#THE WAY YOU CAN SEE THE FLICKERING OF THE FIRE FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE WHEN IT PANS OUT TO SHOW TAMMY LEAVING????????

[discount--dracula]

finally finished kevin can fuck himself. jesus christ.

[tarragonthedragon]

ghost stories are alarmingly easy to spread tbh

when I was like ten I was walking back from the chip shop near my gran's house with a neighbour and we took a short cut down an alley which was enclosed by garages except for one part which was wire fenced and led to the electricity shack

and while I was walking I chucked a chip over the fence. the girl walking with me, C, reasonably asks why I did that

"oh, don't you know?" I say, as if I'm not equally out of my own loop

she shakes her head. the enclosed alleyway has no streetlights. it's after dark. the shack is isolated in the distance.

"a little girl who lived up on the court climbed the fence once on a dare. she went up to the shack and touched it, but there was a wire sticking out, and when she touched it, she got electrocuted and died, right there. if you come back in the daylight, you can still see the black mark."

[editor's note: the court was the smaller road off the side of the crescent, which was the one C's family and my gran lived on. the houses there were slightly more expensive and newer, almost all occupied by wealthy commuters to the city, where most of the crescent houses were occupied by retirees and locals who worked on the trading estate. naturally, crescent kids hated the court. houses there got bricked about once a month.]

"no she didn't," C says

I made up this story for absolutely no reason and with no plan, but I'm not gonna back down now. "sure she did. and if you go past on your way back from the shops and you don't leave her an offering, she'll follow you home through the streetlights. one flickers behind you, then the next, then the next, until you get home. and then the lights start to flicker inside the house. even if you turn out all the electrics before bed, it'll be too late. she's inside. and you'll wake up on the night and see her, and she'll be so awful to see it'll stop your heart."

[editor's note: the streetlights always flickered. this was because our neighbour monkey george kept setting the junction boxes on fire]

"I never did before and she never followed me home!"

"do you come down the alley after dark? or do you take the main road with the streetlights?" I knew she didn't use the shortcut, because I'd been the one to talk her into it that night. she was three years younger than me and scared of the dark.

C claims not to believe me, but she throws a chip over the fence too, and walks the rest of the way looking over her shoulder. I get to pride myself for the night on being good at scary stories, and don't think much more about it.

fast forward six or seven years. I'm back in town. I'm on my way back from the chip shop, taking the same shortcut home. ahead of me on the road are a couple of kids I vaguely recognise as old playmates' younger siblings.

they stop, and I watch one fish out three sweeties from the pack they're sharing. they take one each and throw them over the fence. they carry on walking.

I realise that this is probably my fault, as are any resulting pest control issues around the old electricity shack.

when I get to the fence, I throw a chip over.

[s4svnn]

Shower - Out of bounds drabbles

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

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader (Aylah)

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

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

Word count: 5k

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

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

"He likes you. I can tell."

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

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then let’s fight."

“W-what?”

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

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

"Show me just how much you hate me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bushwskq]

FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW X WITCH!READER

Part 1 🕯️

cw: smut, 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back! I just want to say that I'm really happy for the likes of part 1 💜 I hope you like this one too

There you were again, smoking a cigarette outside the church. Your leather boot making noise with every stomp you made on the anxious sidewalk. It was Wednesday, as Father Charlie had said, the day of confession in which the faithful came to the house of God to confess their sins and their souls were absorbed from the fires of hell until the next week like a vicious cycle. You reached out your hand grabbing the coffee cup on the floor, making sure no one had witnessed the little display of magic. Waiting a few more minutes you entered the church as soon as the last person left. Unlike your first visit, the place was now dark with few candles lighting the space. His eyes wandered around the place before finding the confessional, this time the pentagram on his chest was completely exposed.

“I see you took my offer seriously,” Father Charlie Mayhew began in surprise as you sat in the confessional. When he made the proposal, he didn't believe you would actually accept it. You noticed him shift position on the other side by the creaking of wood. “I’m all ears, start whenever you want.” Again you felt his cologne, oh my god, how it gave you a good and restless feeling at the same time.

An exciting agony His eyes caught your movements through the small holes, imagining the contours of your body, the way your curves would press against him. His grip on the wooden cross in front of him tightened, the need to touch it overwhelming.

“You really believe in God. Father?” You asked suddenly, looking at the holes in the confessional that gave access to it. Charlie paused for a moment, composing himself before speaking “I have many reasons to believe in him, he saved me and he can save you if you let him.” he said in a low voice. You smiled awkwardly, without any effort a flame lit up on your index finger. It didn’t burn you, just a tingling on the tip that you were already used to. “There are things… things that many are not yet ready to understand, Father.” seconds later the flame disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Father Charlie's heart raced as he watched the flame dance on his fingertip, a flicker of light in the dark confines of the confessional. Mixture of fascination and fear coursing through his veins as the fabric of his robe strained against his arousal, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself drawn to you in a way that both thrilled and disturbed him. As a man of God, he knows he should denounce her abilities, expel her from this sacred place. And yet... a part of him longs to understand, to unravel the mystery you present.

You can't react when he opens the confessional door abruptly grabbing your body with ease, his beautiful eyes darting to the pentagram like the first time. You don't react when he pulls you hard, breaking it, leaving only the cross on your chest.

"What...what are you?" he sighs, his voice rough with barely contained lust. “Some demon sent to disturb the peace, surely.” But even as he speaks, his hands are roaming your body, gliding over your curves with a hunger that belies his words.

The heat of his touch burns your skin, even through the fabric of your clothes. He leans in, his lips colliding against yours in a bruising kiss. It's a dance of passion and danger, the forbidden fruit he knows he should resist but can't. A witch and a priest, an impossible combination, and yet…

You can see the lust burning inside Charlie. It's intoxicating because you still feel his grip. His features are like a fallen angel, he was in the wrong vocation. His hands slid lower, pushing up the skirt of your black dress. The smell of your arousal mixes with his, an intoxicating scent that clouds his mind and weakens his resolve. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me,” he says harshly, “are you real, or am I losing my mind?”

He knows he should stop, he should push you away and run away from this temptation. But he can't. He is lost, drowning in a sea of forbidden desire, and he is powerless to resist. “I can be real for you tonight.” You say boldly, you had nothing to lose. It would be another night of fun.

You see the realization flash through Charlie's eyes. Slowly, he releases you, allowing you to take a step back. He looks at you, desire and fear tangled in his gaze. His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair, an attempt to regain some semblance of control. And then, as if he had made a decision, his resolve breaks. He walks towards you, closing the gap between you, and whispers huskily, “Show me… let me know the truth of your words.” The rational part of his mind screams at him to stop, to push you away and escape this temptation.

