hope ignites. The wheel of time turns, and two souls begin their journey once more, drawn together by a love that refuses to die.

London, 1894

The London fog hangs heavy in the air as you hurry through the winding streets, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. You pull your cloak tighter, glancing over your shoulder to ensure you haven’t been followed. Finally, you reach your destination: a nondescript townhouse in a respectable neighborhood.

You knock quickly, a pre-arranged pattern. The door opens almost immediately, and you’re pulled inside by strong, familiar arms.

“My darling,” Toto Wolff murmurs, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. “I was beginning to worry.”

You melt into his embrace, inhaling his comforting scent. “I’m sorry, love. It was difficult to get away tonight.”

Toto’s brow furrows as he notices your wince when he holds you. “He hurt you again, didn’t he?”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s nothing, Toto. Please, let’s not waste our precious time together talking about him.”

But Toto gently cups your face, turning it towards him. “It’s not nothing. You don’t deserve this, Y/N. Let me take you away from all this. We could start a new life together, somewhere far from here.”

You sigh, leaning into his touch. “You know we can’t. The scandal would ruin you. Your business, your reputation ...”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Toto insists. “I care about you. I love you.”

Those three words, so freely given, bring tears to your eyes. “And I love you. More than I ever thought possible. But the world isn’t kind to women who leave their husbands, no matter how cruel those husbands might be.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “Then let me confront him. I have influence, connections. I could make him disappear.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, I won’t have you risk everything for me. These stolen moments ... they’re enough. They have to be.”

Toto pulls you close again, more gently this time. “They’ll never be enough. Not when I know you’re suffering. Not when every fiber of my being aches to make you my wife, to give you the life you deserve.”

You look up at him, struck once again by the intensity of his gaze. “Sometimes ... sometimes I feel as though we’ve lived this before. This longing, this impossible love. Does that sound mad?”

A strange expression crosses Toto’s face. “No, my love. It doesn’t sound mad at all. I’ve felt it too. As if we’ve known each other across lifetimes.”

You’re about to respond when a loud banging on the door makes you both jump.

“Open up, Wolff!” A familiar, slurred voice calls out. “I know she’s in there!”

Your blood runs cold. “It’s him. Oh God, Toto, it’s my husband. He must have followed me.”

Toto’s expression hardens. “Stay here,” he commands, moving towards the door.

But you grab his arm. “No, please! He’s drunk, he’s dangerous. Let me handle this.”

Before Toto can protest, you rush to the door and open it slightly. Your husband’s red, enraged face greets you.

“So it’s true,” he snarls. “My own wife, carrying on with this ... this upstart robber baron!”

You try to keep your voice calm. “Richard, please. Let’s go home and talk about this.”

But Richard is beyond reason. He shoves the door open, nearly knocking you over. Toto is there in an instant, steadying you.

“Get your hands off my wife,” Richard growls.

Toto’s voice is ice cold. “I suggest you leave, sir. Before you do something you’ll regret.”

Richard laughs bitterly. “Regret? The only thing I regret is not seeing this sooner. How long has this been going on, eh? How long have you been making a fool of me?”

You step forward, hands raised placatingly. “Richard, please. It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” Richard roars. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

In his rage, he lashes out, his hand connecting with your cheek with a sickening crack. You stumble backwards, crying out in pain.

Toto moves with lightning speed, tackling Richard to the ground. “How dare you lay a hand on her!” He shouts, his fist connecting with Richard’s jaw.

The two men grapple on the floor, trading blows. You watch in horror, frozen in place.

Suddenly, Richard’s hand emerges from his coat, clutching a revolver. Time seems to slow down as he aims it at Toto.

“No!” You scream, throwing yourself between them just as Richard pulls the trigger.

The sound of the gunshot is deafening in the small space. For a moment, everything is still. Then you look down, seeing the rapidly spreading red stain on your dress.

“Y/N!” Toto cries out, catching you as you collapse.

Richard stares in shock, the gun falling from his limp fingers. “I ... I didn’t mean ...”

But Toto isn’t listening. He’s cradling you in his arms, his face a mask of anguish. “Stay with me, my love. Please, stay with me.”

You reach up weakly, touching his cheek. “Toto ... my Toto ...”

“Don’t speak,” he urges. “Save your strength. Help is coming.”

But you both know it’s too late. You can feel your life ebbing away with each labored breath.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry we never got our chance.”

Toto’s tears fall on your face as he leans close. “Don’t be sorry. We’ll have another chance. I swear it. I’ll find you again, in the next life.”

A sense of peace washes over you at his words. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Toto vows fiercely. “This isn’t the end for us. It can’t be.”

With the last of your strength, you pull him down for a final kiss. As your lips meet, memories flood your mind – not just of this life, but of others. Viking halls, Vatican corridors, Civil War battlefields. Through it all, one constant.

Toto.

As darkness closes in, you manage one last whisper. “Until we meet again, my love.”

Your eyes close, your hand going limp in Toto’s grasp. The last thing you hear is his anguished cry, a sound that seems to echo not just through the room, but across time itself.

Indiana, 1932

The dilapidated streets of the once-thriving town are a stark contrast to the sleek black car that rolls through them. A powerful mobster sits in the back, his sharp eyes taking in the changes a decade has wrought on his childhood home.

As the car stops in front of a run-down tenement, a young boy approaches cautiously. Toto steps out, adjusting his expensive suit.

“You Toto?” The boy asks, eyeing him warily.

Toto nods. “I am. And you must be Jimmy. You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

Jimmy’s face darkens. “Yeah, well, a lot’s changed. You here to see her?”

“I am,” Toto confirms, his voice softening. “How is she, Jimmy?”

The boy’s shoulders slump. “Not good, mister. Not good at all. Follow me.”

As they climb the creaking stairs, Jimmy speaks in a low voice. “She’s been sick for months. Tuberculosis, the doc says. But she won’t stop giving her food to us kids. Says we need it more.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I would have-”

“She wouldn’t let us,” Jimmy interrupts. “Said you had your own life now, that she didn’t want to be a burden.”

They reach a door on the third floor. Jimmy hesitates before opening it. “Just ... prepare yourself, okay?”

Toto steels himself as they enter the small, dimly lit room. His heart nearly stops when he sees you lying on the bed, a mere shadow of the vibrant girl he remembers.

Your eyes light up when you see him, even as a coughing fit wracks your frail body. “Toto? Is it really you?”

He’s at your side in an instant, taking your hand in his. “It’s me, my love. I’m here.”

You manage a weak smile. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe for you here.”

Toto shakes his head, fighting back tears. “To hell with safety. Why didn’t you tell me you were ill? I could have helped.”

Another cough shakes you, and this time, blood stains your lips. Toto reaches for a handkerchief, gently wiping it away.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you whisper. “You’ve done so well for yourself, Toto. I couldn’t bear to drag you back here.”

Toto’s voice is fierce. “You could never be a burden. Don’t you know that you’re everything to me?”

You look at him sadly. “We were children then. The world’s changed. We’ve changed.”

“Not where it matters,” he insists. “My feelings for you have never changed.”

Jimmy, who’s been hovering by the door, speaks up. “I’ll, uh, give you two some privacy.” He slips out, closing the door behind him.

Alone now, Toto takes in your gaunt face, your hollow cheeks. “Why haven’t you been eating?” He asks softly.

You look away. “Times are hard. The children need it more than I do.”

“And what about what you need?” Toto demands, his voice breaking. “Did you think I wouldn’t want to know? That I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to help you?”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I couldn’t ask that of you. You’ve built a new life. I’m just ... I’m just a relic of the past.”

Toto cups your face gently, turning it towards him. “You’re not a relic. You’re the love of my life. The only thing that’s mattered all these years.”

You search his eyes, seeing the truth there. “Oh, Toto. I’ve missed you so much.”

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get you better and then-”

But you shake your head weakly. “It’s too late for that, my love. I can feel it. I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t say that,” Toto pleads. “You can’t give up. Not now that we’re together again.”

Another coughing fit overtakes you, more violent than before. When it subsides, you look at Toto with a strange mix of sadness and wonder.

“You know,” you murmur, “I’ve had the strangest dreams lately. Of us, together, but in different times, different places. Is that mad?”

Toto’s breath catches. “No, it’s not mad at all. I’ve had them too. Like ... like we’ve lived this love before.”

You manage a small smile. “Perhaps we have. Perhaps we always will.”

Toto brings your hand to his lips, kissing it softly. “Then let this not be the end. Fight, my love. Fight to stay with me.”

“I’m trying,” you whisper. “But I’m so tired, Toto. So very tired.”

He climbs onto the bed, gathering you carefully in his arms. “Then rest. I’ve got you now. I’m not letting go.”

You nestle against his chest, feeling safe for the first time in years. “Toto?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you tell me about your life? What you’ve been doing all these years?”

Toto hesitates, not wanting to speak of his less-than-legal activities. But he sees the genuine interest in your eyes and begins to talk, telling you sanitized versions of his rise to power.

As he speaks, he feels you relaxing in his arms, your breathing becoming more even. For a moment, he allows himself to hope.

But then you look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of love and regret. “I wish we had more time,” you breathe.

Toto’s heart clenches. “We will. You’re going to get better, and we’ll have all the time in the world.”

You shake your head slightly. “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” he vows without hesitation.

“Look after them. Jimmy and the others. They’ll need someone now.”

Toto nods, tears flowing freely now. “I promise. But you’ll be here too. You have to be.”

You reach up weakly, touching his cheek. “Kiss me? One last time?”

Choking back a sob, Toto leans down, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, desperate kiss.

As you part, you look into his eyes one final time. “Until we meet again, my love,” you whisper.

And then you’re gone, your body going limp in Toto’s arms.

For a moment, the world stands still. Then Toto’s anguished cry echoes through the small room, a sound of grief so profound it seems to transcend time itself.

As he holds your lifeless body, Toto makes a silent vow. He will find you again, in this life or the next. For a love like yours cannot be bound by the limits of a single lifetime.

Monaco, 2024

The bustling energy of the paddock swirls around you as you make your way through the crowd, one hand resting protectively on your slightly swollen belly. Despite the chaos, you move with confidence, knowing that at any moment ...

“There you are, mein Schatz,” a familiar voice calls out. Toto appears at your side as if by magic. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you feeling alright? Do you need to sit down?”

You can’t help but smile at his concern. “I’m fine, Toto. Just taking a little walk. The baby’s been restless today.”

Toto’s hand immediately joins yours on your belly, his face lighting up with wonder. “Is that so? Well then, little one, let’s find a more comfortable spot for your mother, shall we?”

Before you can protest, Toto is guiding you towards the Mercedes hospitality area, his arm protectively around your waist. As you walk, heads turn and whispers follow. It’s still a novelty for many to see the usually intense and focused Toto Wolff so openly affectionate.

“Toto, really, I’m okay,” you insist, even as you allow him to lead you. “You don’t need to fuss so much.”

He gives you a look that’s equal parts love and stubbornness. “Nonsense. It’s my job to fuss over you. Both of you.”

As you enter the cool, quiet Mercedes suite, Toto immediately starts arranging pillows on a plush sofa. “Here, sit down. Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? Perhaps a foot massage?”

You laugh, settling onto the sofa. “A water would be lovely, thank you. But then you need to relax. Don’t you have a race to prepare for?”

Toto waves a hand dismissively as he fetches your water. “The team can manage without me for a few minutes. You and our child are my priority.”

As he hands you the water and sits beside you, you can’t help but marvel at the man before you. Toto Wolff, the billionaire, the racing mogul, the man whose mere presence commands respect throughout the paddock — and here he is, fussing over you like a mother hen.

“What are you thinking about?” Toto asks, noticing your contemplative expression.

You take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Just ... how different things are now. How perfect. Sometimes I feel like we’ve been waiting lifetimes for this happiness.”

A strange look passes over Toto’s face, a mix of recognition and wonder. “You know, I’ve had that same feeling. Like we knew each other before.”

You nod, a shiver running down your spine. “It’s odd, isn’t it? But it feels ... right, somehow.”

Toto pulls you closer, his hand resting on your belly once more. “Perhaps we have known each other across lifetimes. And perhaps this is the one where we finally got it right.”

Just then, you feel a strong kick from the baby. Toto’s eyes widen in delight.

“Did you feel that?” He exclaims, his usual composure completely forgotten.

You laugh, wincing slightly. “Trust me, I felt it. I think someone’s eager to join the conversation.”

Toto leans down, speaking directly to your belly. “Hello there, little racer. Are you practicing your podium celebrations already?”

As if in response, there’s another kick. Toto looks up at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears of joy.

“I never knew I could be this happy,” he murmurs. “You’ve given me everything. A love I never thought possible, a family of my own ...”

You cup his cheek, touched by his openness. “Oh, Toto. You’ve given me just as much. More, even. You’ve given me a home, a sense of belonging I’ve never had before.”

Toto turns his head to kiss your palm. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you always feel that way. Both of you.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Toto sighs, reluctantly pulling away.

“Come in,” he calls out, his ‘team principal’ voice back in place.

A nervous-looking intern pokes his head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but the strategy meeting is about to start. They’re asking for you.”

Toto nods. “Thank you. I’ll be there in a moment.”

As the intern leaves, Toto turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. Will you be alright here?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I’ll be fine. Go, lead your team to victory. We’ll be right here cheering you on.”

Toto stands, but hesitates. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? I could have someone bring you some snacks or maybe a blanket if you’re cold ...”

“Toto,” you say firmly, but with affection. “Go. We’re fine. I promise I’ll call if I need anything.”

He leans down to kiss you softly. “Alright, alright. I’m going. I love you both so much.”

“We love you too,” you reply, giving him a gentle push. “Now go be the brilliant team principal I married.”

As Toto finally leaves, you settle back into the couch, your hands resting on your belly. You feel another kick and smile.

“Your father’s quite something, isn’t he?” You murmur to your unborn child. “But don’t worry. No matter how busy he gets, no matter how many races he wins, you and I will always be his greatest victory.”

As you sit there, surrounded by the muffled sounds of the paddock, you’re filled with a sense of contentment so profound it almost overwhelms you. After so many lifetimes of heartache and separation, you and Toto have finally found your happily ever after.

And as your baby kicks again, you smile, knowing that this is just the beginning of your greatest adventure yet.

[xo100]

Baking cookies pt. 2- LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando confesses his feelings for Y/N after years of friendship and raising Nina together. They share a tender moment, embracing the possibility of something more.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1035

previous part

୨ৎ

It had been a few days since the cookie-baking afternoon, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of Lando’s hand brushing against hers or the way his voice softened when he thanked her. She had thought about it far more than she cared to admit. Sure, they had always been close, but something about that day felt different—like the air between them had shifted ever so slightly.

-

Today, she found herself back at Lando’s place. This time, it was a quieter evening. No baking, no rushing around. Just a casual dinner with Lando and Nina, who was currently playing in the living room, her laughter echoing through the house as she entertained herself with her toy cars.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Lando’s voice brought her back to the present. He was leaning against the kitchen island, his blue eyes fixed on her with that familiar playful glint.

Y/N shook her head, smiling as she stirred the sauce simmering on the stove. “You’d need more than a penny for these thoughts, Norris.”

“Oh? That intriguing, huh?” he teased, moving to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed again.

She chuckled, trying to focus on the cooking rather than the way his presence made her stomach flutter. “Maybe.”

“Tell me,” he nudged her gently, his voice dropping slightly.

Y/N bit her lip, keeping her eyes on the pot. She had never been great at hiding things from Lando, and now was no exception. But before she could respond, a small, excited voice interrupted them.

“Daddy! Auntie Y/N!” Nina called from the living room. “Come see my race track!”

