#Short one-shot

[animezinglife]

The Rhythm of Flames

Lucien knows Elain is adjusting to life in Day. What he doesn't expect is for her to embrace its dances so fully. Short one-shot written for @elucienweekofficial (Day 4: High Society).

Genre: General (and a hint of suggestiveness) Post-canon Elucien mini fic/shameless excuse for Elain to let loose. Inspired by this and this. I refuse to believe that in its medley of cultural inspiration, Day isn't a hotspot for all kinds of dancing. Tagging @lucienarcheron, @crazy-ache, @zenkindoflove, and @teddyhoneybear for always being such sweet supporters!

Music and chatter had grown deafening from where Lucien sat beside the High Lord of Day. The Day Court was known for their parties: of the lively, loud bands and strong drink, impressive feasts, dallying, and dancing. They were a people who worked hard and celebrated often–even if for no reason at all–and the latter had taken some getting used to during his more frequent visits. It helped that Helion was a gracious host to his guests, having already spoken with every guest once and mingled among them before returning to his throne; that Lucien knew the High Lord–his father–had eyes everywhere in his court and that very little went on he did not see.

“Lost in thought?” Helion’s deep voice shook Lucien from his thoughts, and Lucien turned to see the High Lord sliding another goblet of wine over to him. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch–hadn’t even noticed the tension he’d held in his posture out of habit. He released a breath, accepting the goblet and taking a long swig. 

To say things had initially been awkward with Helion was understatement. Lucien still wasn’t certain where his own role fell in Day. He was accustomed to being a student of other courts. He had long studied the culture, history, politics, and manners of them all, and his efforts had proven invaluable throughout his years as an emissary. What he hadn’t learned in books he’d picked up through years of practical study and experience, conversing and observing courtiers and other locals to offer the best representation possible.

Yet it was one thing to learn the inner workings of a court.

It was another entirely to learn one was its heir.

Learning that Helion was his father had been the greatest shock of his life. He’d long suspected he was not of Beron’s blood; had even gathered through the magic he’d kept hidden through most of his life that his father had been from Day. Lucien had never asked his mother the details; had spared her the risk and turmoil of speaking about it at all. He had assumed his father had been an emissary, or perhaps a traveling merchant or minstrel who’d crossed paths with her all those years ago. He had never blamed his mother for her secret, even though he’d resented the need to keep it a secret in the first place. The years he’d lived under Beron’s monstrous thumb still haunted him: loss and devastation, anger and guilt.

And to discover his father had been Helion all along…

Lucien was still processing how he felt; what that meant for him now and in the future. 

What it meant for Elain and the life they were building together.

His eyes scanned the room for her again now, and he ignored Helion’s chuckle. 

“She’s safe, Lucien,” he said, amused but not unkindly.

“I know,” he replied, taking another drink of wine. He always knew whether she was or wasn’t; could feel her as though their very souls were intertwined. Perhaps they were through whatever deep magic had led them to each other and tethered them together. 

In many ways, Elain seemed to be adjusting to Day better than he was.

She loved the sunshine; the sprawling gardens and striking architecture. She loved the libraries and heat, and to Lucien’s relief, she was quickly embracing the people and culture. 

He’d known they would love her–that had never been a question. Elain had made friends here–two of which she’d wandered off into the crowd with tonight–and had slowly but surely began branching out with every visit. He’d stayed by her side when she wanted company and gave her space when she wished it. 

She always had a choice, from how much time they spent in Day to how many of its customs she took part in. A small smile crossed his lips at the memory of her shuffling through the unfamiliar clothing in local shops in their earliest visits together, determined to find a balance both suitable for the climate and that she still felt comfortable in. Day fashion could be notoriously revealing by even Fae standards, and Elain preferred more modest attire.

Lucien wouldn’t have cared if she’d graced Day wearing those dreadful Illyrian leathers–he wanted her to be comfortable; wanted her to know she had a place anywhere no matter what she wore. 

Over time, she had surprised him by making bolder selections more traditional to the court; attending more of Helion's less infamous sort of parties and branching out with broader social circles. Yet none of those changes elicited quite the same reaction in him as the one he favored most.

Elain wore her smiles more easily in Day.

While he’d never pressed the issue, he could’ve sworn they emerged more frequently here than they did in Night. He felt her relief through the bond; her joy when they visited here, and while he had his suspicions of why that might be, Lucien knew the reason would be hers to tell when she was ready.

Helion cleared his throat and Lucien looked to him, taking his eyes off the crowd as the High Lord nodded towards a group of dancers on a small corner stage. Females clad in midriff-baring attire adorned with gold and jewels slung like belts around the hips, their long, dark hair swaying with their smooth, sensual movements. Males in flowing trousers and similar belts moving in a similar, synchronized rhythm. A small crowd of party goers had gathered around them, one of which Lucien’s eyes settled on and stayed fixed.

That tug of their bond that told him she knew he’d found her.

And what he saw–what he watched–had him entranced.

Nesta Archeron was said to be the dancer of the three sisters. For years, Lucien had assumed that to be true–had known she’d held her own with his brother and was said to draw the eyes of all when she entered the dance floor. Yet Lucien preferred an elegant, unassuming waltz or carefree gavotte with Elain over theatrics. He had led her through and taught her the dances of other courts when they started their emissary work together; had savored every moment of holding her close and breathing in her sweet scent.

But this…

Lucien’s pulse pounded in his chest, heat rising in him at the sight of her as she joined the dancers on their small stage while her friends cheered below. Of the hypnotic, serpentine movements she began to mimic as she threw her head back and laughed; arms adorned with golden jewelry and golden-brown curls swaying against the small hints of bare skin her dress offered. She looked to the female dancer beside her and beamed as she copied the rapid rock of her hips and the light rise and fall of her feet. 

Then, she turned.

Her eyes locked with his from across the room as she rolled her body, hips circling and weaving with every bit as much sensual grace the dancers emitted. He took all of her in: the slight shyness that still flickered in her eyes, the soft curves her dress both covered and emphasized and the gleam of sweat reflected in the firelight of the braziers that lined the stage. The tantalizing movements that commanded and held his attention. 

She smiled coyly, a blush appearing on her cheeks as the music slowed. She bit her lip and lowered her gaze down her own body as she rolled it again to the beat of the drums. Lucien’s nostrils flared. 

Touch her. Taste her.

Cauldron boil him. 

He shoved the thought down as she continued her dance, leashing the instincts that told him to cross that dance floor now, pluck her off the stage, and take her to bed. The heat that flooded through him and drove his need; that set his blood ablaze as the flames of their bond reached out to her. 

There was no mistaking the tug she sent in response; the gleam in her fawn-brown eyes that nearly drove him wild. 

She would finish her dance. She would enjoy this night; this party.

And once they were alone…

Well. He didn’t need daemati gifts to understand her meaning. 

He would watch her all night if she wished it.

Sensing the knowing look and smirk Helion threw his way, Lucien forced himself to take another drink. Whatever noise the crowd around them brought had dwindled in comparison to those drums and seeing his mate’s provocative dance. He heard only the drums and the blaze of their bond; of the way her heartbeat had synchronized with both and his own.

Just for tonight, their rhythm and flames were all he needed to hear.

[amethystandemma]

Young Love

(Very short Hogwarts Legacy fic I wrote last night in like an hour)

“Argh!”

Althea Moonlace winced as her friend, Sebastian Sallow, cried out in pain. She stopped touching his burn, her hands covered in the clear ointment she was applying, and looked at his face.

A sheen of sweat was on the teenage boy’s forehead. It would be obvious to anyone that he was in a lot of pain. Althea bit her lip, trying to hold back a response she knew she shouldn’t say.

The two had been exploring ruins, trying to find a cure for a curse that was cast on Sebastian’s twin sister, Anne. He had gotten cocky, and led them straight to a den of giant spiders called Acromantulas. 

While they fought the spiders, Sebastian had burned himself using a favorite spell of his: the blasting curse, after Althea advised against it. So now, the two fifteen year olds were inside the Room of Requirement trying to treat their injuries.

“Can’t I just take a Wiggenweld Potion or something?” Sebastian asked, wiping his brow with his wrist.

Althea pushed back a few strands of her short pink hair with a huff and resisted the urge to strangle him, an urge she had to fight frequently when dealing with him.

“I’ve already told you that you shouldn’t have too many of them,” she said, her voice even and slow. “Like I said the other three times you have asked.”

“Oh Merlin, here we go again.”

Like most Hufflepuffs, Althea had an immense amount of patience. 

She didn’t say anything sarcastic when he was burned in the small space like she knew he would. She didn’t say anything when they got lost because of a wrong turn he swore led to a path.