But his primal, carnal side longs to surrender, to lose himself in the forbidden pleasures you offer. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

But all he sees is a mirror of his own desire, a reflection of the hunger that burns within him. Father Charlie's heart races as he unbuttons the buttons on her dress, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He pulls the fabric to the side, exposing the smooth, supple skin of your collarbone. Leaning down, he presses a searing kiss to your flesh, claiming you as his. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour with desperate hunger. He can’t get enough of you, the feel of your skin under his fingertips, the taste of your flesh on his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” he sighs, his voice rough with desire. "More than any mortal man could deserve." He reaches out, his hand gliding over the curve of your breast, tracing the delicate curve of your waist. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine and lighting a fire deep within your core. Father Charlie's own clothes appear tight, a reminder of the vows he made and the life he chose. With a growl of frustration, he hurriedly begins to remove the fabric, exposing his chest to your gaze.

With that, he pulls you close once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both desperate and possessive. He pours all his longing, all his desire, into that one moment, and you can feel the intensity of his passion coursing through your veins. A low growl resonates in his chest, and he grabs you roughly, his hands gripping your hips with blunt force.

He pushes you against the wall, pinning you in place with his body. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss is fierce and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. His hands roam your body, groping and squeezing, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

He tears at his underwear, tearing it off with wild desperation, not caring about the damage he causes. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, strong and insistent, a physical manifestation of his desire. He grinds against you, the friction delicious and maddening at the same time.

With a final growl, Father Charlie lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he positions himself at your entrance. He stops for a moment, his eyes boring into yours, a silent question in their depths.

And then, with one thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that borders on the sublime.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that steals your breath. Each thrust is deeper, stronger than the last, bringing you both closer to the edge of oblivion. Father Charlie buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he loses himself in the rhythm of your copulation. He is a man possessed, driven by a hunger that cannot be satisfied, a need that consumes him completely.

Father Charlie's grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts become more erratic as the line between pleasure and pain blurs. You can feel the desperation in every move, the need to claim and be claimed in return. The sound of their copulation fills the air, skin against skin, the wooden structure rhythmically echoing the charged atmosphere. Father Charlie's breathing is ragged, his body shaking as he approaches the edge of release.

He grinds against you, his cock pulsing inside you, the heat of his release building. With a final, guttural groan, he spills himself inside you, the profanity of his actions washing over him like a tidal wave.

As his orgasm subsides, he collapses against you, his body slick with sweat. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, a testament to the forbidden pleasure you've just shared.

For a moment, there is only the sound of their heavy, labored breaths as they cling to each other in the aftermath. Father Charlie's fingers run gently through his hair, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. Slowly, he pulls away from you, his gaze never leaving yours. In that moment, there is a newfound vulnerability in his eyes, an admission that this transgression has changed him forever.

@mlt2000

[soulofapatrick]

Breathing for the First Time - Rhysand x female reader

Summary: Rhysand finally admits your mating bond after a heated argument with Nesta

Warnings: None really

Words: 2.4K

Y/N's POV

“I don’t care what you think, Nesta!” I snarl, the words tearing from me with a venom that shocks even myself. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as the fury courses through me, a wildfire spreading through my veins.

Nesta stands across from me, her eyes blazing with cold fury, her chin lifted in that arrogant way she always does when she wants to get under my skin. And gods, it’s working.

“Of course, you don’t,” she bites back, her voice sharp, cutting. “Because you never think, do you? You act first and deal with the consequences later. It’s reckless. You’re reckless.”

I can feel the pressure building inside me, a low thrum in the air as my power ripples beneath my skin, begging to be released. The very walls of the House of Wind seem to vibrate with it, feeding off the energy that crackles between us. My heart is pounding in my chest, the blood roaring in my ears as every word she says fans the flames of my anger.

“Reckless?” I spit, taking a step toward her, my magic swirling around me now, the air thickening with it. “You think I’m reckless? You, of all people, who shuts out everyone who tries to get close to you? Who pushes and pushes until no one’s left? Maybe it’s not me who needs to rethink their choices.”

Nesta’s jaw tightens, and I can see the flicker of hurt behind her steel-like gaze, but she doesn’t back down. Of course, she doesn’t. She never does. “At least I think before I act. You’re a storm waiting to happen, and it’s only a matter of time before you destroy everything around you.”

The words hit harder than they should, slamming into my chest, but instead of backing down, the fury builds, rising like a tidal wave ready to crash. The floor beneath my feet seems to hum, the sheer force of my rage making the very air around us pulse.

“How dare you,” I snarl, my voice low, dangerous now. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Nesta.”

“Oh, I know enough.” Her voice is sharp, like a blade cutting through the thick air between us. She steps closer, her face mere inches from mine now, her eyes daring me to do something. “I know that you’re not just a storm. You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

My chest heaves with the effort to keep control, but I’m losing it—fast. My power flares around me, crackling with dark, untamed energy, and the room seems to pulse with it. The windows tremble, the floor beneath us groans as if it, too, is trying to hold together the volatile storm inside me. I can feel the magic bubbling just under the surface, wanting to tear free, to unleash the tempest that’s been building inside me for so long.

Before I can say anything else, the door opens, and a familiar presence fills the room. Rhysand.

His gaze sweeps over the scene before him, and for a moment, I swear I see amusement flash in his eyes as he takes in the tension radiating from me like a tangible force. His lips twitch, but he says nothing, simply leans against the doorframe, his violet eyes now solely focused on me.

“Perfect timing,” Nesta mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she steps back, her eyes flicking between Rhysand and me. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

But Rhys doesn’t seem interested in talking sense into anyone. His gaze never leaves mine, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at me now—something that makes the fire inside me burn hotter, but not with anger. There’s a dangerous kind of amusement in his eyes, like he finds my rage... enthralling. Like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Nesta huffs, clearly sensing that she’s lost whatever upper hand she thought she had. With a sharp, frustrated sigh, she turns on her heel and storms out, leaving me standing there, breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort to contain the swirling storm inside me.

But I don’t feel calm. Not even close.

Rhysand pushes away from the doorframe, his footsteps slow, measured, as he approaches me. His gaze is still locked on mine, his expression unreadable, but I can feel it—the shift in the air between us. The low hum of energy that vibrates in the space around us, electric and charged.

He stops just inches from me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body, smell the intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine that clings to him. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head slightly, those violet eyes roaming over my face like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

“What?” I snap, though my voice falters slightly, my anger waning under the weight of his gaze. The fire inside me still burns, but it’s shifting now, turning into something else entirely. Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

Rhysand’s lips curl into the faintest of smiles, but there’s no mockery in it. If anything, it’s... gentle. “You’re fascinating when you’re angry,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a purr.

I blink, taken aback by his words, but before I can respond, his hands come up to cup my face, his touch feather-light, yet it sends a jolt of electricity through my entire body. My breath hitches, my heart racing, and suddenly, everything around us seems to fade—the room, the argument, the entire world. All that exists is him.