Lando grinned, giving Y/N a look that said we’ll continue this later, before he walked out to join Nina. Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her mind spinning as she finished preparing dinner.

The evening passed in a comfortable rhythm. They ate together, sharing stories about their day, with Nina animatedly telling them all about her adventures with her toys. Y/N and Lando exchanged playful banter like they always did, but the undercurrent of something more was still there—quiet but impossible to ignore.

After dinner, Nina’s energy finally started to wane. She climbed onto Y/N’s lap, snuggling into her with her favorite stuffed animal clutched in one hand. “I’m sleepy,” she mumbled, her eyes drooping.

“Looks like someone’s ready for bed,” Y/N said softly, running a hand through Nina’s curls.

Lando smiled at the sight, his gaze lingering on the two of them for a moment before he spoke. “I’ll get her tucked in.”

He lifted Nina into his arms, and Y/N watched as he carried his daughter upstairs, the gentle way he spoke to her making Y/N’s heart swell. Lando had always been a natural with Nina, but watching him now, it was clear just how much he had grown into his role as her father. He was thoughtful, patient, and always put her first. It was one of the many reasons Y/N had fallen for him, even if she hadn’t fully admitted that to herself yet.

By the time Lando returned, Y/N was sitting on the couch, absently flipping through her phone. He plopped down beside her with a sigh, his arm casually draped along the back of the couch. “She’s out like a light.”

“She had a busy day,” Y/N smiled, setting her phone down.

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the soft glow of the living room lights casting shadows on the walls. Then, Lando spoke, his voice quiet. “About earlier…”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She had been wondering if he’d bring it up. “Yeah?”

He turned slightly to face her, his expression more serious than usual. “I’ve been thinking… about you. About us.”

“Us?” Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper.

Lando nodded, his eyes searching hers. “You’ve always been there for me, for Nina. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you these past few years. And I’ve been wondering if maybe… there could be more between us. If you feel it too.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The words she had been too afraid to say were now hanging in the air between them. She had always felt something more for Lando, but she had never wanted to risk their friendship—or complicate things for Nina.

But now, with him sitting so close, his eyes so sincere, Y/N realized she didn’t want to keep pretending anymore.

“I do,” she said softly, her heart racing. “I’ve felt it for a while.”

Lando’s face lit up with a smile, one that made Y/N’s heart soar. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. “I’ve been wanting to say something for months, but I didn’t want to push you… or mess anything up.”

Y/N shook her head, her fingers tightening around his. “You’re not pushing me. I… I want this too. I want us.”

For a moment, they just sat there, hands intertwined, the weight of their unspoken feelings finally released. It was as if everything had fallen into place—like all the years of friendship, support, and love had led to this moment.

Lando leaned in slowly, his gaze flicking to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering as she nodded. “Yes.”

With that, Lando closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, but filled with the promise of so much more. When they finally pulled apart, they were both smiling, their foreheads resting against each other’s.

“So,” Lando murmured, his voice still soft, “does this mean I can look forward to more cookies?”

Y/N laughed, lightly smacking his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” he teased, his eyes twinkling.

“I guess I do,” Y/N admitted, her heart swelling with happiness.

As they sat there, the warmth of their newfound connection wrapping around them like a cozy blanket, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was where she was meant to be—by Lando’s side, with Nina, in this little family they had created together. And now, it wasn’t just a friendship anymore.

It was so much more.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it and that this was what you expected for part 2 if not let me know! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @barcelonaloverf1life @fanficweasley @obxstiles @missnxthingg

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷.𝟹𝚔 || 𝐃𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐍

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: James becomes a worried mother hen when you faint in Herbology class.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: James Potter x reader

The hospital wing always smelled faintly of antiseptic potions and freshly laundered sheets. You were lying in one of the many crisp, white beds, a blanket pulled up to your chin. A stubborn cough rattled your chest, but you felt far better than when you first arrived. Madam Pomfrey had been quick with a cure, leaving you with a potion for congestion and strict instructions to rest.

James Potter, however, had other plans.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” James tutted, bustling around like a worried mother hen. He had already fluffed your pillows twice in the last fifteen minutes, and now he was pouring you another glass of water, insisting that you sip it slowly.

"James, seriously," you croaked, trying to wave him off, "I'm fine. Madam Pomfrey said the worst is over. I just need some sleep—"

"Sleep?!" he interrupted, turning to you with wide eyes as if you'd just suggested something utterly preposterous. "You can’t just sleep this off, love. You're sick! And you didn’t even tell me you were feeling bad until you practically passed out during Herbology!" He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re impossible.”

You groaned, sinking further into the pillows. “I’m not that sick, James. Honestly.”

But James ignored you entirely, moving on to smoothing out the blankets on the bed, adjusting them just so, then darting back to your side to press a hand to your forehead. He frowned in concern, despite the fact that your fever had already broken.

"Still too warm," he muttered to himself, then in a louder voice added, "Do you need another blanket? What about your potion? Have you taken your potion?"

"Yes!" you replied, exasperated, holding up the empty potion bottle as proof. "I've taken it. I’m fine, really.”

But James wasn’t having any of it. "You should have told me earlier," he scolded softly, eyes narrowing at you in a way that was more affectionate than anything else. "Running around the castle when you're sick, not taking care of yourself. What were you thinking?"

You rolled your eyes, a little grin tugging at your lips despite how tired you felt. “I didn’t want to make a fuss,” you mumbled.

“Well, too bad!” James retorted, crossing his arms over his chest in a very Sirius-like manner, though the anxious gleam in his eyes was entirely his own. “I’m going to fuss whether you like it or not.”

Before you could protest, he was off again, striding toward the door of the hospital wing. “I’ll be back. I’m going to get more of that potion from Madam Pomfrey.”

“James—!” You tried to sit up, but your aching body protested. “She already said you have to leave! She’s going to hex you if you keep pestering her for more potions!”

He shot you a wink over his shoulder. “Let her try.”

True to his word, James disappeared through the door, only to return minutes later with another small vial of potion in his hand. He looked smug, though his hair was even more disheveled than before, a clear sign that Madam Pomfrey had tried to shoo him away more than once.

“She said you have to drink this,” he declared, holding the potion out to you with a flourish. “And then, you rest. Properly.”

“I don’t need it—”

“Drink.”

You sighed but took the vial from his hand, knowing there was no winning when James was like this. You uncorked the potion and took a sip, wrinkling your nose at the taste. James was watching you closely, arms still crossed, but the tenderness in his gaze was undeniable.

Once you’d finished, he set the empty vial aside and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in to smooth your hair away from your face. “You scared me,” he admitted softly, his earlier bravado slipping away for a moment. “Seeing you like that in class, all pale and weak… I hate it when you’re not feeling well.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m alright now, James. Really. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“Too late,” he said with a crooked smile. “I’m going to worry about you forever, I think. So, you better get used to it.”

You chuckled lightly, though it quickly turned into another coughing fit. James immediately leapt into action, patting your back gently and handing you the glass of water.

“See?” he said, a little too smug for your liking. “This is why I’m fussing.”

You shot him a playful glare, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. As much as you protested, having James dote on you like this wasn’t the worst thing in the world. You leaned back into the pillows once more, exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

James, sensing that you were finally settling, sat down beside you again. This time, he didn’t scold you or rush around. Instead, he took your hand in his, thumb rubbing soft circles over your skin.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right here.”

And despite your earlier protests, you felt your eyes fluttering shut, comforted by the warmth of James beside you. Maybe, just maybe, letting him fuss over you wasn’t so bad after all.

[moonlight-prose]

a request, if i may, of praising old man logan as he filfthly eats you out and it makes him combust the more you praise him? okay running away again

speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life

a/n: look at him taking off his glasses in absolute shock of this ask- no okay does old man logan have a praise kink? i would raise it higher and say every version of logan has a massive praise kink. this is a man who wants to know he's doing good in life. his love language is acts of service so he might get to hear a pretty thank you. also i'm not sorry for how feral this got. i have no explanation.

summary: he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

word count: 3k+

pairing: old man!logan x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), praise kink, logan is obsessed, dirty talk via reader, he is so pretty when he blushes, manhandling, cumplay, cumeating, overstimulation, crying, he's needy in this one, angst, tortured soul of an old man, reverence, religious trauma + greek mythology hints.

He can feel the strings of fate pull tight around his broken heart. In a failed attempt to draw him back together. To piece together an organ that barely beat for him anymore. He might have felt it once, before it broke. Before it gnarled itself like the branches of a dying tree, one half twisting away from the other in a desperate attempt of survival.

He deemed it a useless part of his body until you came along. You with your smile that held enough cloying sweetness to choke him as he stood helpless. Silently begging for you to say his name. To bring him back to life.

Whatever horrors that plagued his mind—endless nightmares that promised nothing but anguish—suddenly came crashing to a halt at the sight of you. So pretty in your denim jeans and velvet top. An angel seated in the center of a bar that held more filth than you deserved to be near. Logan couldn’t fathom that luck struck him this hard.

Not when death had already claimed his soul; notched yet another tally in the endless wall of people that came before.

He felt the dirt pack under his nails as he clawed his way out of the grave he put himself in. Years spent alone—a man lost to the ravages of time—had turned him bitter. With rough edges and biting words that stung far more than he intended. How could he believe he deserved to live after he contributed so much to the endless pool of blood that tainted his soul? How was he allowed such softness after biting off bits of brutality his whole life?

Logan was pretty sure he survived on borrowed time that had already run out. He could feel death breathe down his neck as the days went on. A reminder that what little of his life remained would be spent suffering. And he found that accepting it was easier than battling against the will of God, or whoever toyed with his lifeline.

It was far easier to die than find a reason to live.

Until you said his name.

Softly. Sweetly. Reverence wrapped in a tight grasp of need.

You brought him back from the edge—took his hand and refused to take no for an answer. You and the safety of your touch; the promise in your kiss. You dragged him into a life he didn’t earn; one that almost tasted too sweet—too sour.

After near a decade of being buried beneath the dirt, he felt himself collapse above ground and suck in his first real gasp of fresh air. Alive, once more. Hell spit him out with a vow of love and who was he to argue against it.

His fingers dug into your plush thighs, tugging them open to see what lay between. He marveled at their softness, eyes wide and awestruck at the sight of you spread beneath him. You practically glowed in the dim light of the bedside table. Yellow, musty, yet angelic when it caressed your body with its heavenly touch.

He wondered if this was real life; your nails digging sharply into his shoulders gave him the answer.

"Logan," you sighed, voice high with need.

The strings pulled taught. A vice like hold that drew him to you.

Maybe that's what this unutterable feeling was. The gnawing pit at the bottom of his heart. A greed he'd never indulged before—too afraid of what it might ask for next. He wasn't a man who asked for much. Rather someone that found himself far too content with nothing. But tonight he found his lips forming the words of a false prayer that his mother taught him as a child.

Hail the angel in his bed. Hail every good fucking thing you brought into his life.

His teeth sunk into your thigh, body jolting at your responding moan. Fingers dug into his hair, tugging at the mussed locks with a high pitched whine. You were a needy little thing, but Logan found he desperately wanted to be needed.

He smiled laving his tongue over the tender spot, working his way up to where you dripped for him.

So slick. So perfect.

Saliva filled his mouth. "What do ya want baby?"

Your chest heaved; he could feel the heat of your body under his palms. "Your m-mouth Logan."

His eyes trailed along your brow covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was thick with the humid air of the outside world. But that didn't deter him from craving your skin near his. The pressure of your thighs around his head a welcome weight. If he sunk his teeth in where the curve of your leg met your hip he knew he could draw out that soft choking noise he longed to hear on days spent driving alone.

If he had his way he'd crawl into you to seek your serenity straight from the source. He'd never divulge about the ache that chewed him up on the inside, but Logan wondered if you knew. Could you tell how much he craved you? How much he couldn't live without you.

When your glittering eyes met his, the resolve he spent years building cracked like glass. You peered into him as if he was a stained glass window. A god you were more than happy to worship.

"You want me to lick this pretty pussy?" Fuck, he sounded drunk off your taste already.

His mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, your scent now filling his senses. Overwhelming him with what he wanted most. But he needed to hear it. The lilt of your begging; the soft echo of your need that washed over him like soothing river water.

He couldn't live without it.

"Yes," you sobbed, thigh twitching.

The string sliced his heart open, blood pooling onto the white bed sheets. Oh what a sweet death your love made. Oh...what a bittersweet way to go.

He'd die right now if you asked him to. Hand over his heart on a silver platter if you so wished it. Maybe that made him far too gone for his own good, but Logan couldn't remember a time in his life where he got this. Safety. The hope of love burning far too bright and far too hot for him to fly near it.

Yet there he was. Icarus happily soaring in your sun like glow.

"I got ya honey," he murmured. "Gonna take care of what's mine."

You nodded frantically—tears welling up in your eyes. "You take care of me Logan."

The breath in his chest stuttered, eyes dark as the words fell past your swollen lips. He wanted to explain why his cock twitched against his stomach. Why he now leaked into the sheet with heavy panted breaths. But every time he came up short with the words needed to form an answer.

"Yeah I do sweetheart," he breathed. "Don't I?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of what belongs to me."

There was no warning when his hands dragged you closer with a rough tug, mouth closing over your clit with a desperate suck. A cry wrenched from your mouth, sparks sharply traveling down your spine. He licked through your slick with a growl. Hands an unbreakable press against your thighs.

The sight of your body bowed, mouth open for small gasped breaths that never came, snapped something in his mind. He was an old man. Well past his years. But the taste of your pussy along his tongue brought back a ferocity he often tamped down in his younger age. He felt the feral want claw at his chest, and answered it with a broken snarl.

Swallowing down every drop you gave him, he plunged his tongue into your entrance, thrusting messily until a smear of your shiny slick began to coat his mouth. It covered his cheeks and clung to the hair of his beard. He'd clean it out later, taste you on his tongue until he was aching for another go. But for now he was preoccupied with the way you cried for him.

"Oh fuck!" Your thighs trembled over his shoulders, hips canting down to drag yourself along his tongue. "So good."

He shuddered, eyes rolling back at the sound of your praise. You caught it within seconds, lips pulling into a breathless smile that left him gasping for air. His teeth nipped at your thigh briefly as his hips ground into the mattress below.

"You like that baby?" you breathed, thumb smearing your own slick against his cheek.

Something hot washed over his body. A needy sick and twisted ache that he'd never indulged in before. He wanted to be a good man to you; longed to be needed. And fuck if you didn't give him everything.

You were his walking wet dream. His future handed off and wrapped in a neat little bow.

"L-Love your tongue Logan-" A high gasp tore from your throat when he dived back in. Slurping at your clit with a heady moan as you dragged him closer. "Taking care of me so well."

His hips canted down into the bed, fucking his cock along the warmth of his stomach, as you gushed into his mouth again. Eyes zeroed in on your face, pupils dilated as he growled into your flesh. You no longer could see the man you loved, but the feral side he tamped down during the day. The animal he longed to release in your presence.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum."

His arms looped around your thighs and with a sharp yank, he had his face buried deep enough to suffocate himself. You sobbed an incoherent version of his name. Nails clawed at his shoulders, but Logan could feel the pulse of your clit under his tongue.

He sucked it into his mouth with a grunt, rolling it along his tongue as you trembled with the oncoming shocks of an orgasm that threatened to destroy you.

Tears dripped down your cheeks and Logan felt the satisfying part of his heart begin to stitch itself back together. The strings were tight enough to numb his pain. To quell the flare of agony.

That used to be all he knew, all he counted on most days. When there was nothing left and he'd propped the shovel in the dirt—his grave open and waiting—he stumbled right into your arms. He found his reason for living.