Althea had managed to hold her tongue for three whole hours. Three hours of listening to his shameless flirting and bogus directions.

But her patience had worn out.

“Well maybe if you listened for once in your damn life, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

Sebastian rolled his brown eyes. “I had the situation under control.”

“How is this under control!?” Althea’s voice was shrill. “You almost died!”

“Almost.”

“I hate you.”

[macawritesupdates]

I'm in the middle of the new chapter of malevolence and I know it's probably going to hurt me but right now I'm just cracking up imagining that while sukuna is angsting yuuji is living out his stardew valley dreams, he's got everything a dog a beautiful farm a boyfriend and he's making friends with all the little villagers <3 ... maybe I should stop reading here ... maybe if I stop reading, it'll stay like this, just yuuji happy in his little farm... no pain at all. OK OK I know this is the tragic doomed angst story, but consider ... consider uhhh consider this maybe just this once everything turns out fine ... everything turns out fine and they stay happy and in love. 🥺🥹🥹

I know that's not going to happen but I'm going to pretend until the very last chapter. then I'll cry

Hey, you're still taking prompts, right? You know what if you're willing can I get some serious fluff to combat the tragedy I think an actual stardew valley au where yuuji romances the mysterious monster man in the woods while fixing up his grandpa's old farm would be nice.

The new chapter of Malevolence of Love hits hard and it is only going to get worse I'm afraid ; w ; that is the tragic bad ending story for sure, so in honor of you reading that story... here is the fluff you need asap! I never played Stardew Valley, so just hoping I did well on this short, bite-sized bit of fluff!

>>CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Kindness Makes the Harvest Better<<

[kgreen200]

A Doctor Abroad

By Kathy G.

Summary: Now that John has achieved his ambition to become a fully certified doctor, he has a decision to make.  Shall he apply for a job as a general practitioner with the NHS?  Or shall he try to train for the job he really wants—even if it means moving abroad?

Note: Thanks to Besleybean for editing and Brit-picking my story, and for the title she suggested!  And for the help she gave me regarding grammar schools and 11+ exams.

Dr. John Watson perched on the edge of his twin bed, gazing proudly down at his brand-new general practitioner licence.  He had received it that morning.  I did it! he thought.  I’m not only a doctor, but I’m also a general practitioner now!  He smirked.  Take that, Dad!  So, you thought I’d never make it, did you?  Well, you were wrong!  There was no way I was not going to achieve my goal!  And no, becoming a doctor doesn’t make me posh as you thought!

The newly certified GP looked up at the diploma that he had framed and hung on his bedroom wall following his graduation from medical school two years earlier, before he had finished his two years as house officer and then embarked on his training for his chosen specialty.  Bachelor of Medicine, Bachelor of Surgery, and a Bachelor of Medical Sciences, he thought.  MBBS.  He glanced down at his licence again.  And a licence as a general practitioner.  A smile spread across his face.

Rising to his feet and crossing the room, John pushed back the curtains to let the shafts of sunlight in, and then, sitting down, he leaned back against his hardback chair, reminiscing.  Remembering the vicious arguments that he’d had with his father while Hamish had been still alive.  His father had given him such a hard time when John had told him he wanted to become a doctor when he grew up when he had been 14 years old, and a Year 10 student at King Edward VI Grammar School.

To read the rest of the story, click here:

[lilacxquartz]

love you, need you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: although it couldn’t psychically happen, mr. crawling found himself obsessed with getting you pregnant — themes: smut, breeding kink, needy/clingy behaviour, no dialogue — a/n: via request for a breeding kink imagine with him, hope this is okay! — w.c: 700ish • ao3 • masterlist ♡

Mr. Crawling often doted on you like there was no tomorrow; often lingering in the depths of your shadow like a constantly looming presence. He was always there when you went to bed and was already tethered to your side by the time you woke up. At first, you had no idea what to think, but over time, you grew to love and even anticipate his company.

And lately, his hands kept running over to palm against your bare stomach with an almost thoughtful, wistful stare. He’d press his lips against the soft contours of your abdomen, his cold breath ghosting along your flesh—dreaming of everything could have been—had the two of you been alive.

Such spiralling thoughts left him nothing short of needy and he’d latch onto you with much more fervour than ever before, his touches becoming heated, almost scalding, if even worshipping.

Mr. Crawling subtly crept into such magnitudes of adoration though, starting off real slow and gentle with longing cuddles, pressing lazy kisses into your skin whenever he could. He’d then move on nipping down your collarbone, to your chest, to wherever he could—down to your stomach, to your hips—to the deep apex of your inner thighs.

Slowly, he surrendered himself to you like you were some sort of god, his intentions loud and clear. Nights of professed passion soon passed by on a nightly basis, finding himself pushing—rutting away almost like a man crazed into your core—wanting to experience you again and again.

His hands would drift back to your stomach after a while too, pretending that it all had worked, growing close to crazed at the idea of it somehow being possible. You didn’t mind too much whenever he got this way, though, loving it all the same. There was something special about the way he loved you, after all, and especially so in the way that he fucked you.

And as if right on clockwork, Mr. Crawling settled right beside you in bed, not wasting a single second before he moved to hover over you. His frame towered over yours, easily swallowing you whole with his presence and after a while, he was ready to try again.

His lips crashed against yours and the rest of him settled right into you; your lips shuddering out an anticipated gasp as he positioned the tip of his cock slick into your soaked sex, sliding right into you, thrusting forward as a strained, barely contained whimper choked out of him.

Mr. Crawling always had such a cutely flustered look of focus too, as he succumbed to the sensation of you. His lower lip quivered and his cheeks grew a warm blushed red, barely containing his composure as he drove himself into you. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean not to be gentle as this happened, but it was that you—your body—left him overwhelmed, so he simply just… lost himself in the moment, that was all. The idea in his mind was so intoxicating; the thought of seeing you so perfectly swollen with the aftermath of his love—the concept of what could have been—all pushed him to go harder than he had meant to.

And even though he loved you so, his guilt subsided whenever he caught wind of the pure and utter bliss written all over your face—of your pretty, breathless moans that rolled out in sharp, ragged gasps. As your hands searched for his, interlocking and squeezing hard. As your insides clenched around his girth, feeling yourself come undone all the while he rendered you into a sopping, equally whining mess.

At last, Mr. Crawling violently trembled above you, his body giving way into a brutally recoiled stutter, his moans growing just as loud as yours while riding out the end of a desperate climax. He grunted, squeezing you tight against his body, milking himself directly into your cunt, yet not quite leaving despite how spent he felt.

So obsessed with the thought of filling you up, Mr. Crawling couldn’t bring himself to leave—he loved you so much, after all.

Enough to imagine what could have been.

Enough to believe that it could actually happen.

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐉𝐀𝐖

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: A frustration fueled Joel comes back from scouting with a very prominent issue.

Warnings: PORN NO PLOT. Teasing, thigh riding, throat-fucking, oral m!receiving, Joel calls himself daddy (my bad 😵‍💫), pussy & dick pronouns. Wc: 2k, f!reader

AN: this was all written within the span of an hour so my bad, this is what ovulation does to a bitch.

Home alone. For three whole hours.

Joel went out scouting.

Your eyes that whole time had been staring holes into the floral wallpaper of the flat, without much to do -or, more realistically without the man you’ve been thinking about doing all fuckin’ day. It was a draining experience. Your fingernails peeling up the flesh of your thighs as you sunk further, deeper into his living room couch. It smelled like him. The musky scent he wore all seeped into the upholster.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking once he had inserted the key made your ears perk, hours of listening to your own heartbeat the time you weren’t desperately trying to stimulate your accumulating thoughts about him. The touch, the feeling of his body that you’ve only felt one whole time in which you had never gotten it off your brain. Thick fingers running along the puffy, sopped folds of your pussy, stretching you. Running his free, spit slicked palm over and all the way down his cock to get himself ready. The feeling of his girth forcing into your hole.

You’d never forget.

The door would creak open before you locked onto him. A thick hand wrapped around one of the straps of his supply bag before he dropped it onto the ground next to the door, a long exasperated sigh escaping past his parted lips. Running thick fingers through the greying curls on his head.

“Fuck.”

Cursing, Joel would walk past you and to the kitchen, opening the first cupboard which to his luck had some booze in it. A stale, half empty bottle of said booze. Popping the cap off, taking a swig.

Finding it difficult to look away while the man did something as simple as drink, the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his throat as the bready liquid moved down the pharynx.