And in that moment, something inside me snaps.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my lips, light as a feather, and the world seems to still around us. The air is thick with tension, crackling with a different kind of energy now, no longer fuelled by the anger I had moments ago. It’s something new, something electric, thrumming between us like a tether I can’t escape. His thumb traces my lower lip, slow and deliberate, and my breath hitches as my gaze locks on his—those violet eyes, deep and endless, like the night sky.

Everything inside me shifts. The rage that had once pulsed through my veins now melts away, leaving only this. Only him.

Rhysand's eyes darken with something deeper, something raw and unspoken, and then, just as his thumb slides over my lips again, I feel it—a shift in my mind, in the very fabric of my being. His mental walls, the iron fortress he’s always kept up, fall. He lets me in. And it’s not gentle.

His thoughts, his emotions, his very essence floods into me all at once, and I stagger under the weight of it. His love, fierce and unwavering, surges through me like a wave crashing against the shore. I can feel it all—his longing, his desire, the way he’s been holding back for so long. The way he's seen me, wanted me, needed me, for longer than I could have ever imagined.

And then I see it.

I see myself through his eyes.

To him, I am not just a woman, not just someone standing before him with fire and rage in my veins. To Rhysand, I am everything. I see myself, bathed in starlight, fierce and beautiful, with power thrumming just beneath my skin. I see the way he watches me, not just now, but in every stolen glance, in every moment we’ve shared without me even realising it.

I am not just a person in his world. I am his world.

“You have no idea,” his voice whispers through the bond, soft and reverent, and his fingers trace along the curve of my jaw. How long I’ve waited for you.

It’s like I’ve hung the stars above Velaris, like every moment he’s spent in the dark has led him to this—to me. And I feel it now, the snap, the bond, settling into place. Not just in my mind, but in my very soul. The realisation of what we are to each other crashes into me with such clarity, it leaves me breathless. Mate.

His hands slide down, slow and sure, mapping every inch of me. As if this is the only time he’ll get to memorize every curve of my body, every dip and slope. His touch is gentle, reverent, yet filled with something that feels like desperation, like he can’t let go, like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he moves too fast.

Through the bond, I feel it all—his awe, his desire, his absolute certainty. And underneath it, something more—something sacred, as if I am the one thing in this world he cannot live without. His hands rest on my hips now, firm but tender, pulling me closer, and I feel the heat of his body, the pull of him, like gravity itself has shifted around us. I can feel his love, strong and unyielding, wrapping around me like a cocoon, like I’m something precious—something he’s waited lifetimes for.

He looks at me again, his violet eyes burning into mine, and I swear, in that moment, I see galaxies. His thumbs trace slow, lazy circles on my skin, and it’s as if he’s trying to etch this moment into his memory forever. As if every breath I take, every movement, every tremble, is something sacred to him.

“I could spend eternity,” he whispers, his voice a low murmur, soft and reverent, “and it still wouldn’t be enough to know you.”

His forehead rests against mine, and for a moment, we just stand there, breathing each other in. I can feel the bond between us now, pulsing bright and fierce, a thread of power connecting us, binding us. There’s no going back. This is it—this is everything.

Rhysand's lips hover just above mine, the space between us charged with the weight of everything unsaid. The bond hums in the air like a current, and when he finally closes the distance, it’s like the world shifts—everything in me snaps awake. His lips claim mine, firm yet tender, and it feels like a shock to my system, like I’m breathing for the first time. A slow, burning fire unfurls in my chest, spreading through every inch of me, and I can’t help the way I press closer, needing more, needing all of him.

The kiss deepens, and my head spins, my heart racing with the force of everything pouring through me. His lips are soft, but there’s an intensity to the way he kisses me—a hunger, a desperation, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. His hands cup my face, his fingers threading through my hair, holding me as though I’m something precious, fragile, yet powerful all at once.

And gods, I feel it.

The world narrows down to the feel of his mouth on mine, the way his lips move with mine, slow but purposeful, like he’s savouring every second, every taste. My heart thunders in my chest, and I gasp into his kiss, my breath mixing with his. It feels like my body is burning from the inside out, a fire I’ve never known before, and my shields—the ones I’ve always kept so tightly wrapped around my mind—begin to crumble.

For him, I let them fall.

I lower them, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but him. His presence floods me, his emotions wrapping around my own in a way that leaves me breathless. It’s overwhelming—the intensity of his desire, the way he’s craved this, craved me, for so long. I can feel the depth of his love, his awe, the way he’s trying to pour every bit of himself into this kiss, into me.

And I give him the same.

The kiss is everything and more. It’s a claiming, a promise, a silent admission of all the things we’ve held back. Every touch of his lips against mine sends sparks racing through my veins, igniting parts of me I didn’t even know were there. His hands slide down, skimming the sides of my face, trailing over my neck, down my shoulders, until they settle on my hips, pulling me closer. The heat of his body seeps into mine, and I shudder at the way his fingers press into me, holding me like he’s afraid I might slip away.

But I won’t. I can’t. Not when everything in me screams for him.

His mouth moves against mine with more urgency now, more need, and my heart pounds in response. I feel weightless, like I could fly, like the bond between us is lifting me higher than I’ve ever been. Every part of him feels like it’s consuming me, and it’s not terrifying—it’s exhilarating. I melt into the kiss, my hands sliding up to grip the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

This kiss, this moment, it feels like the world has finally clicked into place. Like I was always meant to be here, with him, like we’ve been moving toward this our entire lives. My body hums with energy, the bond between us thrumming with power, and I feel alive in a way I never have before.

Rhys kisses me like I’m the centre of his universe, like I’ve hung the stars in the sky, and the way he touches me… gods, the way he touches me makes me feel like I’m everything. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, gentle but deliberate, and it’s like he’s trying to memorize every part of me, every curve, every breath. His touch is reverent, yet laced with longing, and it’s as though he’s holding me like I’m the one thing he can’t bear to lose.

And as the kiss deepens, as his lips move with mine in a perfect, intoxicating rhythm, I feel something click inside me—a realisation, a truth I can no longer deny.

This is more than just desire. It’s more than just a kiss.

It’s the bond. It’s us.

And for the first time in my life, I know exactly where I belong.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

Tags:

@lilah-asteria

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend promises to watch over you when you want to get drunk.

Genre: SMUT-ish

Warnings: innocent!reader, intoxication, swearing, grinding on someone's thigh, mentions of sex (no actual sex considering reader is drunk), praise kink

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Just as you extend your arm to knock, James slides in front of you and gently holds under your elbow. He's smiling at you fondly as he caresses soothing circles across your skin.

"I want you to know, love, just because we mentioned it doesn't mean you have to, hmm?" he reminds you, his voice low and husky.

You smile and nod your head, letting him wrap an arm around your waist, "I know, Jamie," you reassure him. James looks at you in such a way you know he understands and he settles into your side. He turns around when you knock, his arm still holding you close, and when the door swings open to reveal an already flushed Sirius Black, your boyfriend smirks.