Heat curled around his spine as you shook with the impending orgasm—the stimulation on your clit practically debilitating. He grunted into your soaked flesh, eyes narrowed as he chased the release that pulled his stomach taut. But this wasn't for him to indulge in; this wasn't his pleasure.

So with a throaty moan you felt reverberate along your body, he scraped his teeth along your clit and watched as your body went stiff.

"Logan!" you cried, fingers scrambling for purchase on any part of him you could reach.

You gushed into his awaiting mouth, praises of it's so good, you're so good falling upon his ears like the whimpered prayers of a devout worshiper thanking your god.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he mumbled, drunk on what you gave him.

He didn't care that you were jolting with each pass of his tongue along your pussy. He didn't care that you were shocked with overstimulation, small broken cries of his name muffled by the press of your thighs against his ears. He licked at you until he couldn't breathe. Buried his tongue into your twitching entrance and sucked out your cum with a happy hum.

"P-Please." You tugged at his hair, pulling him off you with a sob. "I-I can't anymore Logan."

"'M not fuckin' finished," he said, eyes glazed and face coated in your slick.

You made a mess of his face. The light catching along where you spilled into his mouth and along his throat. And still he wanted more. He'd spend hours between your thighs, burning your skin with his beard, if it meant he could divulge in your sweetness.

"It hurts-"

A grunt rumbled in his chest, his arms tugging you back even as your feet kicked along his back. "Just one more honey. Yeah?"

You shook your head. "B-But-"

"Thought you said it was good."

"It is."

"Then lemme be good for you." He wanted to tell you that the world went quiet between your thighs. That all his grief, all his pain, lessened when you sobbed his name.

He wanted to show you the string that looped his heart to yours—the only thing keeping him alive—and thank you for bringing him back from the dead. But words weren't his forte. Violence had become the only tenderness he knew and you didn't deserve the rough edges of an old man. You should have more.

But when you let him touch you like this—caress your skin and lick between your folds—he felt as if he was a man who finally was worthy of someone as precious as you. He could pretend he didn't bear the brunt of a fucked up soul.

The weight on his chest lifted when your tear filled gaze met his and you nodded. Small, barely there, but it was enough for him to seal his mouth back over you with a ragged moan. Your body shook as his tongue slid through the seam of your pussy. The tip nudging against your clit—careful to draw the pleasure from your body slowly.

He didn't want to give you pain. His heart wouldn't survive that. But he was a broken man; someone who begged for more even as his teeth sunk into what was already given.

You were his meal. His sacrament in the midnight hours until dawn broke across the darkened sky. You were the other half of his soul.

How could he not indulge in your sweetened tang until his tongue went stiff?

"I love you," you sighed, eyes rolled back when he sucked at your pussy, a wet low moan echoing in the air. "My p-perfect husband."

The cold press of his wedding band against your thigh drove him over the edge. You weren't officially married. Didn't have the backyard wedding with a preacher to match. But Logan had placed a ring on your finger near a year ago, sliding one over his own with the vow of forever cemented in his words.

Even if that didn't mean much in the eyes of a god who abandoned him near a century ago.

"Oh-"

Your head tipped back, mouth dropping open as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. Thrusting lazily until he found the spongey patch along your walls—driving the pad of his middle finger into it with a needy moan.

He knew it wouldn't take long for you to fly off the edge of a second release. That didn't make watching you climb to that peak any less satisfying. The sight appeased his soul. It gave him a chance to breathe; let him know that after so much bad—after so much pain—he could do something good. He could bring you to the edge of pleasure and drag you over again and again.

He could finally be the man you believed he was.

Not the animal they created.

"C'mon," he muttered. Eyes fixed on the shape of your breasts as your body curved off the bed. Hips dragging along his face with a stunted cry.

A wail bounced off the walls, piercing his eardrums with the symphony of your cries. His fingers rapidly pumped into you with a squelch that had heat burning his cheeks—lips pulling your throbbing clit into his mouth as you broke. The climax slammed into you; battering your already swollen pussy.

Logan could feel his cock swell at the sight.

"Fuckin' perfect," he grunted, teeth bared as he clambered to his knees and wrapped his fist soaked in your slick around his leaking cock. "'M gonna cum sweetheart."

Your eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into his thigh. "Please. Wanna see it baby. Look so pretty when you cum Logan."

His chest tightened, body shaking while you watched in rapture as he fucked his fist rapidly. He wouldn't fucking last, could feel the burning consume his body, but something held him back. The string around his heart yanked him away from the edge, tearing a cry from his throat when his frustration peaked.

You could see it—the glimmer of need in his dark eyes. This wasn't the first time he longed for your words. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

So you spread your legs and sat up slowly—arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring his lips down to yours. A soft moan was muffled by your mouth; the peak of his release within reach. He could practically feel the tips of his fingers graze it.

"Cover my pussy baby," you mumbled into his mouth. "Be good for me and mark what's yours."

The growl came from the very bottom of his chest when he finally came. Your name was a bitten out snarl pressed to your mouth in an open mouth kiss as he spurted over his knuckles. He pumped his cock to milk every drop; eyes fixed on the way it covered the swollen lips of your pussy. Dripping down to your entrance that fluttered at the sight of his sweaty and crimson tinged face.

"I fuckin' love ya honey," he murmured, hand cupping your chin to drag your lips back to his. "Best thing that's happened in my life is you."

You smiled, thumbs pressing to his cheeks. "Love you too Logan."

Clutching you close, he felt the string go loose. The breath finally rushing back into his lungs at the sight of your eyes glowing with the kind of light that brought him back to the first day The night he met you in that shitty bar—alcohol the only thing on his mind until he saw you.

The night you spoke his name over his covered grave and dragged him back to life with a smile.

[x0xomady]

made with love

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

summary: harry and you are in london for fall, so you make cookies, listen to old music, and fall even more in love.

(harry styles x female reader)

warnings: 18+ it’s not heavy smut, but there is still some smut in it, oral fem reciving, sickingly cute fluff.

a/n: my last few stories have had some heavier themes and plots, so i wanted to write something sweet! this is all autumn themed since summer is over :)

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

the cold streets of london are filled with dew from the rain, fallen leaves, and people. harry and you are walking along the street back towards his apartment after being at the store. after much debate and harry threatening to sleep in the guest room for a month, the two of you decided on making chocolate chip cookies.

⋆｡˚⁺｡ one hour earlier, at the store ｡⁺˚｡⋆

“what do you mean, chai cookies? what the hell is a chai cookie? that’s a tea, not a dessert, sweetheart.” harry looks at you in confusion as you walk through the baking isle of whole foods looking for ingredients.

“it’s a thing! you know it has chai, nutmeg, cinnamon, all that good stuff.” you shrug and continue looking for the bags of flour.

“uh no it isn’t. we need to make chocolate chip cookies! everyone knows chocolate chip cookies are the best classic cookie.” harry sighs dramatically and drops the container of chocolate chip cookies into the basket. “where’d you even the get the idea for chai cookies?”

you smile and try not to laugh as you turn and look back at harry, knowing he would be mad about the source of your new fixation. “you know…. taylor swift posted them on her social media-”

harry gives you a deadpan look and doesn’t say anything.

“yeah, yeah, fine we can make chocolate chip cookies, you drama queen.”

⋆｡˚⁺｡ present ｡⁺˚｡⋆

as you make your way through the crowded streets, the cold night air nips at your nose and leaves your hands feeling cold and stiff. the light of street lamps falls upon the wet pavement, casting a faint yellow glow upon it, while the buildings look dull and dark against the dark sky.

harry and you walk silently beside one another, dodging other pedestrians who seem to be just as bundled up against the cold.

you look up at the sky and see the clouds are beginning to move in, covering up the stars and making the city darker. harry looks down at you, his breath visible in the cold night air.

“you warm enough?” he carries the bags in one hand and reaches over, lacing one of your hands with his.

you feel the warmth of his hand against your cold skin and give him a small nod.

“yeah i am,” you say with a smile, feeling harry’s rings against your hand as you walk. “you sure we have everything we need?”

“i think so,” he says with a small shrug, squeezing your hand in his. “eggs, milk, butter, vanilla, flour, sugar, and chocolate chips. and i even remembered the baking soda. which by the way- i had no idea what that was until today.”

you roll your eyes and smile at his words. if there was one thing harry could not do, it was bake. he could write albums, go on world tours, and play multiple different instruments, but if he had to mix ingredients, it turned into world war three.

“you could’ve just bought premade cookie dough,” you point out with a smirk, looking over at him. “or we could’ve made something easier, like rice crispy treats, or brownies-“

“first of all,” he begins with a mock offended tone. “rice crispy treats are a kid's food. secondly, we’re trying to get the full autumn experience, okay? none of this “store-bought” nonsense.”

“we can get the full experience by cuddling on the couch under a blanket and watching a spooky movie,”

you counter, raising an eyebrow as harry rolls his eyes at you. the cold from the air gives him a light pink tint to his cheeks as you walk through the streets. “but i guess you’re right…. watching you trying to bake is horror enough.”

he gasps, looking down at you in mock horror. “you think i’m that bad?!”

he grabs your hand tighter and pulls you down the street faster as you get closer to his apartment. “that’s it. i’m going to make the best fucking cookies and force you to eat them.”

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

“okay…. add…. 3/4 cup of sugar.”

you nod and start measuring the cup of sugar. harry’s sat on the counter with his legs dangling off the side, reading the ingredients out for you to add to the bowl.

“aaaand… 3/4 cup of brown sugar.”

you smile at the sight of harry sitting on the counter so casually. he’s wearing his favorite “DAMN” hoodie that he wore whenever he could. you add the brown sugar to the bowl and look at the dough.

“okay it looks good. come help me roll it out so we can bake it.”

harry smiles and hops off the counter, standing next to you eagerly and looking down at the dough.

“ohhh so i AM allowed to help, good to know.” harry sighs sarcastically and moves the sleeves of his hoodie up, revealling his tattoos.

you roll your eyes and put the dough on the counter. harry had TRIED to help you mix the ingredients at the beginning, but...

⋆｡˚⁺｡ a few minutes prior ｡⁺˚｡⋆

“okay add the flour, h. i measured it, just drop it in the bowl.” you nod towards the cup of flour and watch as harry picks it up.

instead of dropping it into the bowl like a normal person, harry decided to hold it up about three feet, so when it fell in, flour shot EVERYWHERE.

“oh….” harry looks over at you with flour coating his entire face and hands, letting out a sneeze as the flour goes in his nose.

“oh for fucks sake, harry.”

⋆｡˚⁺｡ present ｡⁺˚｡⋆

so he was benched after that.

“yeah, yeah, stop whining and help me roll it out.” you smile at the sight of your boyfriend squishing the dough around.

he grins at you at you and begins squishing the dough with his hands, pushing it out with his palms. the sound of harry’s favorite fleetwood mac song, “over my head” is playing throughout the kitchen.

“i’m over my head… oh but it sure feels nice” harry is mumbling along to the lyrics as he rolls the dough around. your heart flutters and you smile a little at the sound of harry singing. you could never really get over having harry styles around like this.

“this is fun. just mashing around some sticky dough and getting it in my fingernails for no reason whatsoever.”

you roll your eyes again and start forming the little balls of dough, putting them on the greased pan. “stop being gross.”

“no no i can’t help it, it’s too fun.” he grins at you, shoving one of his hands in the dough and holding it up to you.

“see look, my fingerprints!”

he presses the dough against your cheek before you can protest, laughing as he leaves a sticky, doughy handprint on your face.

you gasp and push his hand away, feeling the sticky dough on your cheek. “harry!”

he laughs loudly and holds his hands up in surrender. “i’m sorry, i couldn’t resist. you’re just too cute.”

he moves closer, bringing his face close to yours and licking the dough off your cheek. “mm tastes good. not that you don’t always taste good, because trust me, you do.”

“oh shut up,” you scoff, playfully pushing him away as a blush spreads across your cheeks.

he grins and kisses your cheek before going back to rolling the dough into shape. after a second of silence he speaks up again. “oh shit- it’s everywhere.”

you turn to see that, sure enough, almost the entire counter was covered in dough, with little bits of it clinging to your skin and shirt. you look up at the sight of harry’s hands completely covered in sticky dough.

“harry how did you manage to get dough EVERYWHERE?”

“uhm, excuse me, i think you mean how did WE manage to get dough everywhere.” harry grins as you give him a look. he holds his hands up, admiring the dough on them. “see, we’re bonding.”

harry’s smiling and giggling like crazy. you roll your eyes and give his shoulder a gentle shove. “yeah, bonding over dough. i think we’re at peak relationship goals right now. just put flour on your hands to get some of the dough off”

you couldn’t be mad at him at all. you knew what harry meant by “bonding.” harry had been on tour for almost three years straight, and you finally had the chance to spend more than a week at a time together. you knew he felt guilty about being gone so much, and that’s why he was so set on having a “perfect fall” together.

you look at your messy hands and sigh, shaking your head. “okay let’s finish putting these in the oven.”

harry grins, shaking as much of the dough as he can from his hands, sending little clumps of it flying into the air. he giggles and grabs some paper towels, wiping the rest of it off his hands.

“yeah okay i guess i’ll try not to get any more dough on your stuff and everywhere,” he responds, moving back to the counter towards you. “just because you’re being so sweet about it.”

you smile at his words and give him a peck before grabbing pans and putting them in the oven. “mkay… lets go pick a movie”

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

“johnny depp is so hot in this movie.” you sigh dramatically and take a bite of your cookie, watching the iconic scene of him in a crop top.

harry nods in and takes a bite of his own cookie. “yeah i agree.”

the two of you are sat on harry’s large couch, watching the perfect scary movie, “a nightmare on elm street.” you’re sat on the couch, laying back with your head on harry’s chest eating your cookies. they didn’t come out perfect, harry’s large (and just a little awkward) hands hadn’t formed the best shaped cookies.

but it was all perfect.

the front window of the apartment was left open, letting in the cold breeze and smell of rain as the clouds and mist filled london. each cookie was made with love and it was evident in the taste. you could tell harry was happy. he was so anxious about making sure you spent time together, and he was finally making it happen.

your large, fuzzy throw blanket is draped over the two of you as you watch the classic horror movie. harry’s hands mindlessly run over your waist as his focus on the movie.

he lets out a small breath as his hand rubs up and down your hip. he lets his fingers trail down, tracing little patterns against your skin.

it had been so long since the two of you could just be together like this. tour schedules had been hell, and he hadn’t had a break for almost a year. he was trying to make the best of it, he could tell you were also having a good time. you were so happy to just be near him, he could feel it in the way you relaxed into his touch.

“ughh that is disgusting. acting is…. mm subpar” harry says sarcastically and fake gags at the sight of johnny depp’s characters gruesome death scene. he grabs another cookie and puts it in his mouth, wincing at the sight of the blood.