Satisfied from the liquid quenching his thirst he walked back over to the couch, sitting down directly next to you, his thigh touching yours. Hadn’t been able to notice earlier whether it was the angle or how fast he walked through the house, his cock was writhing tightly against his jeans. Sunrays shone through the windows, curtains open. Yellow hued light outlining the bulge. Clearly he had been like this for a while. His worn palms running down his face.

Your lips parted, tongue tied by the sight. It was a test, surely.

With little-to-none resistance your hand reached out to place on his thigh, one of your fingers would stretch to touch the curve sticking out in his jeans, the pad of your index hardly applying any pressure before tracing his dick, watching it jump before you felt Joel’s hand grab your wrist.

“All day- All fuckin’ mornin’, baby.”

Fingers twisting over the skin on your arm, another twitch from his cock would draw in your attention. He’s been waiting.

“You didn’t have to come all the way back here. You have a hand.”

Stating as if there wasn’t a pool of your own slick in the middle of the lace underwear you had only dug through your drawer to find earlier in the day. On your mind all day was this very moment, you had been counting every tick from the clock as you waited for him to walk into the room and fuck your face.

“I swear to fuckin’—“

His legs spread open over the cushion, tapping his boot against the hardwood. Impatient.

To reiterate again, waiting all fucking day. Now with you here the thought of waiting another second had him struggling. Wearing loose boyshorts around your hips as you sat there he’d lean over you, hooking his finger to the hem before yanking them off those pretty legs. A palm he had placed on your low stomach now sliding til his hand was underneath the white, lace panties he oh-so-loved. His tall finger slipped past your clit, into your swollen slit. You’d mewl.

Soaked.

“Knew it.”

He yanked you onto his thigh, moving his hand down to your ass, squeezing, fat spilling between his fingers. Luckily his second hand had been lazily resting at his side now had a purpose, up your back and to the back of your head to hold onto your hair. His lips slamming into yours. No mercy behind the kiss.

Your hips began rolling at a quick pace, your cunt slowly coming un-covered with every thrust down into his jean clad thigh. His tall finger finding his way back to your hole beneath your underwear, tracing it with his thick digit. Pulling his lips back from yours with a wet smack.

“She’s fuckin’ droolin’.”

He’d drawl, to no avail you’d try to force that finger into you by a buck of your hips downward. Thus, he’d withdraw. A reward game, you’ll earn his fingers later.

One more long grind down into his thigh that’d surely serve you a friction burn later and you were off his leg. Dropping onto your knees in front of his lap. You’d swear you’ve only dreamt of being in a position like this. Your smaller hands started at his calves before resting on his thighs. His coffee eyes staring into yours.

He wouldn’t waste precious time now, unbuckling his belt to toss it away. Unzipping his jeans to shove them to his upper thighs, the last article of suffrage being his boxers, a dark wet spot painfully obvious on the grey cotton. He’d tug on the elastic that rimmed the top before tugging his briefs to his upper thighs, with the quick pull his cock sprung up slapping against his tummy.

His shaft was turning red. Tip pulsating. His thumb ran down to spread the bead of precum over him, laminating the dark pink bulb til’ it looked like glass. A flutter in your stomach at the sight.

“Stick your tongue out.” He’d just barely manage to groan.

Control now gained with his fingers wrapped around his base. Your knees now hitting the base of the couch, it was as close as you could get. Obeying the commands you opened your mouth, your pink, saliva slicken tongue sticking out.

His cock slapped against your tongue, driving it into your wet hole with his free hand as his other worked into your hair, his fingers forming an O around your thick locks as a makeshift hair tie. Though, you’d find this was better.

He was fuckin’ big. Even taking him into your pussy didn’t do him justice, only truly able to fit him halfway into your small mouth.

It wouldn’t be enough for him.

His hips would buck forward, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat. Involuntarily your throat would clench - teetering the lines of a gag and a spasm of your muscles. Though, your eyes began to gloss over.

The knot in your pelvis tightened while Joel craned his neck back against the back of the couch letting out a long, rough groan. Such a tough girl, he’d figure a few good thrusts wouldn’t be the thing that’d ruin you.

Another buck of his hips sent a wrack through his body, fucking his thick cock into your throat. Your drool dribbling down his shaft. Your eyes hadn’t unlocked with his own ‘less they were going to roll back into your skull with every hit to the very back of your tongue. A moan bubbled up from your tightened throat, vibrating up the thick length of his dick. You could taste how his vein would throb and pulsate against your cheek. No doubt he was close.

With your mouth managing to take every. Last. Inch. Of him so deeply. There was no way he could last.

Your own thighs would clench together as your eyes finally took a break from straining upwards to now clenching shut. Your juices collecting all in the middle of your panties. Your clit throbbing excruciatingly hard. You knew better than to touch yourself. Focusing and giving your body up to the task at hand.

Joel’s breaths turning into deep pants. His balls tightening, drawing up. Though he had a better idea than just cumming straight on the spot despite that just being the thing he’s been pining for all fucking day. Tugging on the hair falling between his fist he pulled your head back, his cock extruding from your mouth with an audible, wet ‘pop!’ sound. Glossy eyes gazed into his as his flickered down to his cock, jumping straight up once released from your mouth one big mess of his precum mixing with your salivation.

“Makin’ such a mess of him, huh?” He’d grunt. Completely gawked by the sight. “Such a fuckin’ mess of daddy’s cock.”

You could’ve sworn this man was giving your pussy a heartbeat.

Before you could give any sort of catty response his cock was shoved back into your mouth, giving you no time to readjust, to get used to the feeling of his burning tip knocking at the back of your throat. Managing by the grace of God to stowaway your gag reflex seemingly just for the evening. His pace slowing, beginning to get sloppy quicker. You’d have a lot to say if you didn’t have a mouthful. Though, deep down you knew that your unhealthily cock-drunk brain would be unable to formulate a coherent sentence. One with both sense and grace.

“Just. Like. That.” He punctuated.

Thrusting deeper til your nose was bobbing up and down against his pelvis. Nuzzling into the scent that came within the dense thicket of greying, wiry hairs. All curled around and crowing his base. You felt the thick vein that traveled all the way down the girth of his dick pulsate against your overstuffed cheek. A whine from you would only shake up his shaft. His tummy tightening up, hips spasming. Another violent thrust to the back of your tongue those built up tears to freely fall down your cheeks.

Again.

Sliding his cock from your lips to shove it back in again. Every time taking the split second to admire all that drool dripping down the line of his strained cock.

“Fuck! Baby—“ Absolutely strained.

He’d throw his head back, bumping it against the back of the couch as he let out a long, throaty moan. He pulled out of your mouth, the overused motion you’ve grown so very accustomed to, though this time your tongue stayed out, perfectly so as he was able to paint the pink muscle with hot, thick ropes of cum. Pumping his fist over his cock as ropes of semem shoot down your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. Painting his own perfect masterpiece on the fleshy canvas of your mouth.

Swallowing every last droplet as if it were liquid gold.

His stomach rose and fell heavily with each breath, his hand reached out to grab your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your glossy bottom lip. Every. Last. Drop. Though, he just had to make sure.

“That’s what I like to see, babygirl.” He’d praise. Lazily tugging up his boxers so he could conceal his freshly mouth-fucked cock, concealing with another layer courtesy of his unzipped jeans. Sure, you finished him the fuck off but that didn’t mean he was gonna soften up anytime soon.

You’d just hardly make it back onto your trembling legs as you looked at him, panties slid to the side from unconsciously grinding against the cold, wooden floors. A droplet of that warm, glue-like slick trickling down your inner thigh once you stood up. Joel’s eyes followed the stray tear.

“Goddamn, baby. Lemme take care of that for you.”

That’s what you like to hear.

Standing up from the couch with a long grunt he’d lift you off of your feet, carrying you straight to his bed. Soon enough he’d be two knuckles deep into your aching pussy, giving you all that sweet pleasure you so deserved after earning it so fuckin’ well.

[samaraxmorgan]

It seems like once again you’ve accidentally found a way to annoy the life out of your roommate Sukuna. You’ve been playing your favorite song on repeat, over and over and over again when you’re in the shower, cleaning up around the apartment, he’s even caught you humming it while cooking.

And maybe he wouldn’t be so frustrated with it if he liked the song, but he really truly doesn’t. Too much of a stubborn metal head to even give it a chance. Or at least that’s what you thought.

He swears up and down that he hates that stupid song, but when you come home early from work you can hear something up in his room, his guitar. You always assumed he only had that thing for decoration, shiny dark red and signed in black sharpie by him and his friends hanging up on the wall collecting dust, but it turns out he actually plays.