"Prongsie!" Sirius cries happily, pulling James in by his collar and trapping him in a hug. James has released his arm from around you in anticipation of Sirius's gesture and you giggle, walking into the house behind them.

Sirius looks at you next. "Y/n!" he cries, "Your lovely lady looks as lovely as ever, Jamsey," he skips over and takes your hand in his, twirling you around. You can smell the faint cherry vodka on his breath as he holds up your hand and clumsily swipes a thumb along your knuckles. "Still no ring?" Sirius whines with a light-hearted pout.

James pulls you away gently, his cheeks blushed pink. "Alright, enough. Hands off my girl," he reprimands, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple. He's holding your hand almost possessively, but you don't mind.

"I keep wondering that myself, Siri," you join in the teasing and send James a smile.

The latter rolls his eyes but smirks as he helps you out of your winter coat. He hangs it up next to his own and then places his hand on your lower back so he can guide you around. It's a common gesture James doesn't even realize he's doing anymore.

Sirius and Remus's house isn't small, but it isn't big either. It's normally sized with dark brick walls and ivy near the upper windows. Inside, the fire is burning and the smell of cookies and wine is in the air.

Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene occupy the couch as they play a game of friendly poker with Frank and Alice. Remus, when he sees you all, stands up from his armchair and smiles widely.

"Y/n/n," he says as if he hasn't seen you in years. Which is a dramatic exaggeration.

Remus pulls you into a warm hug, which means you aren't next to James anymore and he pouts, "Why is everyone suddenly in love with my girlfriend?" he whines.

Remus chuckles and kisses your cheek, "Because she's just so lovely, James," he kisses your cheek again and you giggle. "Plus, you've been hiding her from us for weeks now. I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

James shakes his head with a low chuckle, his hand finding yours. "It's not my fault she's been busy."

"You guys do realize I am standing right here, yeah?" you interrupt with a chuckle. Remus looks at you fondly. He nods and then hurries you and James over to the couch where your friends are.

Always the gentleman, James crosses his legs and sits on the floor while you squeeze in between Lily and Marlene, sending them smiles.

A few moments later Sirius emerges with two glasses of white wine. He grins and hands one to James before handing you yours. Instantly, your eyes flicker to James as you take the glass and look at the liquid.

He sends you a reassuring nod. Even in school, you tended to stay away from alcohol because you were scared. Scared of losing control. But, now that you're with James and you feel safe around him. You had brought it up a few days ago: that you wanted to try. James had promised to watch you, to make sure you don't drink too much or do anything stupid.

So, you put the glass to your lips.

Three drinks in and you don't feel drunk.

Rather, you feel completely normal – well almost normal as you seem to have a hard time keeping your eyes away from your boyfriend's hands. You tend to play with the hem of your dress in your lap and you're still sitting in between Lily, and now Sirius as he drunkenly animates his sentences.

James is still sitting on the floor, his arms draped across his knees as he crosses his ankles. From time to time, he'll look up at you and his eyebrows will scrunch as if to ask if you're okay. Your cheeks start to feel hot and you fumble with your hands to press them on your face. You squirm around, feeling pressure in your core as you bite down on your lip.

"Y/n," James's voice is hoarse and you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Come here, dove," he whispers.

When you stand, you stumble to James and gasp when he pulls you down onto his lap. You hold onto him, looking into his eyes as his hand finds your thigh just shy from your ass. James frowns as he sees your expression but then his lips curl into a smirk.

Clumsily, he makes a show of standing as you cling onto him. Your friends don't seem preoccupied by you and James as he gently guides you into Remus and Sirius's small bathroom in the hallway. You lean against the sink, looking up at James and mumble, "W-What?"

James's knuckles caress down your cheek as he chuckles. "Hey, are you okay?"

You blink at him, trying to focus on something other than the heat from his strong body against yours. You hum, nodding. James's palm presses against your cheek first and then moves to your forehead. He frowns. "You're warm. 'You sure you're okay?" he asks with concern.

Your breathing becomes harsher as you stare at him. "O-oh- yeah. I'm g-good," you try to sound as normal as you can although his touch ignites a fire inside you.

James's frown deepens, looking you over. When you bite your lip, his eyebrow raises and the corner of his mouth slips upwards. He knows your signs all too well by now.

James slides his knee in between your legs, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your skirt rides up your thighs a little further. The coarse fabric of his jeans hits your cotton panties and your hands grip the sink harder. You look up at him, your eyes lidded. "J-Jamie?"

His hand slides up your cheek, tilting his head as he presses a sloppy kiss behind your ear. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I won't allow anything bad to happen to you, my lovely," he lifts his knee slightly and a shiver runs up your arms.

You clutch his shirt, your mind already starting to go fuzzy. You can't tell if you're just drunk or incredibly horny – perhaps you're both? All you know if you want James's touch. You want his lips, his hands, his cock. James's knee rubbing against your pussy interrupts your dirty fantasies as you sigh.

"I'm not gonna do all the work," James mutters and pauses his movements.

"More," You whisper, staring at him needily and James chuckles quietly.

"Shhh, my baby's simply a little too drunk for that," his voice is smooth and stern as he kisses the side of your lips, "I'm not gonna do that, lovie. I'm sorry. But, if you wanna get off on my trousers then who am I to deny you?" he quips with a knowing smile.

As if simply needing his permission, you roll your hips onto him and let out a loud moan. James covers your mouth with his hand, stroking your skin as you buck against him desperately. You're dripping and seeping through your panties to soak his jeans with your juices. You can't stop your soft, drunken, moans as you rub your sensitive clit against him.

"Good girl," James whispers encouragements, occasionally moving his knee to apply more pressure, "My good girl, aren't you? So needy when you're drunk, hmm?" he hums with a smile.

You nod, cheeks burning as your movements become even more desperate. It feels so good. He's making you feel so good and he knows it. James leans in and rests his hand behind your ear as he delicately kisses your head. He can tell you're close and he whispers sweet nothings in your ear as your mind goes fuzzy and your skin prickles with desire.

Your mouth opens only no sound comes out when you rut against him harder. James grins, enjoying having you so completely undone in front of him. You hold onto his sleeve, squeezing your thighs around his and tears of pleasure brim your lashes. James coos, "Aw, don't cry, sweetheart. What's the matter?" he teases and strokes his thumb across your cheek.

"I- I need more," you whimper, trying desperately to reach your high.

"I can't let you have more, lovie," James says quietly. He doesn't want to risk crossing any boundaries when you're drunk.

Still, he grips your hips and rocks them over his thigh, helping you. "Here, just let go for me. It's okay, I'll take care of you later I promise." You whine and lean your head on his chest as your pussy throbs.

You feel light-headed when you finally come, your juices soaking your panties and James's jeans. He kisses your forehead when you look up at him, eyes lidded. "Good girl, you did so good," he whispers, stroking a hand in your hair as you catch your breath.