“yeah yeah, I forgot I was with an experienced actor,” you scoff sarcastically, looking up at your boyfriend, who’s pulling a face. it was cute how affected he was by a cheesy 80s horror movie.

he rolls his eyes and grins down at you, still continuing to make a face as he watches the movie. “hey i’m allowed to criticize, remember don’t worry darling? yeah that’s right, masterpiece.”

he brings his hand from your waist down to your leg, gently squeezing your thigh as he looks back at the tv and watches the movie.

you smile and shake your head at his words, taking another bite of your cookie. “oh that’s right. please forgive me.”

the two of you continue to watch the movie, occasionally commenting on the acting or the plot. harry's hand never stops moving, tracing patterns on your waist and thigh, and you can feel yourself relaxing more and more with each passing moment.

the rain outside picks up, making a soft tapping noise against the window. the cool breeze from outside makes the room feel cozy and warm.

harry pulls your sweatpants down and tosses them to the side before grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer to him. he starts pressing kisses along your legs, starting from your ankles and working his way up. his stubble scratches gently against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. he takes his time, savoring every inch of your legs as he moves higher and higher.

the rain outside continues to fall, creating a soothing background noise combined with the quiet sound of the movie that only adds to the intimacy of the moment. you can't help but let out a soft sigh as he reaches your inner thighs, his fingers digging into your skin.

as he reaches your core, you gasp and grab onto harry's thick curls underneath the blanket. he presses a kiss against your folds, and you let out a low moan. your heart races as he continues to explore, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin. you lean back against the couch, your body going limp as you let yourself be consumed by the sensation.

harry's hands move up to your hips, holding you in place as he continues to taste and tease.

you feel his warm breath against your skin, and his tongue darts in and out, sending shivers down your spine. he suckles your sensitive nub between his lips, holding your body close to his. the scratchiness of his stubble gives a delicious sensation as his mouth, and chin scrape against your mound.

your fingers dig deeper into his curls, holding him in place as you arch your back, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. "yes, please h, need more." your voice comes out as a whimper as you push your hips to meet his face.

harry's hands grip tighter on your hips, pulling you closer as he continues to taste and tease. he can feel your body trembling beneath his touch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. he takes his time, exploring every inch of you as if it's the first time he's ever tasted you.

but suddenly, he pulls away, leaving you wanting. he pushes the blanket off, revealing your flushed skin and the desire in your eyes. he gives you his signature cheeky grin, his green eyes meeting yours.

"what do you need, love?" he asks, his voice low and husky. his hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

you bite your lip, your breath still coming in short gasps. "i need you," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

harry's grin widens as he hears your words. he leans back in, pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh, keeping his eyes on yours. "yeah?" he asks, his voice low and husky. "need my fingers, baby?"

you nod and holds onto his curls. harry takes his time, tracing a path with his fingers up your thigh, making you squirm in anticipation. when he reaches your core, he gently slides a finger inside of you, making you gasp at the sensation. he starts to move his finger in a slow, steady rhythm, his thumb pressing against your clit.

harry's eyes never leave yours, watching every reaction and response to his touch.

"you look so good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. he presses a second finger past your entrance, and you let out a low moan as he begins to explore deeper. "so, so, so pretty," he says, his breath hot against your skin.

he continues to move his fingers inside of you, building up a rhythm that has you pressing your hips up against his hand. your breath comes in short, sharp gasps as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

harry's fingers curl inside of you, pressing against that spot that makes your whole body tremble.

"oh, shit," you gasp, your fingers tugging on harry's hair for support. he smirks against your skin, his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of you. he presses tight circles on your clit, pressing light kisses against your thighs and mumbling words of encouragement.

you can feel your orgasm building up inside of you, your body tensing up as you get closer and closer to the edge. harry's fingers continue to move inside of you, his touch driving you wild. you whimper out, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as your orgasm finally crashes over you.

harry smiles as he feels your walls squeeze his fingers, his eyes locked on yours as he watches you come undone. he gently presses kisses against your clit, his lips soft and gentle against your sensitive skin. slowly, he moves his fingers out of you as you ride out your orgasm.

"good job, baby," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "you look so pretty." his eyes are filled with adoration as he gazes at you, his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin. you can feel your body relaxing, your muscles releasing the tension as you come down from your high.

“love you so much,” he sits up from where he was kneeling on the floor between your legs and grabs a towel to gently clean you up. he stands up and presses a kiss to your forehead. “told you, you taste better than any of those damn cookies.”

˙⊹܀☁︎˚˙⊹⁺.

i may or may not have been inspired to write this after i made taylors chai cookies 👀

-💋

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Kneel

Summary: Negan reminds you what you’re supposed to do whenever you see him in the Sanctuary 

Pairing: Saviors Era Negan x f!reader

Tags: !NSFW!, power play, dominant Negan, swearing, intimidation, erection, pet names

Word Count: 1.8k (this was meant to be under 1k but I once again forgot how to stfu)

“My oh my, where are your manners?”.

Shit. You knew this would happen eventually. It feels as though Negan has had his eye on you for weeks now, just waiting to pop the question. Because obviously, six wives isn’t enough for one man and he’s in need of another.

You, more specifically. 

You’re in the middle of pushing crates piled on to a small trolley when he approaches. He smirks, baring his teeth as he casually swings Lucille by his side. As if the odds are stacked against you, the hallway is empty, leaving only you and Negan. Alone. 

“You’ve been here, what, two months now?” Negan acts as if that’s just a guess and he hasn’t been keeping track.

You stand tall beside the crates, making it abundantly clear that you won't be an easy target for him. Your eyes are steady, a defiant gleam in them as you hold his gaze.

No matter how charming or beneficial being with him would be, you refuse to be some damsel he can have for his own twisted amusement. After all, you’ve taken care of yourself for this long in the apocalypse, why rely on someone like him now?

“I have” you confirm, not wanting this conversation to draw out longer than it needs to. Even if you’re on his good side, it’s hard to feel relaxed with Negan’s attention on you.

He hums in response.

You watch as Negan's gaze shifts, his features becoming more stern as he stands there. It's as if a switch has been flipped, transforming him from the charismatic leader to the cold and dominant figure you know he can be.

“So you gonna do it?” he questions, the sharp edge to his words sending a clear message: he’s not asking, he’s telling.

You can feel your jaw clench. Is he expecting you to just throw yourself at him? Or thank him profusely for allowing you to stay here? 

Feigning innocence, you gesture towards the crates. "Do what? My job?" you retort, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you intimidated. You go to move the crates again when you feel it - the silent warning of Lucille’s sharp tips resting gently on your shoulder. 

Negan maintains a stoic expression, letting Lucille display his authority. His voice is low and gravelly, resembling a growl more than anything else. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, just cause I think you're pretty fuckin’ hot, and ask again" he explains.

Hearing Negan's flippant admission, the way his voice drips with lust as he mentions his attraction to you is enough to send a thrill down your spine. It's a complex feeling to know that a man like Negan is attracted to you. It's thrilling, dangerous, and undeniably exciting all at once.

You hold your breath, expecting Lucille to scratch her way across your face at any moment. But instead, Negan takes a breath and asks again “Whenever I decide to grace your fucking presence, what is it you’re going to do?”.

You feel as if you’re back in school, after getting asked a question by a teacher who knows you weren’t paying attention. You’re unsure what would be worse; to answer incorrectly or to not answer at all. 

Slowly, Negan starts to increase the pressure, Lucille’s spikes digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. She prickles at your skin, the feeling thankfully being more uncomfortable than outright painful.

Instinctively, your legs buckle and you sink to your knees before him. “You kneel.” Negan drawls as you go down “There you go. Not that hard, is it?”. 

Negan eases the pressure, the painful stabs from Lucille's barbed wire gradually lessening as you comply. You breathe a silent sigh of relief, hoping Lucille didn’t break your skin and leave puncture marks in her wake.

Despite your best efforts to maintain a defiant expression, you can feel a flutter of something in your stomach. It’s subtle, but undeniable. You stare up at him with a determined glare, refusing to acknowledge the confused mixture of disdain and arousal coursing through your body.

Negan lets out a low, guttural groan, his head tilting down to meet your gaze directly. His expression is equal parts hunger and satisfaction as he takes in the sight of you kneeling before him.

"Goddamn," he murmurs approvingly, "now this is a view I could get used to”. Negan's signature cocky smirk returns, the brief display of dominance seemingly fulfilled for now. 

It’s easy to feel somewhat distracted in your current position, your head level with his crotch. The temptation to look is strong but you’re aware of what his reaction might be and so you quickly push the thought aside. Fighting with your inner urges, you subconsciously nibble at your lip, accidentally fuelling Negan’s amusement.

He sees straight through you and you know it.

Moving the bat from your shoulder completely, he lightly taps it against the crates. “You come to me if you ever want a change of lifestyle,” he coaxes “I got some real sexy dresses upstairs that haven’t been claimed yet”.

The tension between you both is palpable. There’s no denying that you feel a throbbing sensation between your thighs, the logical side of your mind growing hazy and clouded by lust. Your response catches you off guard, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I think I’d look better without them on," you hear yourself say, the words daring and suggestive.

Are you really flirting with the man who just forced you to kneel!? Damn him.

Negan immediately picks up what you’re putting down, “Oh is that so? Think I’d need to be the judge of that, sweet thing”. 

Bringing his free hand down to your face, Negan surprises you with his soft touch. You can feel his fingertips tracing along your cheekbone before gently cupping your face in his hand. 

The contrasting sides of this man are striking and downright annoying to put up with but you don’t fight against it. It’s hard to decide which side of Negan you actually prefer; the dominant leader that forced you on your knees to satisfy his ego or this charmingly soft man who calls you pretty pet names. 

Unable to resist the temptation, you steal a quick glance forwards. You only sneak a brief look but sure enough, there’s an obvious bulge right there, a mere inches away from your face.

A part of you wants to whimper at the sight but another part of you wants to scoff and get up, stopping this game of cat and mouse no matter the consequences of ‘disrespecting’ his authority.

“Well, damn" he practically groans as you look back up at him "I don't see why we should wait until you try on one of the dresses." His words are direct, the implication clear that he's craving you just as much as you're craving him.

But the ball is in your court now. Negan keeps his hand on your face, staying deliberately still, leaving the next move up to you. He's put his cards on the table, making sure his desires are known. It's up to you to respond, to show him that you want him just as badly.

A thought flickers through your head. How bad would it be if you did hookup with Negan? You know you’d have a good time but there would be consequences. Even though Negan seems casual, there’s no doubt he would push you to become another wife. Once he sinks his claws into you, he won’t simply let go after a hookup or two. Why would he when he can have an unlimited number of wives just for himself?

Before you can make that decision, movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. You snap your head in their direction, watching as a figure hesitantly comes closer, uncertainty laced in each step.

Joey — or, Fat Joey, as he’s so graciously called by Negan — steps closer, nervously wringing his hands together.

Negan follows your gaze, letting his hand drop from your cheek as he huffs. “Fat Joey! Holy fuck, who knew you could sneak… or cockblock” he exclaims, putting on his bravado act.

Taking advantage of Negan's momentary distraction, you quickly stand up, using the opportunity to distance yourself and get back to work. The feeling of embarrassment washes over you as you realise what that must have looked like for Joey, who just stumbled across you both.

Negan shoots you a quick look. It's not an angry glare but rather a pout, as if he had expected you to patiently wait on your knees until he’s done talking to Joey. 

Joey speaks up, his voice a bit shaky as he tries to sound professional. "Boss, Simon wants to talk to you, he said it’s important" he says, attempting to mimic a soldier's stance "He tried contacting you on the walkie but didn't get an answer". 

Negan reluctantly gives Joey his attention, a hint of annoyance in his expression. You swiftly begin to move the crates, deciding to take Joey’s interruption as some kind of divine intervention that’s telling you not to give into Negan so easily.

“Simon already rounded up the other lieutenant’s, so they’re just waiting for you, sir” Joey rambles on as you pass by. 

Just as you're about to make your exit, you pause, unable to stop yourself from making a snide comment. You turn to Joey, purposely avoiding Negan's gaze. "Oh, Joey," you say with a hint of sarcasm, "don't forget to kneel. He likes that." 

Joey, completely oblivious to the sarcasm behind your words, takes your reminder as sincere advice. He immediately drops to his knees, a look of panic on his face as he hastily apologises. "S-sorry, sir!" he stammers "I didn't mean to forget!".

Negan takes a step back, his hand instinctively going to cover his bulge now that someone else is so close. ”Yeah, sure, just get the fuck up,” Negan grumbles.

As you walk away, you throw a playful goodbye over your shoulder. "Bye, sir," you say with a smirk, feeling a small sense of victory at having left Negan standing there with Joey, who’s still babbling on.

Negan stays silent, mulling over his thoughts. He can hear Joey drone on but he isn't interested. There's only one thing on Negan’s mind.

You’re definitely a keeper.

[sunny44]

No expectations

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Neighbor reader

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: after the day he saw Y/n alone at the restaurant, he thought it would be nice to do something for her.

Part 1

The following days after the restaurant dinner were tough for Y/n. I saw her every morning, as usual, when I left my apartment. But something was different. The smile that used to light up her face was gone, her eyes looked tired, and the contagious energy she always carried with her had vanished. She wasn’t the same person I used to see every day in the elevator, always ready with a witty comment or a brief conversation.

I knew it had to do with the disastrous date. As much as she tried to hide it, it was clear the situation had deeply hurt her. And, as much as I wanted to do something to cheer her up, I didn’t know exactly how.

After seeing her return from work once again with that sad expression, I made a decision. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her sink into that sadness. I took a deep breath, walked to her apartment door, and knocked.

She opened the door, and for a moment, the exhaustion and sadness in her eyes disappeared, replaced by surprise. “Max? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to invite you out,” I began, trying to sound casual. “Nothing complicated, just dinner to help you relax a bit.”

She looked at me for a long moment, and the surprise in her eyes turned into something darker.

“Max, the last thing I need right now is a guy inviting me out out of pity. And honestly, I’m not in the mood to go to a restaurant just to be humiliated again.”

I could see the pain behind her words, and I understood that this wasn’t just about me. It was about everything that had happened to her recently.

“It’s not out of pity, Y/n,” I said, my voice firm. “I just thought you might enjoy having dinner in a place where you know you’ll be treated well. I was thinking… at my place. No restaurants, no expectations, just dinner between friends.”

She hesitated, her eyes studying my face, trying to figure out if my intentions were genuine. Finally, she sighed and nodded.

“Alright, but no complications, okay?”

“No complications,” I promised with a smile.

***

After she agreed, I returned to my apartment, trying to hide the panic that was starting to build. I had invited Y/n to dinner, but there was a huge problem: I didn’t know how to cook.

I called the only person who could help me: my mom.

“Mom, I need help,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

“Max, what happened?” The concern in her voice made me smile.

“I invited a friend over for dinner… and I don’t know what to do.” My mom laughed softly on the other end of the line.

“You’ve always been a disaster in the kitchen,” she said, laughing.

“Stop laughing at me and help me.”

“Alright, you sound nervous. Is this friend just a friend?”

“Yes, just a friend,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“And do you like her in another way?”

“Mom, that’s not important right now.”

“It is important, I want more grandkids.”

“But for that, I need a girlfriend, so focus on helping me with the food.”

“Okay, I’ll help you. Let’s start with something simple. How about lasagna?”

I quickly agreed, and she guided me step by step. It wasn’t easy, but with her help, I managed to prepare the lasagna. I put the dish in the oven, and when the timer started counting down, I heard the doorbell ring.

I rushed to the door, still feeling a little nervous. When I opened it, Y/n was standing there, looking a bit less sad than in the past few days, which made me feel like I was doing the right thing.

“Come in, make yourself at home,” I said, giving her space to enter. “I’ll just take a quick shower and be right back. I got delayed while making dinner.”

She nodded, and I headed to the bathroom. As the hot water ran over me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening. I had invited Y/n to dinner at my place, and even though I didn’t know how to cook, I was determined to make this night special for her.

When I got out of the shower and returned to the living room, I found a scene that made my heart race. Y/n had set the table and was sitting on the couch with Jimmy, my cat, comfortably nestled in her lap. Sassy, my other cat, was lying beside her, purring softly.

“You’ve already met the real owners of the house,” I joked, walking over.

She smiled, petting Jimmy’s fur. “They’re adorable. I think they’ve won my heart.”

“Well, I hope the food wins it too,” I replied, feeling a bit more confident.

She laughed, and the sound warmed the room. “I trust you, Max.”

“Trust my mom, she was the real chef,” I admitted, which made her laugh even more.