And what does he play in particular? Your favorite song when he thinks you can’t hear it. Now you just have to decide if you’re gonna have this knowledge be your little secret, or if you’re gonna embarrass him later when you tell him about the time you caught him being a little liar.

Your Roommate Sukuna series masterlist here!!

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!! Divider by @adornedwithlight

[pinkboaclub]

Musician Ex-Boyfriend

Summery: You and Harry are exes, on the day of your wedding, he pays you a visit, causing you to rethink things.

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: smut, cheating (not on Harry), fem!reader

"You look perfect."

You turned at the sound of his voice, and there he stood—Harry, in a sharp black, the sincerity on his face was palpable.

It was your wedding day, but not the one you’d envisioned. The love of your life wasn’t the man currently getting ready. No, he was standing in the doorway, on the verge of being caught.

You’d snuck away to collect yourself. You’d told your bridesmaids all day that you were close to tears from happiness, but that wasn’t the truth. It was fear, anxiety, regret—things you’d spent months ignoring, burying under a carefully constructed smile.

You quickly scanned the open room, making sure no one could see him.

“You can’t be here,” you said, your voice tight with urgency as you strode over to him, heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. “If someone sees you, they’ll start talking, they’ll—”

Before you could finish, Harry grabbed your arm, pulling you into the empty hallway. His hands found your waist, pulling you into him, his warmth and familiar scent filling your senses. You glanced over your shoulder, your heart racing as you checked again. No one was around.

"Harry, please," you whispered, trying to steady your breath, feeling the sting of tears rise again. "This isn’t right."

"I didn’t think you would go through with it." His voice was flat, emotionless, his eyes avoiding yours.

You swallowed, the weight of his words sinking in. You had met Harry when you were both 25. It was supposed to be casual—two people who shared a love for music, books, and movies. He’d been on tour with his band, and you’d happened to be in the same restaurant with friends when they all decided to head to a club. That’s where you two started talking, the connection immediate, as if you’d known each other forever.

The texts started right after, every day, just a few words at first, then entire conversations that lasted into the early hours of the morning. His tour ended, and soon enough, long-distance visits turned into real dates. Three years of love, laughter, and dreams of a future together. A future that seemed so certain until life, with all its complexity and distance, pulled you apart.

It wasn’t sudden. It was gradual—the small, constant strain that turned into arguments about who was too busy, who wasn’t putting in enough effort. And then, finally, the break-up. The day you sat on the couch in your shared home, too many unsaid words filling the air, the silence louder than anything you could say.

“I love you so much and I don’t think I’ll ever stop,” Harry had sobbed, turning toward you with pleading eyes. You didn’t answer, unable to speak through your own tears.

You didn’t even know how it had happened, but you went from sitting on your couch crying, to laying on the couch, kissing with drying tears on your cheeks, ripping each other's clothes off. Maybe it was a last resort to salvage something, maybe it was an intense goodbye, you never really knew.

After that, you stayed friends. You kept up the pretense for everyone else. Friends, family—they all still thought you’d get back together. Harry even brought it up a few times, and you’d feel that pull, that ache in your chest. Of course, you thought about it. How could you not? But the idea of losing him again, of having to grieve the loss for a second time, felt unbearable.

And yet, here he was, on the most important day of your life, not as the man you were about to marry, but as the man you once thought you’d spend forever with.

“I have to,” you said, your voice a little softer this time. “I have to marry him.”

“Why?” Harry’s voice cracked, his frustration palpable. “Why him? Why do you need to? Nobody believes you actually want this.” His eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading for something.

You didn’t have an answer that would make sense to him—or to yourself. All you knew was that your future, the one you’d once pictured with Harry, had slipped away, and now the only choice left was the one that terrified you the most.

You stood there, caught between two worlds—two versions of yourself, each one tugging you in a different direction. Harry’s eyes stared into yours, demanding something you couldn’t give. You wished you could explain it all to him, but the words were stuck in your throat.

“I do want this,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you believed it. “But... I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to do the right thing, and I’ve convinced myself it’s what I want. But—” You stopped yourself before the tears could fall. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Harry’s hands were still around you, his grip tight, like he was trying to pull you into a reality where the two of you could make it work. But it wasn’t that simple. You’d both changed, grown in ways that made that dream of forever feel distant, impossible.

“I just wanted you to know,” Harry’s voice softened. “That I never stopped loving you. I never stopped hoping… I didn’t think you would go through with this. Not like this.”

Your chest tightened at the words. They hit harder than you anticipated. “I know,” you whispered. “I didn’t think I could either. But… I need to. For me.”

“For him, you mean,” Harry corrected, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. Hurt? Anger? Maybe both. But there was a quiet desperation in his voice that made it hard to breathe.

You hesitated. “He’s a good man. And I do love him. I do. But it’s not... the same.”

Harry’s jaw clenched at your words, but he didn’t pull away. He just stared at you, his eyes dark, like they were holding back everything he wanted to say.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he said softly, almost too quietly for you to hear. “You’re pretending because it’s easier than facing the truth. You know it’s not right. But you’re too scared to admit it.”

The weight of his words made your heart skip a beat. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the gnawing feeling in your gut, the one that told you he was right.

“I’m not scared,” you said, but the words felt hollow. “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

Harry took a step closer, his voice urgent now, low and rough. “What if the right thing isn’t what you’ve convinced yourself it is? What if you’re meant to be with me?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, it was like time stopped. His presence enveloped you—the same pull you’d felt all those years ago, that same undeniable chemistry that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. But now, everything is different.

“I can’t,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can’t go through that again, Harry. I can’t lose you and have to pick up the pieces of me after. I don’t think I’d survive it a second time.”

“I’d never hurt you again,” he promised, his voice cracking with emotion. “I swear. I’d never let you go, not like I did before. Please, just—just think about it. Really think about what you’re about to do.”

The silence stretched between you two, heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling. “I can’t do this right now, Harry. Not today. Not when I’m about to be married, something I’ve promised to commit to. Please… just go.”

His face fell, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped back, looking at you one last time, his expression full of pain and love and the remnants of hope.

“Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll always be here, waiting for you. No matter what.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the hallway, the echo of his footsteps still ringing in your ears.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, your mind spinning with everything Harry had just said. His words—his love, his pain—still hung in the air, refusing to dissipate.

But you had made a promise. To him, to yourself, and to the man you were about to marry. You had to keep moving forward, even if it felt like you were walking into the unknown.

You wiped the tears from your eyes, taking a deep breath as you turned to face the door at the end of the hall. The moment was passing, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, it wasn’t over. Not yet.

The sharp click of another pair of heels echoed from the other end of the hall, and you barely registered it before Aaliyah rounded the corner, her expression a mixture of relief and concern.

“There you are! I was starting to think I’d lost you for good! I-what’s wrong?” She halted in her tracks, eyes scanning your face, a frown forming as she looked at the tear stains streaking down your cheeks.

You quickly wiped your face, not caring that your makeup was surely ruined. "I—uhm," you faltered, struggling to find the words. "I’m just... nervous."

You almost told her everything. You wanted to. Aaliyah had been there for you through all of it—through the endless debates over whether or not you should try again with Harry. She knew the truth. She’d always known. But today wasn’t the day for honesty. Today was for pretending, for keeping the peace, for stepping into the life you thought you’d chosen.

“Oh, I know it’s stressful, but it’ll all be okay!” Aaliyah said, wrapping her arms around you in a comforting hug. You leaned into her warmth, her helping for only a moment. "I think I just need a little more time alone. To clear my head. Maybe go up to my room for a bit, have some water, a snack, you know?"

She hesitated for a split second, her eyes lingering on you as if she could see right through your smile, but she nodded, understanding your need for space. “Alright, I’ll stay down here. Just… don’t stay away too long, okay?”

“Promise,” you said, offering a small smile as you hugged her back, then hurried past her, your heels clicking against the floor as you made your way toward the elevator.

You had rented a hotel suite for the bridal party to get ready, a place where you could unwind and prepare. Your fiancée had his own room, staying with his groomsmen, where they were now. You had also reserved a hotel room for you and your fiancé to stay in before your honey moon in two days… so, now you had a free room to be alone in—well, almost alone.

As soon as you stepped into the room, you closed the door behind you with a soft click. You slowly slipped off the silk robe you’d been wearing, the one that said “Bride” in sparkling letters across your back, and traded it for the simple hotel robe draped on the back of the bathroom door.

Then you pulled out your phone, scrolling far down your contacts. Your thumb hesitated for just a second before you started typing.

“If you’re still in the hotel, I’m on floor 4, room 415. If you meant what you said, I’ll be here, waiting.”