James lifts you effortlessly onto the sink and you automatically spread your legs. You watch him as he bends over and rolls up some toilet paper in his hand.

He then hands it to you, "Clean yourself up, dove?"

You look at him innocently, silently asking him to be the one to clean you. James hesitates and bites his lip. Quickly, he dips his hand into your panties and collects your cum on the paper. He bunches it up and throws it in the toilet. He rolls up some more and wipes his jeans a little.

Finally, he flushes the evidence and kisses your lips. You squirm a little, uncomfortable from the wetness in your panties. James looks down and smirks.

He starts to slide your panties down your hips and looks at you for consent. You nod, staring at him. You're still in a haze from the liquor but you trust James. He slides your panties into his jeans pocket and smoothes your skirt. He sees your adorable frown, "No one will know, I promise," he assures you.

When you leave the bathroom, the hallway seems darker. James's hand rests on your ass, keeping your skirt down as you focus on not tripping. You don't realize how giddy and stupid you and James looks until you both enter the living room again and your friends turn to stare. Lily, Remus, and Marlene seem to compose themselves as they smirk behind their hands, but Sirius, in his drunken state, seems completely appalled.

"You did not just fuck in my bathroom, Potter!" he exclaimed. Laughs escape the others and you must look completely embarrassed because their smiles widen. James gently and playfully covers your ears as his voice strains to hide his amusement.

"Shut up," he chuckles and then kisses your temple, "we did no such thing, did we, lovie?"

You nod your head. You wonder if your panties are burning a hole in James's trousers just like your bareness is causing a burning in your stomach. James hands moves to your back as he caresses you comfortingly.

"So, why did you come out of the bathroom together?" Marlene interrupts and adds to the teasing, "Don't tell me Y/n needed help peeing?"

James sends her a glare and moves you through the living room and to the door. "It's late, I'm tired," he tries to take the attention off you, "I think it's time for us to drive home."

He drapes your coat over your shoulders and you're grateful he's taking you home. The neediness has been replaced by pure exhaustion and you grip his arm. James puts on his own coat and opens the door. He whispers to you, "Shh, you're safe with me," and kisses you again.

You both say your goodbye's and Sirius calls out one last time, "If I find any evidence you fucked in my bathroom, I'll personally kill you, James Potter," James pauses, knowing he's not finished and smirks when he hears Sirius's last comment.

"Shame on you for roping poor, innocent Y/n into your disgusting activities. And in my bathroom — "

"Sirius," You hear Remus warn, exhausted.

James holds your hand and starts to shut the door behind you,

"Next time, Remus and I will fuck in your bathroom!"

"Sirius!"

[secretl1fe0fm3]

have you underneath all of my beliefs ~ eva x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself on a wellness retreat, where you meet eva, the presumed leader of the female empowerment group. as the days pass, her interest in you grows, and she’s determined to uncover every secret you keep, no matter what it takes.

warnings: smut (with plot), soft dom!eva, sub!reader, dirty talk, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise kink, aftercare if you squint

an: the long awaited eva fic is finally here!!!! i had so much fun writing this one, and i hope yall enjoy :,) she could manipulate me ANY DAY. (lmk if anyone is interested in a part 2, i have some ideas hehe)

18+ minors dni!!!

2k+ words

You hadn’t expected to stay this long.

The first day was filled with polite smiles, herbal teas, and long moments of uncomfortable silence as women from all walks of life tried to untangle themselves from the grasp of their inner demons. You kept your distance while still participating, not wanting to share much about your haunted past.

But Eva noticed you.

At first, it was subtle. A glance from across the communal fire. A brush of her hand against yours when she passed you a blanket or a cup of tea. But each day, her presence grew stronger. She didn’t speak often in group sessions, only doing so to lead them, but when she did, the others listened. Everything seemed to revolve around her, everyone looking up to her for guidance.

You’d catch her watching you during morning breathwork. Her eyes followed the way your chest rose and fell, studying every twitch in your expression. During meals, she always found a way to sit near you, never directly across, never too obvious, but always near. When you shared, which was a rarity, she listened with an intensity that felt almost invasive. Like she could see every unspoken truth inside you, waiting for you to bare more of yourself to her.

———

You returned to your room after the evening group fire, still feeling the weight of Eva’s gaze on you. She hadn’t said a word to you tonight, but she didn’t need to, she got her message across.

Your room was quiet when you stepped inside, the soft sounds of the woods humming outside your window. You moved to pull back your blanket, and that’s when you saw a folded piece of thick paper sat right in the middle of your pillow.

Your name was written on the front in soft, cursive handwriting. You picked it up and unfolded it with shaky fingers, reading the words over and over.

Come to the attic after dark. I want to talk. You’ve been holding something in. I want to help you let it out. -Eva

Your fingers stayed curled around the paper, gripping it tight, absentmindedly crinkling it a little.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring at the note, but you already knew it wasn’t up for debate, you had to face your fears this time.

———

The house was dark, hushed in the way it only got after everyone had gone to bed. You moved carefully, bare feet brushing over the wood floors, trying not to make a sound.

The note was still tucked in your hand.

Upstairs, a light flickered from the attic doorway. You hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, then slowly made your way up. The steps creaked softly under your weight. When you reached the top, the door was already open.

Eva sat in a chair, legs crossed, one hand resting against her cheek, her other holding a mug that steamed gently. Her robe was loose, the floral pattern falling off one of her shoulders. She looked up at you as you stood in the doorway, uncertainty etched all over your face.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said softly, voice low. “But I hoped you would.”

You stepped inside, unsure whether or not to speak. The door shut behind you with a gentle click, and Eva set her mug down.

“You can sit,” she said, nodding toward the cushion across from her. “Or stand. Whichever feels more honest.”

You hesitated, then lowered yourself onto a cushion, heart beating a little too fast. The stained-glass window emanated colored light across the room, casting strange shapes on the wooden floor.

Eva smiled, watching you.

“I like when people come in nervous,” she said, her voice almost teasing. “It means there’s something worth digging into.”

You swallowed, fiddling with your fingers. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I did,” she nodded. “But only if you’re ready.”

Her tone was warm, inviting you to slowly open up, but you remained silent as your eyes studied her.

“I’ve been watching you,” Eva continued, leaning forward just a little. “You keep your distance during the group sessions. You give just enough to look open, but you’re not. Not really.”

You shifted slightly under her gaze. “That’s not true.”

“No?” Her eyes lit up, like you’d said exactly what she wanted. “Then tell me something real.”

You hesitated, lips parting, but nothing came out.

Eva’s smile deepened at your silence this time. She uncrossed her legs and stood, walking toward you with slow, measured steps. She knelt in front of you, not quite touching yet, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her body.

“I can feel it on you,” she whispered. “Whatever it is you’re hiding. It weighs heavy.”

You looked away, and her fingers brushed under your chin, coaxing your gaze back to her.

“I want it,” Eva murmured. “All of it. I want you to give it to me. And I want you to want to give it to me.”