We placed the lasagna on the table and sat down to eat.

As we ate, the comfortable silence began to shift into a quiet curiosity in Y/n's eyes. She put her fork down for a moment, tilted her head, and looked at me with a mix of hesitation and sincerity.

"Max, I have to ask... why did you do this? The dinner, the invitation... you didn't have to go through all this trouble."

I sighed, knowing that question was coming eventually. I looked at her, feeling the need to be completely honest.

"After that disastrous dinner at the restaurant, I knew you didn't deserve to go through that," I began, searching for the right words. "I know it wasn’t my business, but seeing you there, alone, waiting for someone who never showed up... I couldn't get that out of my head. Even if this dinner wasn't with me, I wanted to make it up to you somehow. I wanted you to have a good night, a moment where someone cared."

She looked away for a second, as if absorbing what I said. When she looked back at me, there was a hidden sadness in her smile.

"That’s... really kind of you, Max. But to be honest, things like that happen to me all the time." She toyed with her food absentmindedly before continuing. "My relationships have always been horrible. No matter how much I try, it feels like it's never enough. And after a while, you start to wonder... is it me? Is it because I’m not worth the effort?"

Her eyes glistened in a way that made me want to reach out and hold her hand, but I knew she needed that space to open up.

"I feel... insufficient, you know? Whenever I’m in a relationship, I’m always the one left behind. It seems like no one is willing to put in even a little effort for me. And that hurts."

I stayed silent for a moment, processing her words, feeling the weight of it all. It was hard to imagine how someone like Y/n, always so vibrant and full of life, could feel so small because of others.

"Y/n," I began, choosing my words carefully, "the problem was never you. The problem is those people who don’t see how much you’re worth. You’re amazing, and if someone isn’t willing to fight for you, then that person doesn’t deserve you, not for a single second."

She looked at me, surprised by the intensity of my words, and then smiled, a genuine smile, though a little sad.

"Thank you, Max. That means a lot to me." She smiled. “I think you’re the first guy that has put so much effort on something for me.”

“That makes me the only smart one then.”

She laughed.

The dinner was simple but pleasant, and I noticed that, little by little, the sparkle in Y/n’s eyes was returning. She still bore the marks of the disappointment she had suffered, but, at least that night, she seemed to be finding some peace.

And as I watched her, interacting with my cats and laughing at my cooking attempts, one thing became clear to me: I would do anything to keep seeing that smile.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“It feels good to be treated like a princess sometimes”

[callsigns-haze]

Hi! I wanted to make a request for Tyler Owens. The Twisters brain rot is so real.

I just read “Unanswered “ and it just made me think of how Tyler would be taking care of reader afterward? Or even in an entirely separate storyline. I love reading your Tyler fics!!!!!

Unanswered 2

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Chapter Summary: Tyler cares for Y/N through a difficult illness, proving their love is unwavering even in the toughest moments.

Warning: Descriptions of illness and fever, with themes of vulnerability and emotional distress.

Part 1 but has not much to do with the plot so it serves as a oneshot

The morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, casting a soft, gray hue over the room. The storm from the night before had finally moved on, leaving behind a calm but damp atmosphere. The world outside was quiet, but inside the apartment, the air was thick with worry.

Tyler woke up slowly, the events of the previous day still lingering in his mind. The storm, the chase, and, most of all, Y/N—her fever, her exhaustion. He had stayed up late, watching over her as she slept fitfully, her breathing uneven, her brow damp with sweat.

As he turned over, his eyes fell on Y/N, still curled up on the couch where she had finally succumbed to sleep. Even in the dim morning light, he could see the toll the illness had taken on her. Her skin was pale, her lips chapped, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. She looked worse than she had the night before, and Tyler’s heart sank at the sight.

Carefully, he slid out of bed and moved to her side, kneeling beside the couch. He reached out and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light. She stirred at the contact, her eyes fluttering open with a weak groan.

“Ty…?” Her voice was barely a whisper, raspy and thick with illness.

“Hey,” Tyler said softly, his voice full of concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over,” Y/N muttered, her eyes closing again as she fought off a wave of dizziness. “I think I’m worse than yesterday.”

Tyler’s brow furrowed with worry, and he placed the back of his hand against her forehead. Her skin was burning hot, even more so than it had been the night before. He cursed under his breath, realizing she must have been getting worse all night while he slept.

“Stay right here,” he murmured, though he knew she wasn’t in any condition to go anywhere. “I’m going to get you some water and medicine. We’ll get that fever down.”

Y/N managed a faint nod, her body too weak to protest. She shivered under the blanket, her entire body aching with fever-induced chills. Every breath felt like an effort, and her throat was raw, making even swallowing painful.

Tyler moved quickly, his heart pounding with anxiety as he filled a glass with cool water and grabbed the bottle of fever reducers from the medicine cabinet. He returned to her side and gently helped her sit up, supporting her weight as she leaned heavily against him.

“Here, drink this,” Tyler urged, holding the glass to her lips.

Y/N tried to take a sip, but even that small action made her feel nauseous. She swallowed with difficulty, managing only a few sips before she shook her head weakly. “I can’t… I feel so sick.”

Tyler’s worry deepened, but he forced himself to stay calm for her sake. “It’s okay, just take it slow. You need to stay hydrated.”

She nodded, closing her eyes again as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Tyler guided her back down onto the couch, adjusting the pillows so she could rest more comfortably. He pressed the fever reducer into her hand, watching as she weakly managed to take the pills.

“There you go,” he said softly, stroking her hair in a soothing motion. “You’re doing great, Y/N. Just rest, okay? I’m going to be right here.”

Her eyes fluttered open, looking up at him with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. “Tyler… thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

As Y/N closed her eyes again, Tyler stood up and grabbed a damp cloth from the bathroom. He returned and gently pressed it to her forehead, hoping to bring down the fever even a little. Her body relaxed slightly under his care, the cool cloth providing some relief.

Tyler stayed by her side, checking her temperature frequently, offering sips of water, and whispering reassurances whenever she stirred. The hours passed slowly, and every small improvement in her condition felt like a victory. But the fever still burned, and Tyler’s concern never wavered.

At some point, Y/N began to shiver uncontrollably, her teeth chattering despite the layers of blankets. Tyler didn’t hesitate—he climbed onto the couch beside her, wrapping his arms around her trembling form and holding her close, sharing his body heat.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “Just hold on to me.”

She clung to him, her face buried in his chest as her body shook with the chills. Tyler rubbed her back gently, his heart breaking for her. He hated seeing her like this, so vulnerable and in pain, and he would have given anything to take her place.

After what felt like an eternity, the chills began to subside, and Y/N’s breathing evened out as she drifted back into a restless sleep. Tyler stayed where he was, unwilling to move even an inch. He wasn’t going to let her go through this alone.

As the day wore on, Y/N’s fever finally started to break. Her skin, which had been burning hot, gradually cooled under Tyler’s diligent care. She woke up in the late afternoon, groggy and disoriented but feeling slightly better than she had that morning.

Tyler was still beside her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion but his hand still firmly holding hers. When he saw her awake, he smiled, relief flooding his features.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “How are you feeling now?”

“A little better,” Y/N admitted, her voice still weak but more stable. “I think the fever’s finally going down.”

Tyler sighed with relief, squeezing her hand. “Thank God. You had me really worried there for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t mean to make you worry so much.”

“Hey, none of that,” Tyler said gently, brushing a tear from her cheek. “You can’t help getting sick, Y/N. And taking care of you… that’s what I’m here for.”

Y/N smiled, despite the lingering discomfort. “I’m lucky to have you, Ty.”

Tyler shook his head, his expression tender. “No, Y/N… I’m the lucky one.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly, the touch of his lips light and full of love. When he pulled back, Y/N could see the depth of his feelings in his eyes, and it made her heart swell with gratitude.

As the evening light faded, Tyler helped her sit up and eat a little soup, then settled her back down with fresh blankets and a new glass of water. The worst of the fever was behind her, and she could feel her strength slowly returning.

Before she drifted off to sleep again, Y/N looked up at Tyler, her eyes full of affection. “Thank you, Ty. For everything.”

Tyler smiled, brushing his fingers through her hair one last time before settling down beside her on the couch. “Anything for you, Y/N. Always.”

And as Y/N finally let herself relax, her body no longer wracked with fever, she knew that no matter what life threw their way—whether it was storms or sickness—she and Tyler would face it together, just as they always had.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[idkyetxoxo]

Gwayne Hightower - Redemption

Summary - A spirited princess enchants the fallen knight, Ser Gwayne with her charm challenging him to seek redemption in the most tantalizing way. Their flirtatious banter ignites a heated encounter, driving him to extraordinary lengths in his quest for atonement.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2205

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Far and wide, it was known throughout the realm that of the two Targaryen princesses, I was the more mischievous. My reputation preceded me, a blend of spirited antics and a loose tongue that often set the court abuzz.

"I believe I shall perish if I am not more thoroughly entertained," I declared dramatically as Alicent, Rhaenyra, and I sat together, watching the tourney unfold before us.

"You always need some sort of spectacle, don't you?" Rhaenyra said, feigning exasperation. I responded by sticking my tongue out at her, which made her smile.

"What can I say? I simply must be entertained at all times," I replied, my eyes wandering over the arena in search of any new and interesting faces.

"Who is our uncle about to joust?" I asked curiosity piqued as a confident knight rode around on his horse, preparing for the match.

"My brother Gwayne," Alicent answered.

I leaned forward, my interest now fully engaged. Gwayne removed his face shield and glanced in our direction. As expected, his stature matched his looks, he was indeed a strikingly handsome knight.

"Oh my," I murmured, my voice low and tinged with intrigue.

Alicent's eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Rhaenyra playfully swatted my leg. I leaned back in my seat, lifting my arms in a gesture of mock surrender, but not before sending the now-curious knight a flirtatious wink and a teasing bite of my lip.

As the joust began, the clashing of lances and the thunder of hooves filled the air. Gwayne rode with impressive skill, but his opponent, my uncle was formidable. With a particularly forceful strike, Gwayne was unseated, falling to the ground in a flurry of dust and metal.

"Better luck next time," I whispered to myself, a smirk playing on my lips. 

The match might have ended, but my interest in the knight was far from waning.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Later that evening, as the festivities continued, I wandered through the castle's winding corridors, seeking a reprieve from the crowded halls. 

I was lost in thought when, as if guided by fate, I turned a corner and nearly collided with Gwayne himself. He had changed out of his armour into more casual attire, but his presence was no less striking.

"Ah, the mighty knight who fell so spectacularly today," I teased, my voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Gwayne raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "And here I thought I might escape unnoticed."

"Escape? From me? Impossible," I replied, leaning against the cool stone wall of the corridor, crossing my arms with a dramatic flourish. "Tell me, how does it feel to be bested in front of the entire realm?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and deep, taking a deliberate step closer. "I admit, it was a blow to my pride but I suppose it makes for a more interesting story, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," I replied, matching his step forward. "Though, I must say, you took it rather well. Most men would be sulking in their chambers."

"Ah, but I am not most men," he said, his eyes locking with mine. "And you, Princess, are not most women."

"True enough," I said, tilting my head slightly as I studied his face. "But tell me, Ser Gwayne, how do you plan to redeem yourself after such a loss?"

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear as he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "Perhaps you will find out at the next tourney. Or perhaps I shall redeem myself in other ways."

"Intriguing," I said, my eyes narrowing playfully as I considered his words. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

"Do you now?" he asked, his smirk widening. "I didn't take you for one to wait passively for entertainment."

"Who says I am?" I countered, stepping even closer until there was barely a breath between us. "Sometimes, the best entertainment is in watching someone strive to impress."

"Is that so?" His voice was low, almost a purr. "And have I managed to impress you yet, Princess?"

"You've managed to pique my interest," I admitted, letting my gaze linger on his lips before meeting his eyes again. "Which is more than most can say."

"Well then," he said, his hand lightly brushing against my arm, sending a shiver down my spine. "I shall consider that a victory in its own right."

"You do have a way with words, Ser Gwayne," I remarked, my tone as light as the banter we exchanged, but charged with an undercurrent of something more.

"And you, Princess, have a way of making a man forget his losses," he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Careful, Ser Gwayne," I said, my voice softening to a whisper, "flattery will get you everywhere with me."

"Then I shall continue to flatter," he said, his smile almost predatory, yet warm and inviting. "For I find that I enjoy seeing you smile."

"Good," I replied, stepping back but not before letting my fingers trail down his arm. "Keep it up, and who knows? You might just redeem yourself sooner than you think."

The tension between us was evident, and as I turned to walk away, Gwayne reached out and gently caught my wrist. I turned back to face him, a playful glint in my eye.

"Not so fast," he murmured, his voice husky and laden with intent.

"Impatient, are we?" I teased, stepping closer until our bodies were nearly touching. "What are you going to do about it?"

Without another word, he closed the distance, capturing my lips in a heated kiss. His hands slid around my waist, pulling me against him as my fingers tangled in his hair. 

The corridor around us seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of us in our bubble of desire.

Breaking the kiss, I looked up at him, breathless. I took his hand and led him through the castle's labyrinthine halls. My heart pounded with anticipation, and I could feel his gaze on me, burning with intensity.

We reached my chambers, and I pushed the door open, pulling him inside. Once the door was closed, I turned to face him, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. 

Slowly, I began to undo the laces of my dress, my eyes never leaving his.

"You're going to have to earn your redemption, Ser Gwayne," I said, my voice a sultry whisper.

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with desire. "And how do you suggest I do that, Princess?"

"Watch and learn," I replied, letting my dress slip from my shoulders and pool at my feet. I walked towards him, each step deliberate and teasing, until I was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

Gwayne's breath hitched as I reached up to trace a finger along his jawline, my touch light and teasing. "Are you ready to impress me?" I asked, my voice a soft purr.

"More than ready," he replied, his voice rough with desire.

With a smile, I leaned in to kiss him again, this time slower, savouring the moment. His hands roamed over my body, exploring every curve and dip, as I guided him towards the bed. Our kiss deepened, becoming more passionate as we gave in to the irresistible pull between us.

His clothes were pulled off in a frenzy of passion, leaving us both naked and exposed to the cool air of my chambers. There was a brief, electric pause as we took in each other's forms, desire evident in our eyes. 

With a commanding presence, Gwayne pushed me down onto the bed, and I let him take charge, intrigued by how exactly he planned to impress me.

His hands, rough from years of wielding a sword, caressed my legs, lifting them into the air. His eyes, darkened with lust, held mine as he began to pepper soft, tantalizing kisses along my inner thighs. Each touch sent waves of heat coursing through my body, and I couldn't help but arch my back, a soft moan escaping my lips.

"You're already off to a good start," I murmured, my voice breathless.

Gwayne chuckled, the sound deep and husky, as his kisses inched closer to where I most wanted them. His mouth moved with slow, deliberate precision, his lips warm and moist against my skin. He traced the sensitive skin with the tip of his tongue, leaving a trail of burning sensation in its wake. 

The anticipation was intoxicating, and I felt my body responding to his every touch.

"Patience, Princess," he whispered against my skin, his breath warm and tantalizing. "I want to savour this."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, urging him closer. He obliged, his lips finally finding their mark. His tongue flicked softly against my most sensitive spot, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. 

He alternated between gentle, teasing licks and firmer, more insistent strokes, his lips sealing around me to create a delicious suction. His movements were skilful, his tongue and lips working in harmony to drive me to the edge of madness.

"Oh," I gasped, my voice trembling with pleasure.

He paused briefly, looking up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Not bad for a fallen knight, hmm?"

"Not bad at all," I managed to reply, my breath hitching as he resumed his ministrations. "But let's see if you can truly impress me."