A sharp knock at the door made you jump. Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced your legs to move toward it, each step heavy and unsteady. When you opened the door, there he stood, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I can't marry him," you murmured, barely audible. The weight of the words broke something inside you, and tears began to spill down your cheeks.

Without hesitation, Harry stepped forward, pulling you into his arms. He closed the door softly behind him, the world outside suddenly fading away. You clung to him, your sobs muffled against his shoulder, as if his presence was the only thing keeping you in reality.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes locked, searching for the words you had meant to say. But they escaped you. Instead, with a sudden, desperate impulse, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was everything you’d missed, everything you’d been longing for—and it felt like home.

"I am scared by how much I want this, how much I want you." You finally said after you pulled away from your kiss. Harry tucked your hair behind your ear, taking a moment to admire your features before speaking.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me…of us…because I know-I know it would work this time. Were not as young, we know how to balance our schedules, and we know what it’s like to not be with each other. I love you so much Y/N”

Before you could cry anymore, you caved in to everything you knew you wanted. You kissed him again, this time leading him to the hotel bed.

"I am devoted to you," He murmurs as he unties your robe, his eyes not leaving your face. You both lay back. He watches the way your eyes widen when he moves one hand between your thighs to tenderly touch your core. "Let me please you," He knows he sounds needy, but he can't help it as he looks upon the woman he would do anything for.

“Please do.”

He took his eyes from your face and let them travel down your body, this was the first time he had seen you like this since you had broken up. He took in every inch of you, your beautiful bra-clad breasts, your rapidly moving stomach as you breathed. Then, your legs. Your left leg had a white lace garter belt on it. His hand slowly traveled up until he got to the garter belt.

“Supposed to be a tradition…a very odd one.” You broke the silence.

“I’m not complaining.”

He slowly pulled off the belt, your underwear following it.

He moves forward and leaves a trail of kisses along the soft skin of your abdomen and then down over your quivering thighs as his hand moves between your legs, letting his finger slip into you.

After watching the first drop of your arousal slide down his index finger, he had enough. He pulls his hand back and grips your thighs to keep you still while his mouth devours you.

Your soft little moans and attempts at saying his name make him grip you tighter, using his tongue in even more intricate ways just to coax out more of your sweetness, more of your angelic sounds. He squeezes one of your thighs and then slides his hand up along your side until his hand finds yours. He twines your fingers together, and then he gets back to devouring you like he was starving.

"I need more, Harry, please," You beg so prettily that he considers asking you to do so again, but he feels like it would be cruel after you’ve been so patient.

"Of course,"

He kisses you deeply to drown the pained whimper when he pushes his cock inside you without a pause, thinking it’s best if he gets the painful part over with as fast as possible. He grunts against your mouth as your nails dig into his shoulders. He stays still and kisses away your tears until you start laughing beneath him.

You’re the one who indicates that he is allowed to move by grinding your hips up against his. He hums in understanding and starts to thrust into you again. You too get lost as he find a perfect rhythm.

He flips you over with one quick motion after he has watched your breasts bounce for too many agonising moments without being able to do anything with them, his mouth becomes focused on them, finding the spots that make you cry out his name as loudly as you could.

“Fuck, baby.” He says, admiring your body continuously bouncing up and down. You move quicker at his encouraging words, riding him faster than you thought you could.

He takes one of your breasts in his mouth, twisting his tongue around your nipple, kneading the other with his hand.

You rock your hips back and forth, feeling the familiar surge of warmth spread through your body like—the same warmth he could only give you, one that was 10x stronger than your fiancé could have ever given you.

Your orgasm soon followed. You didn’t care about how loud you were. You didn’t care if someone walked in right now, you’d almost prefer it, maybe it would be your fiancé, or someone you both knew, they would tell him you snuck up to your room to ride the musician ex boyfriend, then you wouldn’t have to do it yourself.

“I-fuck Harry, it’s…” You stop, letting yourself moan from the euphoria you’re feeling. “It’s so good.” You finally spit out.

He chuckles at your inability to properly express your blissful feelings and tangles his fingers in your hair to pull you down for a deep kiss. He lets out a low groan as your fingers dig into his chest, followed by the shuddering of your body and the clenching of your walls around him that prompt him to spill his cum inside you.

"Fuck," he mutters as he tears his mouth away from yours. He knows neither of you should have done that, however, as Harry looks up at your blissed expression, he does not regret it, not one bit.

His arms wrap around your torso, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. He lightly rubbed his fingers up and down your back. The only thing that could be heard in the room was your heavy breathing.

“I love you, Harry.”

[marvelousels]

oh fuck you! | 1

authors note — (pt 2 here!) my bad i just felt like writing this 😞plus this is absolute shit I haven’t written in months, manifesting my skills will come back I hope 🙏

pairings — caitlyn x fem!reader 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

mistakes like this — prelow playing!

CAITLYN could tell you were mad—anyone could for this absolute reason. It was in the way your shoulders tensed tightly, the way you wouldn’t even meet her eyes. And honestly? You had every right to be. Caitlyn didn’t blame you for it, she rather despised herself for this too.

She was quite conflicted at who she wanted. You or Vi? The thought spun in her head like a broken compass, never pointing in one clear direction and it was driving her mad.

And tonight, with you standing there looking the way you did—like you were carved out of starlight— it only made things worse. How was she supposed to think straight when you made it so hard to breathe?

She wanted to say something, to beg you to let her explain, but what was there to say? Words wouldn’t fix this, and she didn’t even have the right ones to try. Anything she said would sound hollow, an excuse rather than an answer. And wasn’t that worse? To throw more empty words at the mess she’d made?

Still, her hand didn’t let go of yours. It clung there, desperate and unyielding, even as her mind screamed at her to let you walk away, cause she’s fucking everything up. But she couldn’t—not yet.

“Can’t you just give me more time?” she asked finally, her voice quiet but steady. Her eyes found yours. “Once this task with her is over, I’ll figure it out. I’ll have everything sorted, I promise.” Her eyes glistening with plead.

She paused, her grip tightening just slightly, as if afraid you’d slip through her fingers before she could say more. “I know it’s unfair to ask you to wait, but I… I just need you to trust me. Just a little longer.”

“for me to just get hurt?” you say still not meeting cait’s eyes, she sighed as she looked away and back at you, you really had a perfect point and caitlyn couldn’t argue back. She knew there’d be a possibility where you’d get hurt if she chose Vi.

“please understand where im coming from, please.”

caitlyn pleaded her grip on your wrist still quite tight and you just abruptly pulled your wrist off her grip and turned around now your back against her.

“caitlyn, I’ve been here for you your entire life and this is how I get treated in return? seriously?” you scoffed in disbelief.

She frowned and rolled her eyes in response “yeah but that doesn’t make me really obligated to just choose you does it?” she said quite bitterly.

You chuckle and face her “oh you’re so right! don’t choose me. don’t choose me who was always there for you.” you kept ranting about all the things you’ve done for her and abruptly stopped and just gazed at caitlyn, some slight hint of sadness in your eyes.

“why—not me? cait, why not me?”

she wanted the earth to just suck her up and make her disappear cause her heart now felt like it had shattered, oh this moment was the end, genuinely.

“y/n— I-“ she couldn’t even speak, you just wanted to kill yourself at that exact moment.

“oh fuck you, caitlyn.” your voice breaking while you said that and tears filling your eyes, your throat hurting. Oh and how clichè, it was raining. Perfect.

[olailamajnoon]

Jason appeared one morning on a summer's day. He was fresh and clean, and missing his customary violent tissue scars.

Bruce saw him enter the Manor, and held his breath. He didn't want to shake anything, shake the universe in any way to make Jason go away.

It's a dream, he said to himself. The Red Hood swallowed up my son. It's a dream.

Dream-Jason spoke up, munching Froot-n-Nuts in the kitchen. "Bruce. Where the fuck is everyone?"

Bruce stared in horror. Jason's face was clean of any hate. Why? He knew, then, that something was Very Wrong.

"No one is here," he said casually. "The house is empty, as you can see."

Jason nodded okay, and moved to go upstairs. "Jason," Bruce called. "What are you doing?"

"Going to my room!" Jason called. "I wanna see it! I know I don't live here anymore, but—I wanna see."

"Okay," said Bruce, already speed-dialling Dick. "Jason! Don't run up the stairs!"

"Okay," Jason called meekly.

Dick arrived in half an hour, to find Bruce and Jason sitting next to each other, watching Prince of Egypt.

"Wha—" he almost said, but Bruce shushed him with a finger. "Come, take a seat!" Jason called.