There was something in the way she said it, perfectly persuasive. Her thumb stroked along your jaw, like she was trying to coax a confession out of you.

“I know how to hold secrets,” she said. “I know how to take pain and turn it into something beautiful. But I need you to trust me.”

You blinked, your voice coming out quieter than you meant. “Why me?”

Her eyes didn’t leave yours, flicking down to your lips before quickly returning to your stare.

“Because you haven’t let yourself open up yet,” she said simply. “And I want to be the one who does that for you.”

Her hand slipped lower, resting over your chest, pressing gently over your heart, feeling the steady beats under her palm.

“Can I?” she asked, voice a whisper now. “Will you let me?”

The room had gone still at her question, the only sounds were your breathing, and hers. A slow, steady rhythm, like she knew how this night would end long before you stepped through the door.

Eva’s hand still rested over your chest, her palm rising and falling with every breath you tried to keep steady. You were trembling slightly, her presence leaving a heavy weight in the air.

“I can feel how much you want to let go,” she said, voice soft but sure. “You’ve been holding it in for so long, haven’t you?”

Your eyes burned and you didn’t know why, but you nodded.

“Good girl,” Eva whispered. “That’s the first truth. Now let me take care of you.”

You didn’t answer as your body leaned into hers instinctively, and that was all the permission she needed.

Eva kissed you deep, one hand cradling the back of your neck, the other sliding down your side, tracing your curves. Her lips were warm and soft against yours as she kissed you like she was memorizing the way you taste, and the sounds you made.

Her hand slipped under your shirt, her fingers felt hot against your bare skin. She traced along your ribs, your stomach, until her touch reached the waistband of your pants. She paused there, pulling away momentarily, her eyes locked on yours

“I want you to let me in,” she whispered. “Don’t hold back with me.”

You gave her a small, shaky but eager nod. She smiled as her lips met yours again, the kiss deeper than the previous one. She eased her hand beneath the fabric, her touch featherlight, but deliberate. Eva pushed your panties aside before she stroked slowly along your wet folds, her fingers sliding through your slit with ease.

“You’re already trembling,” she murmured, her voice low and soft. “You’ve been needing this, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, biting your lip.

Eva moved her fingers in slow, careful circles against your clit. Her lips stayed close to yours, placing soft kisses over your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw as you spread your legs a bit wider, wordlessly inviting her to go further.

She pushed two fingers inside you, deep and slow. The stretch made you gasp, and she held still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling.

“Just like that,” she whispered. “You’re doing so well.”

She began to move her fingers, thrusting in and out of your heat, her thumb gliding against your clit in a steady rhythm. Your hips bucked up towards the touch, chasing the pressure as desperate moans fell from your lips.

“Stay with me,” Eva murmured, pushing your hip down with her free hand. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

Your muscles tightened, heat coiling deep inside you. Her thrusts sped up, but she didn’t rush you. She watched you slowly unravel, her voice anchoring you in quiet affirmations between kisses.

You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let it happen.

Your orgasm crashed over you without much warning, clenching down around her fingers as you threw your head back, a low but loud moan filling the quiet room. Eva held you through it, her fingers still moving just enough to help draw your climax out of you. You clung to her floral robe, your cheek against her shoulder, your body trembling in her lap.

But she didn’t stop.

Eva shifted you, gently laying you back against the cushions on the floor. She pressed soft kisses along your thighs, over your stomach, then met your gaze again as her fingers found your wet core once more.

“I know you can give me more,” she whispered. “But only if it feels good. Only if you want to.”

You were already nodding before you even realized, before your brain caught up to your body.

You didn’t have words anymore, just ache and need swirling low in your belly as she leaned over you. She gave you a quiet nod in return and leaned in, kissing your shoulder as her fingers pressed against your soaked cunt.

She easily slipped her two fingers inside of you again with a practiced curl that made your hips jerk. Your mouth opened in a sharp gasp.

“You can take it,” Eva whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You need this. Don’t fight it.”

Eva stroked your clit in a lazy, circular rhythm, never faltering. Your body tensed immediately, already so close it hurt. You grabbed at her wrist to ground yourself.

The pressure built fast, almost too fast. Your body was still overstimulated from the first orgasm, and every stroke of her fingers now felt overwhelming. Your thighs tried to close around her hand, and she used her free arm to gently pin one down.

“Shh,” Eva cooed, breath warm against your cheek. “It’s okay. Let it happen. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers curled inside you, pressing against your sensitive sweet spot with every thrust. Your muscles tensed as your breath started turning shallow and quick, tears welling up in your eyes from the pleasurable overstimulation.

Your body stiffened, back arching painfully as your mouth opened in a silent cry as your second orgasm tore through you. It was white hot and too much, crashing over you in thick waves, dragging every sound out of your throat.

Eva held you steady as you came undone again. Her fingers didn’t stop moving, not until your body started to twitch, thighs jerking from the intensity, breath coming in soft sobs.

“There you are,” she whispered. “That’s it. Give it to me. Just like that.”

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, your hands gripping her arms as the aftershocks hit you hard. Your body was soaked and shivering as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your spent heat.

Eva gathered you into her arms, pulling you into her lap. Her touch gentle and soothing. She pulled a soft blanket over your body and held you close, rocking you slightly.

You felt weightless and empty in the best way, like something you didn’t know you were carrying had finally slipped free.

Eva brushed your hair back from your damp forehead and kissed you softly.

“You did so well,” she whispered. “You let go. I’m so proud of you.”

A small content smile formed on your lips as you tucked your face into her neck. You weren’t sure where to go from here, but you knew you didn’t want to leave.

my masterlist

[novaursa]

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children. 

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

[pucksandpower]

A Little Arson as a Treat

Logan Sargeant x protective!Reader

Summary: after news that Williams has dropped Logan mid-way through the season comes out, you decide that revenge is best served hot

Warnings: they literally set James Vowles’ house on fire

“You think they’ll be able to tell it was us?”

Logan’s voice is shaky, his eyes locked on the flickering flames dancing up the side of James Vowles’ house. The orange glow reflects in his wide eyes, making him look like a boy who just realized he’s in way over his head. His hands are buried deep in his jacket pockets, and you can see the nervous twitch of his fingers beneath the fabric.

You snort, not taking your eyes off the fire. “No way. They’ll think it was an electrical fault or something. We were careful.”

“We weren’t that careful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, biting his lip. “This is ... this is insane.”

“Maybe,” you admit, leaning a little closer to him, feeling the coolness of the night brushing against your skin in contrast to the heat radiating from the fire. “But what were we supposed to do? Just sit back and let them throw you out? Nine races left, and they think they can just-”

Logan cuts you off, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s not just the races. It’s everything. It’s like ... they’re saying I’m not good enough, that I never was.”

You turn to face him, your heart squeezing in your chest. He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed on the fire like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Logan, that’s bullshit, and you know it. You are good enough. They’re just too blind to see it.”