His grin widened, and he redoubled his efforts. His hands roamed over my thighs, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh as his mouth continued its assault. His tongue moved with a maddening rhythm, swirling and flicking in a way that left me breathless. 

The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that left me trembling beneath him. 

Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, he slowed his pace, drawing out my pleasure and prolonging the exquisite torment.

I writhed beneath him, my hands gripping the sheets as I surrendered to the waves of ecstasy crashing over me. He didn't relent, his mouth and hands continuing their assault until I was teetering on the edge of release. His fingers joined in, slipping inside me with a deftness that sent shivers through my entire body.

"Gwayne," I cried out, my voice a desperate plea.

He looked up, his eyes locking with mine, and in that moment, he gave me exactly what I needed. The world seemed to shatter around me as I was consumed by a powerful climax, my body arching off the bed as I called out his name.

As the waves of pleasure began to ebb, Gwayne shifted his focus, his lips capturing mine in a passionate, commanding kiss. I could taste my pleasure on his lips, and it only fueled my desire further. 

Drawing him closer, my hands roamed over his muscular back, feeling the tension and strength beneath my fingertips.

He aligned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked with mine as he gradually pressed inside. The sensation was exquisite, a slow, delicious stretch that filled me. I gasped and wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

Gwayne moved with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deep and measured. His touch was methodical, aimed at drawing out my pleasure. His hands roamed my hips and thighs, while his lips lavished attention on my neck and breasts, his kisses and nibbles making me shiver with delight.

"Gods, you feel incredible," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with desire.

I could only moan in response, my fingers gripping his shoulders as I met his thrusts. Our bodies moved in seamless harmony, the friction and heat between us building steadily. When he shifted his angle slightly, the head of his shaft brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside me, sending jolts of pleasure through my core.

I cried out, my nails scraping down his back as I clung to him, overwhelmed by the sensations.

"Right there," I gasped, my voice trembling. "Don't stop."

Gwayne responded to my plea, his movements growing more intense and urgent. His gaze remained fixed on mine, driving me higher and higher. The pressure inside me built to a crescendo, the promise of release just beyond my grasp.

"Cum for me, Princess," he whispered, his voice a rough command.

I unravelled beneath him, my body trembling violently as the force of my orgasm overtook me. Gwayne's thrusts continued unabated, extending my pleasure and drawing out every lingering wave of ecstasy. He maintained a steady rhythm, even as my muscles tightened around him, pulling him in with each wave of release.

As my climax subsided, he quickened his pace, his own need apparent in the way his body tensed and his breath came in ragged bursts. I could feel him approaching the edge, his control slipping as he sought his own release.

With a groan, he plunged deep one final time, his body convulsing as he reached his peak. I held him close, feeling the warmth of his release fill me as our bodies remained entwined in the aftermath.

For a moment, we lay there, tangled together, our breaths mingling as we came down from the heights of our pleasure. Gwayne's hand brushed my hair from my face, his touch gentle and tender.

"You, Princess, are truly remarkable," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration.

I smiled, a sense of satisfaction washing over me. "And you, Ser Gwayne, have more than redeemed yourself."

A/n - Who knew saving face was such a literal term in medieval jousting x

[austinswife]

ALWAYS YOUR SECOND CHOICE - ‘Buck’ Cleven

SYNOPSIS — In the final days before Gale "Buck" Cleven leaves for war, you can no longer ignore the ex-girlfriend who has been a constant presence in his life—always pulling him away, always his priority. After months of feeling like a second choice, you finally confront him about his divided loyalty. But the truth that unfolds is even more painful than you imagined, leaving you questioning whether your love is enough to hold on to.

WARNING(S) — Themes of betrayal, jealousy, and insecurity, heated, emotionally charged dialogue, emotional turmoil, heartbreak, unresolved tension, possible relationship breakdown.

fia’s note: rewatched ‘masters of the air’ and felt like maybe i should write somehing angst so please don’t hate me. possible of part 2 (not sure)

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

You stood by the window, arms crossed tightly against your chest, watching as the last light of the day faded into a dusky orange. Buck was late again. Of course, he was. She had called earlier—again and you already knew where he was. You didn’t even have to ask. You’d been through this before, too many times to count.

The door creaked open behind you, and you turned to see Buck stepping into the room, wiping his hands on his jeans. He froze the moment he saw the look on your face—like he knew what was coming but wasn’t ready to face it.

“Y/N…” His voice was careful, too careful.

“You’re late,” you said flatly, your voice devoid of emotion, though your heart pounded in your chest. You were holding on by a thread, and you knew it.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said, tossing his keys on the table. “She just—”

“She just what, Buck?” you snapped, cutting him off before he could even finish the sentence. “Needed your help? Needed to talk? Needed you?” The words dripped with bitterness, the anger you’d been bottling up for months finally spilling over. “Because, God forbid, Marge ever doesn’t need you.”

He sighed, the familiar look of frustration crossing his face. “Y/N, come on. This isn’t fair. She’s going through a rough time. You know that.”

“And when is she not going through a rough time?” you shot back, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “Every time something goes wrong in her life, you’re the first person she calls. You’re always there for her, but when it comes to me? You’re never here, Buck. You’re always running to her.”

“It’s not like that—” he started, but you weren’t done.

“Then what is it like?” Your voice cracked, the emotion breaking through despite your best efforts to hold it back. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s the one who really matters to you.”

Buck’s eyes hardened, his own frustration building. “That’s not true, Y/N. You know it’s not like that.”

“Then explain it to me!” you shouted, taking a step closer, your fists clenched at your sides. “Explain why every time she calls, you drop everything and run to her! Explain why I’ve spent the last few months feeling like I’m competing with someone who isn’t even supposed to be part of our lives anymore!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. The silence stretched on, his hesitation speaking louder than anything he could have said.

“See?” you said, your voice quieter now, broken. “You can’t. You can’t explain it because deep down, you know I’m right.”

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in frustration. “Y/N, you don’t get it. She’s my friend. She needs me right now. It’s not about choosing her over you.”

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Every single time, you choose her.”

His eyes met yours, something unreadable flickering across his face. “It’s not a choice. She’s in trouble. I’m just trying to help her.”

“And what about me?” you asked, your voice small, the pain in your chest making it hard to breathe. “What about what I need? You say you’re trying to help her, but what does that make me? Am I just supposed to sit here and wait until you’re done saving her?”

“Y/N—” His voice was softer now, more pleading, but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Why are you always running to her, Buck?” The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, the one you’d been too afraid to ask until now. “Why is it always her?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because she needs my help, Y/N. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart shattering at his words. You felt the anger swell in your chest again, but this time it was mixed with something deeper—something closer to despair.

“No, Buck,” you said, shaking your head as tears filled your eyes. “You’re fucking wrong. It’s not about helping her. It’s because she’s always been your first priority. It’s always been her, hasn’t it?”

His face softened, his eyes filled with regret. “No, Y/N, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” you demanded, stepping closer, tears finally spilling over as your voice broke. “Because it sure as hell feels like it. I’ve spent this entire relationship feeling like I’m second to her. And you’ve done nothing to prove me wrong.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as if to reach for you, but you stepped back. “I love you,” he said, his voice desperate now, pleading. “You’re the one I’m with. You’re the one I want to come home to.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m always waiting for you to choose me?” you cried, the weight of all the pain and insecurity crashing down on you.

“I’ve tried, Buck. I’ve tried to be understanding. I’ve tried to give you space, but it’s never enough, is it? Because no matter what I do, I’m never going to be her.”

His face twisted with guilt, his eyes glassy. “Y/N, it’s not like that. She’s just… she was a part of my life for a long time, and I can’t just—”

“Just what?” you interrupted, your voice rising with a mix of anger and heartache. “You can’t let her go? You can’t put us first?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words never came. Instead, he just stood there, helpless, as you poured out the truth you’d been holding onto for far too long.

You took a step back, shaking your head, your voice quivering. "When I was in the hospital, Buck—when I was so sick, have you been there for me?"

He flinched at your words, and you saw the guilt flash across his face, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.

"Okay, you told me you couldn’t come because you couldn’t skip a day at the base. I told myself I could understand that. I could understand that," you continued, your voice choking on the emotion you had held back for too long. "But when she… when she told you she needed your help, you left everything behind in an instant."

Your voice broke as the tears spilled freely down your face, your heart splitting wide open.

"It hurts so much, Buck. It hurts too much for me to handle. I can’t keep doing this, always wondering where I stand. I don’t even know if I’ll ever heal from this, because the more I love you, the more it hurts."

“Y/N…” His voice was thick with emotion now, but it wasn’t enough. His words weren’t enough.

You looked at him, your heart aching with every beat. “I deserve better than this, Buck,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “I deserve to be someone’s first choice, not their backup plan.”

“You are my first choice,” he said, his voice cracking. “Y/N, please—”

“No,” you said firmly, wiping at your tears with trembling hands. “If I were your first choice, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If I were your first choice, you wouldn’t be running to her every time she snaps her fingers.”

Buck looked at you, his eyes pleading, but you could see the conflict in him, the way he wanted to be there for you but couldn’t bring himself to let her go. It was written all over his face.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until finally, you shook your head, the decision made for you.

“I can’t do this anymore, Buck,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now. “I can’t keep fighting for a place in your life when already taken.”

His face crumpled, and for a moment, you thought he might fight for you. But he didn’t. He just stood there, torn between two worlds, unable to choose.

You took a shaky breath, the finality of your decision settling in. But even as your heart shattered, you couldn’t help but care for him. That’s how it had always been. No matter how much he hurt you, you loved him. You couldn’t turn that off. Not now, not ever.

“I hope you come back safe, Buck, truly” you whispered, your voice breaking with the weight of unshed tears. “I hope you survive the war, and that you come back whole.” You hesitated, your throat tight.

“But I won’t be here waiting for you.”

His breath hitched, his eyes wide with shock and pain. “Y/N, don’t—”

“I have to,” you interrupted softly. “Because I deserve to be someone’s first choice, Buck. I deserve to be more than just someone you run to when she’s not calling.”

The tears fell freely now, but you didn’t wipe them away. You let them fall as you gave him one last, lingering look—the man you loved, the man you couldn’t stay with.

With one final, heartbreaking step, you turned and walked out the door, leaving behind the love you thought you had and the life you had to let go of.

[iamtired10]

jealous jealous

— fluffy (slight angst) headcanons

pairing - newjeans members x female reader

synopsis - how they would react when they get jealous.

warning - jealousy and kisses (same warnings as before..)

a/n - im not totally sure if this is accurate or fun, but here it is. enjoy reading and bye—

requested by — @somedaydream

kim minji

minji is always the steady, reliable one.

but when jealousy hits her, that calm exterior fades into something much softer, more vulnerable.

it’s almost cute how she thinks she can hide it, but you know her better than that.

when she sees someone else getting just a little too close to you, her lips press into a thin line, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

she doesn’t make a scene—not minji—but the way she sidles up to you, slipping her arm around your waist, says everything she won’t.

suddenly, she’s attached to you like glue, her hand never leaving yours.

and if you thought she was clingy before?

it’s nothing compared to how she holds onto you now, as if letting go would mean you’d slip away.

minji isn’t loud about her jealousy, but the intensity is unmistakable.

she’ll rest her head on your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck as she murmurs, “you’re mine, you know that, right?”

her grip tightens ever so slightly, like she needs the reassurance that you’re not going anywhere.

you’d tease her about it, call her out for being so possessive, but her response is just to snuggle closer, burying her face against you with a soft,

“shut up, you love it.” and yeah, you do.

pham hanni

when hanni gets jealous, it’s like watching a storm roll in—fast, loud, and impossible to miss.

she’ll try to act indifferent at first, throwing in a casual, “i don’t care,” as her eyes narrow at whoever’s hogging your attention.

but the pout that forms on her lips is unmistakable, her foot tapping impatiently as she waits for them to leave.

the second they’re out of sight, though, she’s right there, tugging at your sleeve with a mix of frustration and vulnerability.

she’ll fold her arms, puffing out her cheeks in the most adorable way, and mutter, “you’re not allowed to let anyone else make you laugh like that.”

you try to calm her down, but she’s already climbing onto your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck with a stubborn grin. “i’m the only one who gets to do that. got it?”

but the best part?

when she tries to act all tough but fails miserably.

she’ll poke at your cheek, trying to act mad, but the second you kiss her nose or ruffle her hair, she’s all giggles and soft smiles again, her walls crumbling in an instant.

hanni can’t stay mad for long—especially not when you pull her close and tell her she’s your favorite.

danielle marsh

danielle is usually the most carefree, bubbly person you know. jealousy?

it doesn’t even seem like it’s in her vocabulary.

but when it sneaks up on her, it’s a quiet, almost shy thing.

she won’t say anything at first, but you’ll notice how she pulls back ever so slightly, her usual easy smiles faltering. danielle is all sunshine, but when she’s feeling insecure, the clouds start to roll in.

she won’t ask outright, won’t accuse you of anything, but you can see the way her gaze lingers on you, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.

the laughter isn’t as bright, her touches not as bold.

instead, she becomes quiet, distant, like she’s afraid she might lose you without even realizing it.

and the worst part?

she’ll try to hide it, not wanting to burden you with her feelings.

but once you notice, once you pull her aside and ask her what’s wrong, she’ll melt.

her arms will wrap around you in the tightest hug, her face buried in your chest as she mumbles, “i just... don’t want to lose you.”

you’ll reassure her, over and over, until that bright smile returns, her whole body leaning into yours like she can finally breathe again.

danielle doesn’t get jealous often, but when she does, she needs to know you’re hers, and only hers.

kang haerin

haerin is the silent type, always observing, always thinking.

when she gets jealous, you almost wouldn’t know—almost.

she doesn’t make a scene, doesn’t throw tantrums or pout.

instead, she just watches, her eyes sharp as she quietly takes in every interaction you have with someone else.

her expression remains neutral, but there’s a tension in the way she moves, like a panther ready to pounce.

she’ll slip closer to you, her fingers brushing against yours in a way that’s so subtle, yet so possessive.

haerin doesn’t need words to show you how she’s feeling—her presence is enough.

she stands just a little too close, her gaze never leaving you, as if she’s reminding you, without saying a word, that you belong to her.

later, when you’re alone, she’ll sit beside you, her hand resting lightly on your leg, her voice low as she finally speaks. “you’re not interested in anyone else, right?”

it’s not even a real question—she knows the answer.

but hearing you say it makes something soften in her eyes, the tension melting away as she leans into you, her head resting on your shoulder.

haerin doesn’t need to make a big fuss, but when she’s jealous, she’ll make sure you never forget where your heart belongs.

lee hyein

hyein is the youngest, but when she gets jealous, she acts like she’s years older, her voice sharp and demanding as she pulls you aside.

“who was that?” she’ll ask, her eyebrows raised, trying to act all serious and mature.

but you can see right through her.

she’s still the playful, dramatic baby you know and love, even when she’s pretending to be tough.

she’ll follow you around, refusing to let anyone else get too close, her hand firmly in yours as she shoots glares at anyone who dares even glance in your direction.

“you’re mine, no sharing,” she’ll declare, her voice full of mock authority, but the way she clings to you like a kid with their favorite toy betrays her real feelings.

and when you finally laugh and call her out for being so possessive, she’ll just huff, crossing her arms as she pouts.

“i don’t care, you’re not allowed to make anyone else smile like that.”

but underneath all her dramatics, she’s still soft, still the sweet hyein you know.

she’ll eventually lean her head on your shoulder, her voice a little quieter, a little softer.