"Wha—" said Dick again, but then he caught Bruce's gaze from the corner of his eye. Bruce was warning him to keep silent.

When there was a popcorn break, Dick and Bruce conferred in the kitchen.

"The last thing he remembers," said Bruce, "is Zatanna."

"Zatanna did this?"

"She hasn't been answering my calls." Bruce roamed angrily, his hands tight by his sides. "She fucked with my son."

"She took away his anger! His—" Dick searched for a word.

"Hate," said Bruce. "That's what you're looking for."

"And without those things? He's like a lobotomized sheep!" Dick was angrier than Bruce had ever seen him. But then a sound came from inside the room, and both Dick and Bruce opened the door to find Jason playing with a sleepy Ace. The loyal old dog was licking Jason's fingers, and Jason was laughing.

Literally and actually laughing.

The two men looked at the boy Jason had become. The wonder and innocence in his eyes.

"Is this what he would have been like," Bruce murmured deadly, "if the world hadn't found him and taken him apart."

"I don't know," said Dick, with hot bitter desperation, "but that kid in there? That's not Jason. Not my brother."

"Hey Dick!" Jason called, and then snickered. "You remember how we used to take Ace out on walks while it was freezing, after making him wear the dog sweater?"

And Dick looked numbly at Jason's expectant, childlike face, and burst into tears.

[animezinglife]

Late Nights in Summer

Lucien tends to Elain after she has a bit too much to drink.

Genre: Fluff/Romance/Subtle Angst. Mild suggestive humor (brief). Post-canon, established relationship Elucien fic | Masterlist Simple, fun little one-shot I wanted to get off my chest. Briefly-mentioned OC. Thank you as always to @lucienarcheron, @zenkindoflove, @crazy-ache, @teddyhoneybear, and @thelov3lybookworm for their continued support.

Lucien wasn’t sure what to expect when Tarquin had called him in about Elain, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out. With one glance he'd known: her hair and the clothes she’d worn out with Cresseida disheveled, head resting on the pillow of Cresseida’s sofa, and snoring.

Loudly.

The princess of Adriata stood behind where his mate lay and raised her hands in mock surrender.

“I told her to slow down,” she said, and Lucien smirked, crossing the room and kneeling at the side of the sofa. Elain wasn’t accustomed to drinking to begin with, much less the strong, deceptively sweet drinks of Summer that could take a fully grown male out of commission if he didn’t pace himself. Despite her snoring, though, Elain’s face was serene, and he brushed a strand of her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. 

She snorted in response. Cresseida bit back a laugh.

Resting a hand on her shoulder, he glanced up at the princess. During his and Elain’s earlier visits to Summer together, Cresseida had acted aloof towards his mate, keeping a distance and not going much farther than to offer her the usual, courtly formalities. It had bothered him even though he’d quickly pieced together that it hadn’t been personal–more of a lingering suspicion towards the Night Court in general. Yet over time Elain had thoroughly charmed Cresseida and Tarquin both, and this wasn’t the first time they had explored Adriata’s nightlife together. Though it was the first time they had left the males behind altogether, on account of “Welcoming Acelia to the family!” as the princess had put it.

“Where’s Acelia?” he asked, and the princess rolled her eyes, her smile softening slightly.

“Where do you think?” she asked, and Lucien nodded in understanding, knowing the small female had been returned home to Tarquin safely. The High Lord’s mate was as small as Elain in stature, though as a Summer native herself, he suspected she’d fared better than his own. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and the princess nodded once as he gently turned Elain and lifted her into his arms. Even though the sweet scent of Summer booze was strong, her own scent of jasmine and honey still filled him, and as if in response to his nearness she stirred awake, their bond humming as her eyelids fluttered open. She pulled herself closer and nuzzled his neck, and at Cresseida’s amused expression, he said his goodbyes and winnowed them back to their quarters.

Elain had been ecstatic about their guest suite, its walls invisible from within and facing the sea. The wards that protected the room from the elements and external threats only allowed the fresh, gentle breeze and sounds of the waves to flow through. Vines with tropical flora wove their way around the columns of warded wall, the view extending out uninterrupted to their terrace and private bath with edges that seemed to drop into the ocean itself.

They’d spent most of their previous night there and most of the following morning in bed. Time seemed to move more slowly in the Summer Court, and while Tarquin himself was a punctual high lord and a gracious host, it was rare that any among his court rushed on a daily basis.

Lucien and Elain had found themselves thoroughly enjoying that fact.

Presently, he smirked as her nuzzling turned into a long, wet kiss, and he carried her towards the bed and sat her down gently. His mate propped herself up lazily as he knelt to remove her shoes, and he didn’t miss the heat in her gaze as her hand found his hair.

“I love this view,” she slurred dreamily, and Lucien allowed himself to glance up at her, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. 

“They did give us the best suite in Summer,” he quipped, and she shook her head, steading herself with her grip on his hair and leaning down closer. Fruit and rum danced on her breath as she met his eyes, focusing on that scent to distract himself from the way her legs parted before him. 

“Not that,” she said, her cheeks flushing beyond the effects of the booze. “I like you right here.” Her voice emphasized the last two words with a suggestiveness Lucien was certain she would’ve had more reservation making had she been sober. He held her gaze as he slid off her sandals, his hands tracing up her legs lightly until they rested on the sides of her knees. He moved them together gently, resting one hand atop them and smoothing down the hem of her skirt that had risen from the motion with the other.

“If only you hadn’t had so much to drink,” he teased, pressing his lips to her exposed knee. “I’d stay here as long as you liked.” 

“I’m not that drunk,” she insisted, wavering slightly as he rose and sat down on the bed beside her. 

“Sure, you aren’t,” he said gently, brushing her hair over her shoulder and reaching for the pins in her hair. She always took them out before bed, and as he started on them one by one, she swayed slightly and rested her head into his touch. The warm caress she sent down the bond didn’t surprise him–what did was the sharp tug that followed, so strong it pulled his body towards hers in response. He raised a brow as she giggled, angling herself so she could place her hands on either side of his face. She leaned into him so closely he could taste her breath on his own, her eyes narrowing slightly…and trying desperately to focus. He spoke again as her gaze lingered over his mouth, allowing a fraction of defeat. “You’re not making this easy, love.” 

It amused him, this once-human mate of his who’d surprised him more times than he could count. Whether from her resilience, her warmth, her wit, or her sharp tongue, there hadn’t been a dull moment with Elain Archeron ever since they’d begun to know each other.

There was no doubt to any who saw her that Elain was High Fae: she was beautiful–devastatingly so--and the gentle, warm power that had lay dormant for so long seemed to glow from within her even now. But it wasn’t that fact alone that made it impossible for Lucien to take his eyes off her; hadn’t been from the moment he’d first seen her the day she’d been Made.

It was the vibrant spark in her fawn-brown eyes–the innately, undeniably human spark that had held him in its grip and refused to let him go. 

Even now, despite her current state, its embers shined through, holding him there as she lightly traced his jawline.

His nose.

His mouth.

His eyes fluttered closed as her fingertips found his scar, gently brushing over his eyelid and resting her thumb against the height of his cheekbone–where the scar met its greatest depth. 

Lucien had hated that scar for a long time. He’d considered glamouring it; had once even sought information on healers who might be able to rid him of the disfigurement. 

He had wondered–despite his senses and intuition telling him otherwise–if that scar and his eye had been partly to blame for the distance Elain had initially put between them. Though those fears had long since proven a fragment of his own insecurities and vanished, and when Elain had asked him to tell her the story behind it, he’d done so. He wouldn’t have blamed her for running–not when she’d already been given a bond she’d never asked for.

And yet…

Lucien didn’t stop her as she leaned closer still, closing the distance between them to press a kiss to the spot her thumb had lingered. Despite himself, he sighed into her touch; her scent. He let her fingers find his hair again as she ran them through his red strands and accepted the chaste, lingering kiss she placed at the corner of his mouth.

“Kiss me,” she murmured against his lips, tugging lightly at his hair in encouragement. “Please, Lucien.” 

Something in her tone sobered him, and his eyes opened slowly to take her in. Of course he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her and never stop, giving in fully to their bond–to her–and tangle with her in bed until they were both spent and had nothing left to give. 

There would be time for that, and he thanked the Mother every day for the time they spent together.

For now, he could oblige her one request.

Gently resting his hand beneath her chin, he closed the distance between them again. He savored the kiss she returned, tasting the drink on her lips and at the scent that so potently warmed to him as her body called to his. But as she tried to part his lips he stopped, forcing himself to break it and instead place another long, chaste version against her temple. “I’ll always kiss you,” he murmured, and she hummed against him and slid her hand over his heart. He covered her hand in his, feeling their heartbeats move in sync. 