“Am I, though?” He finally meets your gaze, and you can see the doubt etched into every line of his face. “I mean, if I was, they wouldn’t be dropping me, right?”

You sigh, frustration bubbling up inside you. “This isn’t about your talent. This is about politics, money, and a bunch of old men who can’t see past their spreadsheets. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment, just watching the flames as they start to consume the upper floor. “So, we burn down his house?”

You shrug, a small, defiant smile playing on your lips. “Sometimes you’ve got to make a statement.”

Logan shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it.”

His eyes soften, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Yeah. I do.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours. His fingers are cold, trembling slightly as they curl around yours. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? You’re not done. Not even close.”

“Tell that to the team that just replaced me with a kid from F2,” he mutters, but there’s less bite in his words now, more weariness than anger.

“They’ll regret it,” you say firmly. “They’ll be watching from the back of the grid while you’re out there somewhere proving them wrong.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear him.

“You will.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to absorb your confidence, to borrow just a little of the fire that keeps you burning so brightly. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know you,” you say simply, squeezing his hand. “And I know that you’re going to fight like hell to get back on the track. And when you do, they’ll all see what they lost.”

Logan takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Only because I’m right.”

He laughs again, a real laugh this time, and it warms you more than the fire ever could. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable enough to commit a little arson as a treat?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

His smile fades a little, and he looks back at the house, the flames now licking at the roof. “You really think we’re going to get away with this?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Even if we don’t, what are they going to do? Kick you off the team you’re already off of? We’ve got nothing to lose.”

“I’ve got you to lose,” he says softly, his grip on your hand tightening.

Your heart skips a beat, and you swallow hard. “You won’t lose me. Ever.”

He turns to you fully now, the fire forgotten, his eyes searching yours. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

For a moment, the world shrinks down to just the two of you, standing together in the night, hands clasped, hearts beating in time. The fire is a distant roar in the background, a symbol of the chaos that’s been following you both for weeks, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside Logan, the one you’re trying so hard to calm.

“So,” he says, his voice a little lighter, “what’s the plan? We just walk away?”

“Pretty much,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

He hesitates, glancing back at the house one last time. “No ... I guess that’s all we can do.”

“Good. Because I’m starving, and I’m thinking burgers.”

Logan blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Burgers? We just committed a felony, and you want to go get burgers?”

“Don’t you?”

He stares at you, then shakes his head with a disbelieving grin. “You’re insane.”

“I’m hungry. Big difference.”

Logan chuckles, the tension in his shoulders finally easing as he lets out a long breath. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, squeezing your hand again. “I really do.”

You smile, pulling him away from the sight of the burning house, guiding him down the street like it’s just any other night and you’re just two people out for a walk. “Come on, there’s a place a few blocks over that makes the best burgers.”

Logan falls into step beside you, the smell of smoke fading as you put more distance between yourselves and the scene of the crime. “I’m still on a diet plan, you know. Think they’ll have something that fits?”

“Probably not,” you admit with a grin. “But I’m sure we can figure it out.”

He laughs again, a sound that makes your heart swell. “You’re seriously insane.”

“Maybe. But you love me for it.”

He shakes his head, his smile softening into something more tender. “Yeah. I do.”

As you walk together, hand in hand, you can feel the weight lifting off Logan’s shoulders. It’s not gone entirely — it won’t be, not for a long time — but for now, in this moment, it’s lighter. And that’s enough.

“So, what do we do after the burgers?” He asks, his voice casual but laced with something deeper, something that says he’s already thinking about the future, about what comes next.

“After the burgers,” you repeat, pretending to think it over. “We find a way to get you back on that track.”

Logan glances at you, surprised. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“Never,” you say firmly. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to prove them wrong.”

He’s silent for a moment, then nods. “Okay. What’s the plan?”

“First, we get you back in a car. Then, we show them what they’re missing.”

“And how do we do that?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “One step at a time. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t be stupid. You deserve everything.”

He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in it, like he’s not quite sure he believes you. “I just ... I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “You never have.”

Logan doesn’t respond, just pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walk. The night is quiet now, the fire just a faint glow in the distance, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a sense of peace between you.

“Burgers sound good,” he says after a while, his voice warm and content.

“Yeah?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah. And then maybe we can figure out that plan of yours.”

You grin. “Deal.”

As you walk, the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you, together against the odds, against the world. And in that moment, you know that no matter what happens next, you’ll face it together.

The fire is behind you, but the real battle is just beginning. And as long as you have each other, you know you can win.

[sheaabuttaababyy]

Put on a show- JU

Jey x Lakiyah

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, flirting

You can read my other fics here

It was a warm summer afternoon as Joshua leaned against his car, adjusting his oversized Jorts that hung low on his hips, as usual. his chain glint in the sun, as his white tank, showing off his tatted muscular arms. His eyes focused on

Lakiyah.

His neighbour.

She was always so effortlessly confident— moving through the world like she owned it. Always catching her across the street, with her big gold earrings shining, her wrists weighed down with chunky gold bangles, fingers decorated with rings. Her style was always on point— low rise jeans, cropped shirts, a seductive aura that made every man’s head turn.

She was a kind of woman who didn’t have to try. They’d exchanged plenty of flirtatious glances and teasing words over the months, but that was about it. Nothing serious. Just the kind of playful banter that hung in the air. A "good morning, you looking good today," or a teasing wink as she passed by his front porch. Their silent connection had been enough to keep his mind occupied, and if he was being honest, he’d spent more time thinking about her than he cared to admit.

Today was different though.

When Joshua stepped out his house, stretching, the heat of the day setting in. And that’s when he saw her.

Lakiyah was out In her driveway, washing her car. She was bent over, back arched, her denim shorts so short that they barley covered her thick ass, leaving just enough to tease. And the way she was scrubbing the car? It was almost like she was putting on a show, for him. Every time she moved, body moving fluid and effortless, made his pulse quicken. He tried not to stare, but it was hard not to when she was right there, her drenched body, long legs and curves hypnotizing him.

Her white crop tank top was sticking to her skin, wet from the soapy water, and the way it clung to her body left nothing to the imagination. He couldn’t stop himself noticing the way her hard pierced nipples poked hard and visible beneath the thin see - through fabric. Josh’s pants became uncomfortably tight, his breath catching his throat.

She must’ve felt his eyes on her because, without a beat, Lakiyah turned her head, catching his gaze. Her lips curled into a smile, that familiar, mischievous smile. Josh could see the flicker of amusement In her eyes as she looked at him up and down.

"Like what you see?" Facing fully towards him leaning her palms behind her on the hood of the car.

Joshua smirked, crossing his tatted arms over his chest. "I do. But you already knew that"

Lakiyah’s smile only grew, and then she did something that made his heart race. A curl of her finger, the kind that could only mean one thing.

Come here.