“i just like you too much, okay?”

a/n - working overtime for y'all :(

[sinofwriting]

Summer - Nico Rosberg

Words: 531 Word Prompt: Summer Note(s): Implied Sugar Daddy Nico Rosberg, Implied Age Gap

Masterlist | Support Me! | Sin’s Sept. Blurbs

“I hate summer.” She moans, hiding her face in the pillows. Nico hums, eyes gliding along the naked expanse of her back. “So horrible.” “The humidity, it was like it was trying to kill me. And I had to wear sneakers and my feet,” she whines, turning over and he hungrily drinks in the view of her top half bare before him. “They even got all hot, Nico.” “I’m sorry.”

She pouts at the distracted tone in his voice and sits up, watching as his eyes stay glued to her breasts. She huffs.

She knew she was being dramatic. But Nico had invited her here because he wanted to spend time with her and then on her first day here he hadn’t spent any time with her. And she had only managed to get one of her two bags from his car before he left, which meant that she had to wander around in the 35 degree heat with sneakers instead of the cute but supportive sandals she had brought.

It was fine though, he had things to do tomorrow as well now and she could just get her revenge on him then.

—

Nico frowns as he enters the apartment he was renting and sees quite a few bags in the living room. They were nice brands, luxury brands, and normally the sight would never bother him, but he struggles to remember ever getting notifications for any of them.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly opens his banking and frowns seeing nothing there.

“Liebling!” He calls out. “Nico! How were the meetings?” Her voice is a bit faint. “They went good. You went shopping?” “Yeah,” her voice is louder and his attention shifts to where the hallway for the bedrooms and bathroom connect to the living room.

His breath catches as he gets a glimpse of her. She was so breathtakingly beautiful it had been a miracle when they first met that he managed to wait a few months to ask her out.

“I got some new tops and a few dresses. Oh, and more of that perfume you like.” He makes a slight humming noise, eyes back on the shopping bags. “You didn’t use my card.” “I have my own money, I didn’t need to use it.” The words feel like a slight stab to the chest. He was aware she didn’t need his money, her father more than made sure of that, but she had never said that before. “But it’s yours to use.” She shrugs, “it was just a bit of shopping.”

The words, I’ll use it next time, don’t follow and that hurts as well.

It must show on his face because she softens and comes closer, her arms wrapping around his waist, lips brushing along his neck.

“Ignore me again, Nico Rosberg, and I’ll cut your card up and buy that necklace you’re wanting to get me for my birthday.” After the last word, she places a sweet kiss to his lips, leaving them a little sticky from her lip gloss before pulling away completely. “Got it?” He nods, tongue darting out to lick his lips, to taste the gloss she left on them. “Got it.”

[justmymindandstuff]

Lord Stark Robb Stark x Wife LannisterReader

summary: It was a stupid argument and Robb knows he has fucked up after you threw his title in his face. Fine. He doesn't need you or so he thought. He quickly realizes that he made a mistake and that he does need you more than he thought.

warnings: canon-typical misogyny, curse, Robb is kind of an ass but he will come around in the end, fluff.

words: 3.728

A/N: slightly inspired by this post by @dipperscavern .Thank you for the inspo :) // Gif not mine// AO3 // requests are open :)

Be kind and have fun 🧡

"And maybe if you would just stop acting like a spoilt brat and shut the fuck up for a second I could hear my own thoughts. You are getting on my last nerves." his voice is hoarse from screaming. Both of his hands are angrily clenched into fists as he leans his arms over the back of his chair. He glares at you angrily through the room. The moment his words leave his mouth, he sees something shift in you. Just a moment ago, you were shouting at him in anger, pacing back and forth, eyes sparkling with anger when you look at him.

Now you stand there frozen, your eyes wide with tears. Robb bites his lip and prepares to apologize. But with your next breath, you straighten up, hiding all your feelings behind a mask.

"As you wish, Lord Stark." your voice lacks any emotions, not even anger anymore.

Robb's ears start ringing and he knows he messed up. You never call him Lord Stark. Your Grace, sometimes, at public events or in jest, Love and Robb. Most of the time you just call him Robb. He is your Robb. Not Lord Stark, not your Grace, not the King, just Robb. And he doesn't want to be anything else. He wants to be your Robb.

You sink into a perfect curtsy before him, and in that moment, Robb doesn´t see his wife but your mother in you. It makes his skin crawl. Cersei raised you to be a perfect princess, and it took him ages to get through that facade. Now it frightens him how quickly you have raised your walls again and how you go from his Stark Queen back to beeing a Lannister Princess again in just seconds. You lift your chin a little, and Robb no longer knows what he wanted to say. He feels as if his chambers have become several degrees colder. Without another word, you turn around, your hair blowing your scent over to Robb, it feels like a slap in his face. As you storm out of the chambers in anger he wants to follow you, but that's exactly what you want him to do. Robbs knows that he has gone too far, despite he stays behind. He won't give you what you want and follow you like a lost puppy. He reaches for his wine, and curses softly. Gods, sometimes you are unbearable.

It was a silly argument. One of the Ladies at court had called you Lady Lannister behind your back, and it had upset you. You demanded that Robb punish her. At first, he thought you were joking. To punish a Lady because his wife heard a rumor? His lords would rebel immediately, and he would understand them. So instead of agreeing with you he started laughing. You exploded with rage. Of course your argument doesn´t stop there. Things between you and Robb escalated and in the end, you both were just shouting at eachother without really knowing why you were angry at the beginning . Robb rubs his hands over his face. You will calm down again and come back, then you can talk about it like adults. Of course, he would apologize for his stupid comment. Yes, you get on his nerves, but he doesn't want it any other way. You know that, right? Robb turns to his daily tasks. He is a king, he doesn't have time to wonder about his wife's mood all day long.

Robb was wrong, you don´t come back to resolve your dispute reasonably. He hasn't seen or spoken to you all day. He only caught a glimpse when he watched you walking through the courtyard of Winterfell with Sansa from his window. Grey Wind at your side. Traitor.

He doesn't quite understand why you got so worked up. You are a Stark, no matter what people say, no matter what people call you. Since the Lannisters imprisoned Eddard Stark, your loyalty to the North has been called into question countless times. So it's nothing new for you. A few of Robb's lords had begged him to let you fall, but Robb had remained stubborn. You are his wife! If the Lords want him as king, they must accept you as queen. You have been a Stark since the moment he took you under his cloak in Winterfell's Goodwood. So why is it such a big problem for you to get called Lady Lannister? It's just a name.

A name that has been tarnished itself with shame over the last years. Broken promises, forgotten wars, incest. Still just a name.

Robb reaches for a cup of wine and takes a sip, he is stucked in his work. He would like to hear your opinion on one of the letters he received, but you would probably just dismiss him with a sassy response and slam the door in his face. It would end with Robb standing at your door, begging that you let him in. He doesn't want tp expose himself like that.

He sighs and leans back a little in his chair. He tries to understand why you get so worked up about an insignificant Lady, as if the thoughts of others actually matter to you.

You cried in his arms just once when the truth about your real parentage came to light. You were so ashamed of just being yourself. A product of incest. Robb had believed it in the first second. You look like a younger version of Cersei Lannister. Lioness through and through.

That makes you dangerous, you are so beautiful that he becomes weak. Robb knew this the moment you stepped out of the carriage, during King Robert's visit to Winterfell all those years ago.

His thoughts wander to the moment he saw you for the first time. His mother had dressed Robb up because he would meet you for the first time today. He has to make a good first impression. That's what his mother had said. This agreement has been made when he was 5. Robb Stark, heir of Winterfell, would marry the king's eldest daughter. You should have traveled to Winterfell a long time ago to live with the Starks, but your mother had screamed, raged, cry and did not allow it. So Robb meets his betrothed, the princess from the warm south, only a week before the wedding. Theon had made jokes, and Jon had looked at him with pity. But all of that didn't matter when he saw you for the first time. A glance from your green eyes was enough and Robb has the need to fall to his knees before you and give you the world.

Robb shakes his head slightly and sits up straight. He has to answer a few of these letters today. He needs to concentrate.

It’s getting later and later, and Robb is becoming increasingly restless inside. He doesn't know what it is. He can't quite put his finger on it. Something is not right. Robb rubs his tired eyes and blinks a few times before he can recognize the letters in front of him again. As the moon is already high in the sky and the candles have burned down so much that Robb can hardly see anything, he gives up. He stands up with striped limbs and stretches, yet his back aches slightly from all the sitting. Robb would simply continue tomorrow. His steps lead him through his home to his chambers.

He slowly opens the door and sighs. He is greeted with emptiness. He hadn't expected you to be here, but a small part of him had hoped for it. Your side of the bed is empty, which means you have gone to sleep in your own chambers. Which are only yours in name. He could count on one hand how many nights you spent in your own chambers without him. He lies down in bed and stares at the ceiling. His stomach begins to growl. For a moment, Robb is confused. He can´t remember the last time he went to bed hungry. He closes his eyes. Of course not, you always bring him something to eat on those nights when he is brooding over papers and letters for a long time. You always bring him something from the dinnerhall, usually already in your nightgown. Then you sit next to him while he eats. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you don't, sometimes you discuss problems, he asks you for advice, or you inform him about the latest gossip at his court. You always enjoy your time together. Robb opens his eyes. Damn! He is an idiot.

He tosses and turns in bed for quite a while. He can't find sleep. Every now and then, he dozes off briefly. He gets up at the frist rays of sunlight, without feeling refreshed. Nevertheless, he gets dressed and leaves his bedroom. There is no trace of Grey Wind, but Robb is sure that the direwolf has taken his place by your side. And for a second, he is jealous of hos wolf. Robb decides against breaking his fast in the great hall and instead goes to his study. On his way through the halls of Winterfell, he has to stop a few times because someone wants something from him. Robb is trying to be friendly, but the argument with you and the almost sleepless night is wearing on his courtesy. Upon reaching his destination, he is greeted by a new pile of letters and parchment rolls. Robb would prefer to turn around and run away. He is not sure if he can endure another day full of work and without you.

"Please ask My Lady Wife if she would like to break her fast with me." Robb turns to a servant.

"Of course your Grace." he bows and leaves the room. The door had not yet properly closed when it was opened again and one of his guards entered.

"Your Grace." the guard begins to talk. Robb want to crawl out of his skin or scream, or both. Instead, he forces a smile onto his face and turns to the new visitor. "It is the goldsmith."

Robb nods, and the man steps in and bows.

"Good morning, your Grace. I am bringing your delivery. I hope she agrees to you." the goldsmith lets his apprentice step forward to present the golden necklace with the Direwolfheadpendant. Robb has to suppress an eye roll. He hates this theater. A waste of time for him. It would be easier if the jeweler simply handed him the necklace.

You love that. You have lived for sixteen years in the Red Keep in King's Landing, raised in all the luxury, splendor, and gold of the world. From the moment you were born, everone bend the knee before you.He can't blame you.

The gold of the chain is intricately crafted. The wolf's head detailed.

Most in the north prefer silver, most of his clothing is adorned with silver as well. The North had its own silver mines. Gold had to be imported. That's expensive and time-consuming. Impractical. Northmen despise the impractical.

With you it´s different, you shine in gold. And that is Robb's fault. He loves to gift you with jewelry, dresses, elaborate hairpins and tiaras. He can't help it. If you want to bathe in gold, he would make it possible.

Of course, you behave like a spoiled brat. He spoils you.

He praises the work of the goldsmith and gives him a few more gold coins, even though he has already spent a small fortune on the piece of jewelry. He doesn't care. If necessary, he would walk all the way to Essos to get you a gift. He would conquer the whole world just to make you happy. Robb places the velvet cushion with the chain on the table while the goldsmith and his apprentice leave his study again.

His Page comes back with your answer. "The queen has already broken her fast, My Lord."

"Fine." Robb eats his breakfast alone and then throws himself into work. A longing for you pulls at him, but he tries to push it away and focus on his work. Later today, he has to meet with Lord Karstark, actually he had planned that you to accompany him to this meeting. Karstark wanted compensation, in his opinion, his family suffered the most from the war. Wasn't it Robb who lost his father? Karstark has been discussing with him for ages, he always wants more. Robb had hoped that you could distract Karstark a little. The lord eats out of your hand like a stray puppy. Robb is sure that you would rather pout than help him. But he didn't help you either. Frustrated, he sinks deeper into his chair. Maybe he had behaved incorrectly after all. He should have supported you. Of course, he can't punish a Lady over a rumor, but laughing was the worst thing he could have done. Nevertheless, he thinks that your punishment of silence is a bit excessive.

All day long, Robb sends you pages delivering his invitations. Would you like to go for a walk with him? Would you like to go riding with him? You could take out the falcons and have a little hunt. You send them all back with a no as an answer.

Robb knows that you are stubborn. The day goes by and he still doesn't get any reaction from you. He has shown that he is ready to make amends. He curses your stubbornness, even though he knows very well that he would never give up your willpower for an obedient woman.

He reacts a bit too annoyed with Lord Karstark and dismisses him after a short time with an unfriendly comment about willingness to sacrifice and loyalty. An angry lord is a problem for later.

Robb postpones the petitions from his subjects and instead trying to focus on expenses, taxes, and planning for the next harvest. His mood is extremely bad.  

Not even a letter from Arya, or Lady Baratheon as she is now called, from Storm's End lifts his spirits. Baratheon, Stark, Lannister. Arya surely wouldn't make such a fuss just because someone addresses her as Stark instead of Baratheon. But Arya's family does not consist of incestuous, murderous traitors.

In Robb's war against your family, you have completely devoted yourself to his cause. You had burned all your bridges and stood by his side. You have laid aside your Lannister colors and fully identified as a Stark. Gods, you even advised against releasing your uncle/father and keeping him as a valuable hostage. He slowly realizes that he behaved wrongly. Instead of maning up and going to you to apologizes to you, he sends another page with the question of whether you want to have lunch with him, and not even an hour later, another one asking if you’d like to pass the time with a card game in the glass gardens.

In the afternoon, you have enough. Furiously, you storm into his chambers. Robb sits at the table with Dacey Mormont and Smalljon. The conversation immediately falls silent when you enter, and they look at you.

"Please leave. We're going to fight now." you say with a perfect, false smile. You eyes are bursting with anger, it's the only thing that shatters your perfect facade. Even your hair is tied back in strict, southern braids, just like you always wear when you're angry with Robb. Because you know exactly that he hates it.

Smalljon laughs, gives Robb a hearty pat on the shoulder, and gets up. "The lioness is showing her claws." he laughts.

Dacey rolls her eyes at the comment and then pushes the other person out of the room. The door closes behind them. Robb takes a deep breath and stands up. Disarmed, he spreads his arms wide. But before he can say anything, you already start to grumble in a cold tone with sparkling eyes.

"First you claim that I get on your nerves and that you can't stand my presence, but when I give you what you want, you can't leave me alone? What is that supposed to mean?“

When did he ever say that he can't stand your presence? He feels anger rising within him because you are putting words in his mouth, but he takes a deep breath to calm himself. He wants to make peace, not argue again.

"I don't want to argue. That doesn't make any sense."

You snort disdainfully. "I want to argue! That's enough semse."

"No, I mean it doesn't make sense because I agree with you," he says. You stop. You didn't see that coming. You push your lower lip slightly forward, you've spent half the night thinking about what to throw at him next. Now he's taking the wind out of your sails. But Robb recognizes from your raised eyebrow and the way your eyes sparkle that you are skeptical. "I should have taken you seriously. And under no circumstances should I have laughed at you. I'm sorry."

"You hurt me." you’re raising your chin slightly again, maintaining your arrogant facade. Robb dares to take a step closer to you and notices with joy that you do not back away. "You said I'm annoying you."

"I shouldn't have said that. I doesn´t mean it. I was just angry. I know that's no excuse. It was wrong. I'm really sorry. You're not annoying me. Gods, I missed you so much, and you weren't even three hallways away from me. I can't stand it when you're angry with me."