He wanted her. He always wanted her, whether he kissed her or made love to her or simply felt her presence near.

But he would only have her when it was fully her choice and nothing could blur those lines between them. He'd made that decision long ago, even though it would have never been a question to begin with.

Elain knew as much. He could sense it now as some conscious part of her seemed to withdraw slightly, even if it did nothing to stifle either of their want.

She tilted her head and met his gaze, the embers like sunlight dancing in her eyes again. This time, the spark and feeling she sent down the bond were playful.

A dare.

A private, blissful challenge.

“Tomorrow,” she said, tapping a finger against his chest. He felt his smirk return as her blush deepened. “When I’ve slept this off, I want more than a kiss. I want you."

He didn’t bother to jest or retort, and instead pressed another peck to her lips. 

“It’s a deal.” 

[moonyflesh]

🐾 Cat Scratches - [James “Logan” Howlett x Reader]

WARNINGS: lots of fluff, brief mention of neck kisses, some suggestive comments but nothing past PG

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (Wolverine, MARVEL/X-MEN)

🐾 .*.. 🕯️

Logan laid comfortably on your stomach, his arms wrapped around your lower back and hips as he buried his face into your abdomen, the bare skin of your tummy visible just slightly underneath your sweater.

Lazily scrolling through your phone, splayed out across his bed with him on top of you, your fingers trailed over his upper shoulders, scratching the fabric of his white compression shirt, rubbing his sore muscles from a long day of training and battle practice.

As your fingers trailed upwards mindlessly on his back, your manicured nails finally reached the nape of his neck, teasing the edge of his hairline.

Scrolling down further through your instagram, you let out a soft sigh of content as your fingers finally buried into the hair on the back of his head, eliciting a low rumble from the back of his throat.

You perked up at this, glancing past the dimmed screen of your device, an eyebrow quirked upwards at his reaction.

“You alright, Lo?”

You muttered out, a small, curious smile tugging at your glossy lips, damp from your teeth gently biting at them out of unconscious habit.

“Mmmh,”

He responded in a low hum, leaning into your fingers as you smiled, a small, amused chuckle leaving your lips at his fingers that slid lower on your back, cupping the backs of your thighs with a slightly possessive grip.

You felt a soft, warm press of his chapped lips against your stomach, just above your panty line, and a small laugh left your lips as he buried his nose further into you, inhaling without hesitation. In response, your legs opened slightly underneath him, wrapping them around his broad midsection with a light squeeze.

Preferring the man in front of you opposed to the celebrities on your phone, you dropped it at your side, letting it become lost in the fluffy, unkept sheets next to your form as both your hands wrapped around his head, burying your fingers into his scalp.

A low, animalistic-like growl left his lips as you scratched through his hair, meeting the place behind his ears, where you knew he was most sensitive.

Tracing over the area where his jaw connected to his ear and neck, you let out a low hum in response, tilting your head propped up on one of his pillows to the side, your eyebrows knitting together lightly in curiosity at his pleasant reactions.

“Feels good, bub. Right- mmh. There.”

Your eyes narrowed at his borderline inappropriate hum, and you nodded, wordlessly continuing to scrape through his fluffy, unkept hair.

“I didn’t take you for a cat, Logan,” You teased quietly, a small vibration leaving your own form, similar to that of the buzz of an old stereo.

“Don’t mock me, sweetheart. Can’t help it,”

He shot back, his furry eyebrows knitting together as he finally shifted, pulling himself up further, allowing his face to move from your stomach to your collarbone, trying desperately not to go full deadweight on you, knowing he’d crush your frail form.

“Plus, ever since you got yer nails done-”

He didn’t finish his sentence as you raked through his head of hair once more, pushing his face into the warm skin of your exposed neck, muffling any protest from him.

“Stop talking, James. Sleep.”

You effectively hushed him, a small smile pulling at your face as he grumbled out something along the lines of ‘mm. Whatever,’ and ‘fine.’

You felt him pepper a few hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his teeth teasingly biting down on your exposed shoulder, before lapping at the new mark with his tongue, admiring his work with your taste.

“G’night, bub.”

You smiled at his subtle acceptance to your demand, your fingers frozen in his fluffy hair and partially in his long side shaves, nodding.

“Goodnight, kitty.”

[f1daydreamer]

Little Steps to Forever

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of animal abuse, fluff, comfort

Summary: Charles and you find a stray dog who’s been through too much. With love, patience, and Leo’s help, you give him a new life filled with warmth and safety.

---

It was supposed to be a simple evening walk with Leo through the quiet streets of Monaco. The little dog happily trotted along, sniffing every lamppost and bush, his tail wagging in the crisp night air. You held the leash loosely, chatting with Charles, who was animatedly recounting something about his last race.

And then you heard it—a faint whimper coming from the shadows of an alley.

“Did you hear that?” you asked, stopping mid-step.

Charles nodded, already scanning the dimly lit area. Leo tilted his head, ears perking up at the sound.

You both followed the soft cries, your heart clenching at the sight before you. A small, trembling dog huddled against a dumpster, his thin frame barely holding him up. His fur was matted, patches missing, and his eyes were wide with fear.

“Oh, mon cœur,” Charles whispered, crouching down slowly.

You gently tugged Leo’s leash, keeping him at a distance to avoid overwhelming the terrified animal. Charles extended a hand, but the dog flinched and let out a weak growl.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Charles cooed, his voice soft and soothing. “We won’t hurt you.”

You crouched beside him, your voice equally tender. “He’s so scared, Charles. What do we do?”

“We can’t leave him here,” he said, determination flashing in his green eyes.

---

It took nearly an hour of patient coaxing, a few pieces of Charles’ leftover croissant, and Leo’s calm presence for the dog to inch closer. When he finally let Charles touch him, your heart swelled with a mixture of relief and sadness.

“He’s coming home with us,” Charles said firmly, wrapping the trembling dog in his jacket.

You didn’t argue.

---

The first few days were tough. The dog—who you decided to name Buddy after Charles joked he needed a “buddy system” to feel safe—wouldn’t eat if either of you were in the room. He flinched at sudden movements and cowered in corners when voices got too loud.

But slowly, little by little, Buddy began to trust.

Charles was endlessly patient, spending hours sitting quietly on the floor, letting Buddy approach on his own terms. You cried the first time Buddy nudged Charles’ hand, seeking comfort.

Leo, ever the gentle one, became Buddy’s anchor. The two dogs were inseparable, with Leo often lying beside Buddy during naps or bringing him toys as if to say, “It’s okay here.”

---

One night, you found Charles in the living room, stretched out on the rug with both dogs. Buddy’s head rested on his chest while Leo snored softly at his side.

“You’re a natural,” you said, leaning against the doorframe, your heart full.

Charles grinned up at you, his hand running through Buddy’s now soft fur. “I just want him to feel safe, amour. He deserves that.”

You joined them, curling up next to Charles. Buddy’s tail wagged slightly—a small victory that brought tears to your eyes.

“You’re safe now, Buddy,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his head. “We promise.”

Charles squeezed your hand. “And we never break our promises.”

---

Months later, Buddy was a completely different dog. His fur shone, his eyes sparkled, and his tail wagged freely. He and Leo were the best of friends, often seen chasing each other around the garden or curling up together on the couch.

And every time you looked at Buddy, now brimming with life and love, you knew you had made the best decision.

“Ready for our walk?” Charles asked one evening, clipping the leashes onto Leo and Buddy.

You smiled, watching as Buddy happily barked, his tail wagging excitedly. “Let’s go.”

As you strolled through the streets, Buddy trotted confidently beside Leo, no longer the scared, broken dog you had found that night. He was home.

And he always would be.

---

A/N

This story holds a special place in my heart because it was inspired by my own dog, Buddy. When I found Buddy, he was scared, broken, and unsure if he could trust anyone. I’ll never forget the first time he wagged his tail or rested his head on my lap—it was such a small gesture, but it meant the world to me.

Buddy taught me that love, patience, and a safe home can heal even the deepest wounds. Writing this was my way of honoring his journey and sharing the hope that every animal, no matter their past, deserves a second chance.

If you feel moved by this story, I encourage you to consider adopting or supporting your local animal shelters. There’s nothing more rewarding than giving an animal a fresh start and a place to call home.

With love,

Buddy & Me 🐾❤

[f1amour]

🍮 with lando norris and this prompt from one of the fluffy concepts please! ‘i could just eat you up’

❝ i could just eat you up ❞ — lando norris

pairing | lando norris x reader

content warnings | grumpy reader, fluff, suggestive content

★ JOIN MY SHORT N SWEET FRIENDSGIVING !

─────────────────────────

“lando! we came to buy food we can actually survive off of not candy,” you groan as your boyfriend catches up with you at the fruit and vegetable aisle. you loved sweets just as much as lando did but he had the tendency to purchase food that was not apart of his diet or he’d buy all kinds of sauces only to not buy pasta to pair it with.

“come on baby, it’s chocolate! you love chocolate,” he smiles throwing the bag into the cart and you shake your head as you pack some fruits into a bag and in your cart. “i do love chocolate, lan. but we don’t need a five pound bag of it. what vegetables do you want?” you ask holding up some broccoli and asparagus.

lando grimaces, “neither. can we grab some cereal?” he wraps his arms around your waist as you push the cart. “lando, we really gotta finish this. your mom and dad are visiting this week we need edible food for them! we’ll get your cereal after, okay?” he nods and gives you a cheeky smile before following you around for the next twenty minutes is filled with comfortable silence as you grab everything you need. anything that you needed on the top shelf you couldn’t reach lando would grab it for you and in return you’d give him a kiss.

“now we get your cereal, go wild!” you chuckle getting to the cereal aisle and lando runs off to grab his go to cereal and then he grabs another throwing the boxes in the cart. “what’s this?” you point to the colorful box and he smiles at you, “it’s your favorite. you never buy it because it’s too sugary and i can’t eat it during my diet. so i grabbed it for you,” he looks at you waiting for a smile to pop on your face but nothing.

“ah come on, grumps. gimme a smile.” he poked your cheek and you giggle giving him exactly what he wanted. lando pulls you into a kiss, “atta girl. you are so perfect…i could just eat you up,” his hands pat your bum and you seat him away, “lan! we’re in public.” you blush trying to keep his hands away from you as you check out.

he swipes his card and packs the bags up, “alright, let’s get home so i could eat you…out”

“lando!”

[hsunrry]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

twitter // requests are open, so feel free to ask! ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

i’m posting as often as i can!

english is not my first language, so sorry if there’s any typos or something! enjoy!

newest on the top!

⊹ ࣪ ˖𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬⊹ ࣪ ˖

christmas lights (smut)

• shy (smut)

• coachella (smut)

• date night (smut, angst)

• it's positive (smut)

• you can take it (smut)

• you're not the problem (smut)

• water whale (smut)

• best i've ever had (smut)

• new side (smut)

• are you fucking hard? (smut)

• fairy lights (smut, fluff)

• don't leave me (smut, angst)

• pretty boy (smut)

• moustache | moustache 2 (smut)

• perfumes (smut)

• argument (smut, angst)

• college teacher (smut)

• home alone (smut)

• safe word (smut)

• sweet release (smut)

• ring (fluff)

• assistant (smut)

• special room (smut)

• witch (smut)

• about you (smut)

• wedding (smut, angst)

• ghostface (smut)

• online meeting (smut)

• new year's eve (smut)

• dressing room (smut)

• nurse (smut)

• lights up (smut)

• princess (smut)

• love triangle (smut)

• location (smut)

• winter house (smut, angst)

• teacher (smut)

• lesson (smut)

• princess (smut)

• first time? (smut)

• study session (smut)

• hockey (smut)

• dressing room (smut)

• car ride (smut)

• new pillow (smut)

• roommates (smut)

• app (smut)

• summer house | summer house 2 (smut)

⊹ ࣪ ˖𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬⊹ ࣪ ˖

• innocent (smut)

• are you fucking hard? (smut)

• better (smut)

• argument (smut)

[floralscented]

bed chem — jj maybank x pogue!reader!

part of the short n' sweet x obx collection, found here!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤincludes, pogue!reader. best friends... with benefits?. making out. fade to black ending.

❛ how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, that's bed chem! ❜

jj was very obvious in the way that he wanted you. he’d preach the outdated no pogue on pogue macking rule to the moon and back, and then show up at your house, practically down on his knees begging for just one chance.

just one! he’d treat you so right, that’s all he needed. 

and you did love him, he was one of your best friends, but you weren’t going to jeopardize your friendship for one night with him. he was hot, but not hot enough to lose. 

you two were practically attached at the hip. you spent every moment with him, or him and the rest of the pogues, and he spent every moment with you that he wasn’t crashing at john b’s. 

it really was inevitable, that slowburning transition between friendship to attraction. you just thought that you’d always be strong enough to ignore it. 

but you’d never been this high with jj before. he always kept a blunt on him, especially on days that he came to see you, but this time, he’d brought a sketchy looking bag of edibles along with him. “ricky made ‘em,” he’d snickered on his way into your house, shoving the door open with his shoulder before you could even fully open it, “and they work fuckin’ good.” 

and so you ate an entirety of one of the brownies ( because jj dared you wouldn’t do the whole thing, and you can’t just let him win ) and you shared the blunt with jj while the sunset dipped into deeper shades of orange. 

and jj stares at you like you were the one responsible for hanging the moon poking between the trees. 

and you stare back. 

and suddenly he’s leaning in, and suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, does it? his white jacket clings to his strong frame, tight around the shoulders, and at some point he’d lost his shirt even though he immediately started complaining about being cold, and you can see th expanse of his muscles from his chest down to—

“nuh uh,” you say once his nose brushes yours, shoving him away with a palm over his face. “this is a bad idea.” 

your voice sounds weak in your own ears. and it must be even worse in jj’s, because his grin is lazy and borderline a smirk, chapped lips against the heel of your palm. 

“m’not really one for good ideas,” he mumbles, and his lips trail a hot line from your palm and up; your inner wrist, the inside of your arm. 

shivers trail down your spine from those simple touches alone. heat pools in your lower stomach, lower, and it’s a bit embarrassing that such little things are affecting you like this; but you’re about as baked as those brownies, and it’s not really you’re fault. 

“mm, i’m gettin’ to ya,” jj says, and for a second, the illusion he had you under shatters. he always ruins it by opening his mouth, reminding you that he’s still that best friend of yours since you were toddling around the sandy shores outside of his house. 

unfortunately for you, that’s seeming less like a factor to keep him away from you and more like a reason to pull him closer. in reality, who else out there would know what you liked and needed better than someone that’d seen you almost drown a few times when learning to swim? or was there and helped after you greened out for the first time? 

yeah. he really was getting to you. 

but you honestly didn’t seem to mind much at that point, with the way your fist uncurls and your fingers land in his hair, pushing back the soft, tangled strands from his forehead. 

his eyes close. yours stay open. and in a blink, you’re leaning over the edge of the porch chair you’d been sitting in, and your fingers are using the light grip you had on his hair to pull him closer. 

and you’re kissing him. god, you’re kissing jj maybank. he’d seen you in diapers. you’d seen him drink so much that he threw up three times in the same ten minutes. he’d seen you cry over wilting flowers when you were high. you’d seen him eat a cricket for five bucks. 

there wasn’t anyone else in the world, you realized, that you wanted between your legs than him. right now. like, right now. 

he’s already got his tongue past the barricade of your closed lips, half raised out of his own chair so he can grab onto the front of your shirt and pull you closer into him. 

he tastes like dark chocolate and weed and bad decisions. he tastes like the best thing you’d ever put in your mouth. 

before you know it, he’s dragged you into his lap, his back falling haphazardly backwards until it presses into the pillowed cushion behind him. his hands are on your ass, fingers digging into the soft skin beneath your shorts. 

“think we should go inside,” he mumbles into your mouth, barely making the effort to stop kissing you to push the words out of his lips. “don’t want you gettin’ mosquito bites on your pussy because of me or somethin’.” 

you splutter out a laugh, breaking the kiss to shove firmly at his chest. “oh my god, jj.” 

“oh my god, jj,” he mocks in a higher cadence, leaning up to capture your lips in another lazy, slow kiss. “you gonna let me hear you cry that out tonight, or you just gonna blue ball me again?” 

he was so infuriating sometimes. so stupid, and infuriating — so why was your mouth drying up all of a sudden at the thought of getting him in bed with you? 

it must show on your face, too, every stage of denial you tried to enforce on yourself before you conceded, because his red-rimmed blue eyes darken. 

jj’s hands slip down from your ass to your thighs, scooping you up and standing in one fell swoop. you’d think it was impressive for how inebriated it was — if he wasn’t high all the time enough to have gotten good at this kind of thing. 

you don’t regret anything. at least, right then you didn’t. not when he knows without having to ask where your bedroom is, and not when you know he intends to make well on his promise to only need a night to get you addicted.