You release your tense posture, your gaze softens, but you’re not smiling yet. Robb takes the last steps towards you and takes your hand. Immediately, your fingers close around his. Robb feels a sense of relief.

"I can somehow understand you. I know that I can be difficult. Especially when we argue," you admit softly.

"I would rather spend my whole life arguing with you than loving someone else. I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to hurt you. I want you to know that I understand why you are angry. I did not stand by your side. That was wrong."

You look into his eyes, and Robb feels like you can see right into his soul. And then finally you smile. No false smile, no, you smile sincerely. Robb's heart skips a beat. Your smile is enough, and his heart beats faster, like a lovesick teenager. He is glad that you allow him to see that smile again.

"I forgive you," you say. Robb pulls you into a hug. Immediately, his arms close around you as he pulls you to him. He takes a deep breath and inhales your scent. For the first time in days, he feels truly relaxed. You snuggle up to him, fitting perfectly in his arms. He kisses your head.

"I love you," he whispers in your hair.

You detach yourself of him to look at him again. "I love you," you reply to him. Robb could die here and now, for he would never experience more happiness than when you say those words to him. You rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. Robb pulls you closer to him. Relief, happiness, and love flood through him. When your lips left his he just have to smile.

"I have something for you."

Confused, you look at him. Robb points to the necklace lying on the corner of the table.

"You think you can buy my forgiveness with gifts?" you say, faking annoyance, but a smile dances on your lips as you run your fingers over the fine craftsmanship.

"No, of course not. I had already ordered that" Robb walks past you and takes the necklace from the table. "May I?"“

You turn your back to him and move your braids to the side so he can place the necklace around your slender neck. His fingers close the clasp and gently stroke your neck. He can't help it and lets his lips glide over the soft skin. You turn around in his arms and smile.

"It is beautiful. Thank you, Robb." you reply and reach for his hand.

"You are Lady Stark. My Lady Stark. Never forget that, and I will make sure no Lord or Lady never forget it either."

Tears well up in his eyes, and for a moment, he fears he has said something wrong again, but then you pull him into a tight embrace. You bury your face in his chest and he holds you close. You just stand there. He enjoys being close to you. Suddenly he is overcome by tiredness.

"Come to bed with me." he whispers.

You start to giggle and pull away from him a little. "I forgave you three seconds ago and you already order me into your bed? That is not the gentleman I married."

You married a horny teenager who didn't let you sleep a single night in the first weeks of your marriage. Robb gently leans in and kisses your forehead.

"No. I just want to sleep for a few hours. The last night without you was a nightmare."

You nod slightly, agreeing with him. You didn't sleep well alone either, you missed his warmth far too much. You smile and snuggle closer into his arms, his beard tickling your cheek, making you giggle softly, yet you lean into him.

"As you wish, my Lord Stark."

Something tightens within him. He never wants to hear those words from your mouth again.

"No. Don't say Lord Stark." Robb pulls back a little to be able to look you in the eyes. You tilt your head slightly and look at him expectantly. "Say my name."

A sincere, warm smile appears on your face. The smile is only for Robb. Then you rise onto your tiptoes to kiss him.

"As you wish, Robb." you say. Robb grinned like a little boy. He kisses your lips and your cheeks again. He takes your hand and you go back to your private chambers together. When you finally lie next to him in your bed again, he pulls you close into his arms. Your legs intertwine, and tightly wrapped with his love, he falls asleep just moments later.

[sykoangels]

Oh professor?

pairing: mutant!reader x professor!logan

warnings: age gap (everyone is 18+) slight dubcon , unprotected sex, degrading and praise, rough sex

notes: im surprised y’all liked the first part!! So since im nice i’m putting out part two! This is part one go read that first!!

It’s been a couple of days since the incident in Professor Logan‘s classroom. Something that hadn’t left your mind for a couple of days now all you could think of was that intimate moment you shared with him, it felt wrong because he was your professor, but also right and away felt like he could take care of you and pleasure you nobody else could.

So you made the executive decision to avoid him at all costs not because you were afraid of him or anything but because you didn’t want to risk your reputation or his reputation to be tarnished over some sexual experience. Many of the girls in your class found him attractive. They always said very sexual jokes about him and within earshot of you trying to predict things about his body and what he would do to you in bed, but you can only laugh along, pretending like you didn’t try to make out with him while getting calculus help 

Unfortunately, you had to come to class due to the fact you’re having a final today and not other than Logan‘s class. And the back of your head like he planned final this on purpose, but you know you were just being overdramatic because all of your finals were today due to the curriculum standards taking your final towards the end of the semester. Logan stood at the front of the classroom, his eyes scanning the rows of students. The room was filled with the usual chatter and rustling of papers, but his focus was on one person in particular. Y/N sat in the middle row, her head slightly bowed as she scribbled notes. He could see the tension in her posture and the way her fingers gripped the pen tightly. His heart ached with a mixture of guilt and longing.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and the room fell silent. Logan cleared his throat, his voice steady as he began passing out the test. But his mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the previous day. The near-kiss, the knock at the door, the aching need that still lingered like an unfulfilled promise. He couldn't let it go on like this. He had to confront her, especially since he noticed the effect on himself and her. As the class progressed, Logan found himself glancing at Y/N more often than he should. Each time their eyes met, she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. It was clear she was just as affected by their encounter as he was. By the time the lecture was halfway through, he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice cutting through the silence. "Could you come up here for a moment?" The room fell into an uneasy hush as all eyes turned to her. Y/N hesitated, her breath catching in her throat, before slowly standing and making her way to the front. Logan watched her approach, noting the way her skirt swayed with each step, the subtle curve of her hips drawing his gaze. When she reached him, he could feel the heat radiating from her body, the scent of her perfume intoxicating." Is something wrong, Professor?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Logan shook his head, his eyes locked on hers. " I need to talk to you. After class.”

He looked at her up and down noticing the cute pleated skirt she was wearing with a black t-shirt with a lace ribbon hem with you pulled into a slick black ponytail that was curled tightly. He had thoughts of just fucking you senselessly on his desk for the whole world to see but he keeps himself composed giving Y/N a cold and husky look as he motions for her to sit down. Y/N’s mind was bustling with several different thoughts. Logan was so vague about what he had to talk to her about, but she had a feeling it was about to kiss they almost shared a couple of days ago. She swallowed hard, trying to focus on the lecture, but her thoughts kept drifting back to that moment.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students began packing up their things, chatting amongst themselves as they left the room. Y/N stayed seated, her hands trembling slightly as she waited for Logan to dismiss her. When the last student had exited, Logan closed the door behind them and turned to face her. "Come here," he said, his voice low and commanding.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before standing up and walking towards him. As she approached, Logan's eyes roamed over her body, taking in every detail. He could feel the heat rising within him, the desire building in his chest. He wanted her, and he wasn't going to waste any time. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the edge of his desk. Y/N obeyed, her legs brushing against the cool surface as she perched on the edge. Logan moved closer, his hands resting on either side of her hips. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something else that drove him wild. He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

"Do you know why I called you here?" he asked, his voice thick with lust. Y/N shook her head, her eyes wide with anticipation. "No, Professor," Logan smirked, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist. "I think you do doll.” Y/N looked up at Logan feeling her heart beat out of her chest. Logan held Y/N’s chin looking into their eyes before speaking. “I know you stare at me darling and that little stunt you pulled a few days ago. I was perplexed why my star student would need help with something as easy as my calculus homework. You just wanted private attention but couldn’t admit it.” Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed with arousal and embarrassment. "Yes, Professor. I shouldn’t attempted to “

Before she could finish her statement, his lips were on hers, pressing hard against her mouth. Y/N gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders as he kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth with a hunger that left her breathless. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she moaned into his mouth, her body responding to his touch. “Stop talking. Let me give you that private lesson you have been wanting” Logan said caressing her cheek. His hands moved to cup her breasts through her shirt. He squeezed gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, causing them to harden instantly. Y/N arched her back, pressing herself closer to him, her breath coming in short gasps. Logan's hands moved lower, slipping under her skirt to find the lace of her panties. He traced the edge of the fabric with his fingers, teasing her sensitive skin. "I barely touched you and you are already soaked. I didn’t know you were such a whore." he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction.

Y/N whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand. "Please, Professor..." Logan grinned, his fingers dipping beneath the lace to stroke her clit. “What do you want darling? Come on tell me what you want with that pretty mouth of yours”. She bit her lip, her eyes pleading with him. "I want you...inside me.”

Logan's cock twitched at her words, and he quickly unzipped his pants, freeing his throbbing erection. He positioned himself between her thighs, his tip pressing against her entrance. Y/N gasped, her hands gripping his arms as he slowly pushed inside her. The sensation was overwhelming, her tightness gripping him like a vice. "Oh God," she whispered, her nails digging into his skin. Logan grunted, his hips thrusting forward as he buried himself deep inside her. He held still for a moment, savoring the feel of her around him, before pulling out and thrusting back in with more force. Y/N cried out, her body shuddering with pleasure as he pounded into her, his pace relentless.

"You like that, don't you doll ?" he growled, his voice rough with exertion. Y/N nodded, her eyes half-lidded with ecstasy. "Yes, Professor...so good..." Logan's hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly as he continued to fuck her with abandon. He could feel his own release building, the pressure in his balls growing with each thrust. He wanted to make this last, to draw out her pleasure as long as possible, but the sight of her writhing beneath him, her cries of passion filling the room, was too much to resist.

“Come on my cock doll! I know a good girl like you can" he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. Y/N cried out, her body tensing as she came hard around his cock. Logan followed immediately, his own orgasm ripping through him as he spilled deep inside her. He collapsed against her, his breathing heavy as he struggled to regain control. Y/N lay there, her body trembling with aftershocks, her mind reeling from the intensity of the experience. Logan pulled out slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached down, wiping away the evidence of their encounter with his thumb before licking it clean.

"That was just the beginning," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N shivered, her heart pounding in her chest. "What do you mean?"

Logan smiled, a dark glint in his eyes. "I have plans for you, Y/N. My precious star student. Why don’t you run along now. You have combat training in an hour go get cleaned up and I will see you in tomorrow bright and early dollface.”

Y/N quickly readjusted her clothes and got her stuff before scurrying out of Logan’s class with a slight limp from taking him. Logan let out a faint chuckle before putting on his readers and adjusting them before grading some papers.

🏷️ @shoyofroyoyoyo @seasonofthenerd @fictionalmen-dilflover @g0ldenstarr

[nottsbitch]

Casual - T.N.

Summary: Just a girl and her favorite situationship, who are strictly "casual". 18+ contains smut.

Frat Boy Theo

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In the semi-dark house, all that could be heard was blaring music, making it impossible to hold a conversation.

You had regretted your decision to come as the smell of sweat surrounded you. But unfortunately for you when Theo wasn’t answering your text you knew exactly where to find him.

Every Friday night his frat would throw a themed party, and when this was going on it was almost impossible to get a hold of him.

As you navigated through the large crowd, you finally spotted Theo on the far side of the room, engaged in animated conversation with a girl you didn’t recognize. Her hand rested casually on his arm, and the way Theo laughed at something she said made a pang of jealousy twist in your gut.

The music seemed to drown out, leaving just the sight of them and the gnawing feeling that perhaps he wasn’t as committed to you as you had hoped. It stung to see him so at ease with someone else, and despite the thrumming bass that filled the room, the ache of your jealousy felt deafening.

You took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd, determination set in your stride. When you reached Theo and the girl, you tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

His smile faltered as he turned to face you, the recognition in his eyes quickly replaced by a flicker of surprise. "Theo, we need to talk," you said, your voice steady but edged with frustration.

The girl looked between you two, clearly sensing the tension, and took a step back, giving you both space. Theo's expression shifted from confusion to concern as he tried to gauge the situation. "What's wrong?" he asked, but you could hear the uncertainty in his tone.

"Oh, I thought something might be wrong, but I’m just thrilled to see you’re perfectly fine here, chatting away." Your tone dripped with sarcasm as you gestured toward the girl he’d been talking to.

"Alright let's talk upstairs, Now," He said quickly pushing you to the stairs trying to avoid any onlookers who may have been listening to the conversation.

Once in his bedroom, Theo was quick with attaching his lips to yours, his arms tightening around your waist as he tried to pull you closer and closer.

As he started walking you backwards towards the bed his lips moved down to your neck.

"This isn't talking" You pushed out trying to hold back your moan, Choosing to attempt to stand your ground upset by the way he was acting.

"Can't we talk about this later?" The look he gave you immediately shutting you up.

You watched as Theo walked to his bed sitting down on the edge before motioning you over "Come here" It came out as a whisper as he gestured to his lap.

As much as you didn't want to you found yourself walking towards him, your arms going around his neck when you reached him pulling him in for another kiss. This went on for what felt like forever your lips together, his hands twisting and pulling at your hair every few minutes.

"You know you're my number one girl." He said smiling as his hands began to tug your shirt over your head. He left a trail of kisses on your exposed skin, as he continued to talk about how you had nothing to worry about, though your anger was long forgotten.

You pulled Theo's head back up to yours, your hands running through his hair before you guys were back to undressing each other.

"You're so gorgeous" Was all you heard from Theo which you almost missed because of how low it came out. "Your not leaving this bed until the only thing you remember is my name."

Shivers ran up your spine as you pulled him down to kiss you for the millionth time, this kiss more aggressive than the rest. Theo had his hands on your sides as he moved over your body. Once situated he moved his hands to yours interlacing your fingers as he pinned you into the mattress. Your tongues fought for dominance the only sound heard was the quiet moans coming from both of your mouths. You could feel the warmth radiating off of his body as you used your legs to pull him even closer.

You pulled apart for one moment "I'll never get tired of looking at you" He said, as his eyes hungrily took in your naked body.

You bit your lip trying not to let his words have too much of an effect on you, remembering that sex was the only thing you were ever going to get from this man.

Your core tightened as you guys made eye contact. The feeling of his skin on yours always left you feeling speechless.

When you leaned back in you kissed him more desperate then you ever had before. Not being able to hold back your moans as you ran your hands from his hair to his shoulders, using them to pull him closer if that was even possible.

He bit your lip before pulling away, much to your displeasure. He had his body positioned between your legs. He gripped your hips painfully tight as he started kissing up your thigh.

As you closed your eyes letting out soft whimpers he took the time to look at you, before slowly pushing one long finger into you and quickly pulling it out again. This causes you to open your eyes and look at him. He admired your wetness on his finger before bringing it to his lips and sucking it clean.

You heart was racing out of control at this point just waiting for him to make a move.

"I want to hear every noise you make, Don't try and stay quiet. Got it?" The most you could do was nod your head. He ran his hand through your hair, moving down your body until he reached where you needed him most.

The next thing you knew, his fingers were on you clit, rubbing slowly. You let out a cry from the pleasure "Theo... Don't stop!"

And he didn't, his fingers continued to work as he moved his head next to yours whispering in your ear "I wouldn't dream of stopping now."

The feeling of his hand caused your arousal to take over your mind. Your legs were starting to shake as your head fell back, every sound coming out of your mouth like you couldn't hold it in. The sounds were going to his head causing him to speed up his pace bringing you closer and closer to your release.

She had never felt this much pleasure moaning loudly as he held your hips, stopping you from grinding against his hand. Then before you expected it a wave of pleasure came over your entire body.

You cried out sharply as Theo continued his pace letting you ride out your orgasm.

That was the start of your night and later as you laid next to a snoring Theo, you could only think how things didn't feel so casual to you .

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I'm literally so bad at writing smut if this is bad just let me stay blissfully ignorant