He didn’t even hesitate. His steps were slow, as he crossed the short distance between them. The air Between them was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that’s been building for months. And now? Now it felt like it was going to break, wide open.

She didn’t move as he reached her, standing there, watching him with that same knowing smile on her lips. The way she looked up at him, her chocolate brown eyes full of fire, made his body tingle. He wanted her. Bad.

"So you’ve been watching me, huh?" Lakiyah teased, stepping closer to him, her breasts brushing against his hard chest. The heat of her skin sending a jolt through him, and she noticed. Her lips parted slightly, like she was enjoying every second of his reaction.

"I can’t help it" he murmured, voice low and raspy. "You make it hard not to"

She giggled, a sound that went straight to his dick. "Yeah? Well, now that you’re here, why don’t you help me out?" Her hand slipped up his chest, her nails brushing against his shirt, and then she tilted her head, gripping his chain tugging him forward, her voice a sultry whisper. "Come on inside…I’ve had a issue with a leakage, maybe you can take a look and fix it"

Lakiyah didn’t wait for him to respond, grabbing his hand she turned around, walking slowly toward her house with a slow, seductive sway to her hips. Every step she took caused her ass to jiggled, as Joshua watched every movement of her body. His body on fire as she led them in.

As soon as that door clicked shut behind them, Joshua felt his body get pushed against it, trapping him between the door and herself. His heart thumping as she gazed up at him.

"Been waiting for this" she whispered, stepping closer, lips brushing against his ear. "You’ve been staring at me for months baby… now it’s time to see how much you want me"

Not being able to hold back anymore he gripped the back of her damp thighs lifting her up, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist as she let out a gasp at the sudden motion. His lips crashed against hers into a heated kiss, their tongues clashing as her arms wrapped around his neck gripping a fist full of his hair.

"Been wanting to kiss these lips forever" he spoke against her lips and she moaned at his words.

"I wanna taste you"

Lakiyah pulled away smiling, standing back on her feet. She walked towards the open kitchen, where the marble island was. Slowly she pulled her shorts down her body along with the black thong, bending over a little just so Joshua could get a peek at her pussy lips, before taking off the thin piece of fabric, showing her pierced nipples.

She hopped on the counter, spreading her legs apart slowly, exposing her glistening cunt to him.

He blinked, not believing this was happening right now. The neighbour he’s been attracted to for months is here naked for him. His dick was rock hard.

"Come here baby. You said you wanted to taste me? Go ahead then" she giggled spreading her lower lips apart.

He walked to her, dropping down on his knees. Without another word he dove right in, groaning at the sweet taste of her. "Oooh shit" she whimpered gripping his hair as he devoured her like a starved man. His thick tongue flicking at her clit, before dipping inside her hole. "Fuck Joshua, you eating this pussy so good" pushing the hair that came loose from his bun back, his eyes set on her as he continued to eat.

He stopped just for a second to put two fingers in her, his eyes watching her react to what he was doing to her. "You taste so fucking good kiyah, pussy so fucking wet" the sound of his fingers thrusting in and out was so loud. His tongue came back onto he clit, sucking it softly into his mouth causing her back to arch, slightly thrusting her hips against his face.

"Oh shit I’m coming." His lips sealed tighter around her bud, his fingers moving faster, greedy to taste everything she had to offer him.

With a loud moan she came. Gushing against his fingers and face as he happily lapped it up.

She sighed as Josh came from between her legs, face wet and messy with her juices. She laughed lightly, gripping his face lazily, pulling him close to her. Her tongue darted out licking the remaining juices around his mouth.

"Look at you. Ate my pussy so greedily don’t even know where I’ve been. Your such a nasty boy Fatu."

"I’m your nasty boy" he moaned out wrapping his lips around her pierced nipple.

"Yeah? Come on and fuck this pussy then" her hands reached for his pants tugging them down. She bit her lip seeing the size of him, and hummed. Thick with a slight curve.

She spit in her hand, holding it out to him so he could spit into it too. Spitting onto it, she placed their mixed saliva on his dick, jerking him off. "Ahh shit" he groaned leaning his head onto her shoulder. Spreading her legs she guided him to her entrance, teasing his tip on her clit.

They both moaned out as she pushed the head of his dick into her, stretching her out, taking a deep breath as she pushed him into her.

"Oooh shit, your big" hissing a little at the stretch as they both watched it going fully into her. He let her adjust before, pulling back a bit. He thrusted into her, as she yelped.

He repeated the motion, wrapping a hand around her neck, the other gripping a hand full of her ass, right leg wrapped around his waist. "Yes fuck me just like that" Lakiyah moaned straightening up, wrapping her arms around him, matching his thrusts.

"Your pussy so good Kiyah, you gone get me even more obsessed" both hands gripped her ass, lifting her off the counter, bouncing her on his dick, titties jumping up and down in his face.

"Look at you making a mess on me mama" she leaned back, arms still around him so she didn’t fall, as they looked at the creamy, wet, beautiful mess between them. Her cunt clamping around him tightly.

"You gone make me nut, fuck Kiyah" he groaned bouncing her on him faster. "Me too Joshua, fuck" she came with a scream, squirting all over his lower half and onto her wooden floor.

"Fuck, fuck. Where you want it mama?" He asked his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"In me." She murmured against his ear, biting it. His body shuttered, stumbling over back to the counter, leaning her against it as he came deep inside her.

"Whew shit" he breathed out kissing her lips. "I think I fixed that leak" playfully nibbling her neck and they both laughed.

🏷 @charmed-dreamssss @usoinked @mselenalovebug @theusotwinzcom @bloodlineslut @trippinsorrows @catxo @whowrotethenote @uceyliyahh @adoreesun @christinabae @mjonthetrack @4milly @punksyeet @luvrsluxe

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Could you do a benedict bridgerton x wife reader where she's having a bath when benedict interrupts and joins her

Steamy

Benedict Bridgerton x wife fem reader

Benedict arrived home later than usual that evening, the weight of the day’s engagements still lingering on his shoulders. As he walked through the grand hallways of Bridgerton House, the flickering candlelight cast playful shadows on the walls, creating a soothing atmosphere that promised respite from the bustling world outside.

His thoughts drifted to his wife, Y/N. Her laughter, her smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited all these memories brought a gentle smile to his lips. He couldn’t wait to see her, to hold her in his arms and let the world fade away.

Benedict made his way upstairs, his footsteps soft on the polished wood floors. As he approached their private quarters, he noticed a faint, melodic sound. It was the gentle splash of water, accompanied by a soft hum. He pushed the door open quietly and stepped inside.

There she was, Y/N, sitting in the clawfoot bathtub, her eyes closed and a serene expression on her face. The room was warm, the air filled with the delicate scent of lavender and rose petals that floated on the water’s surface. Candles placed strategically around the room bathed everything in a golden glow, making the scene almost ethereal.

Benedict’s breath caught in his throat. He stood there for a moment, just watching her, entranced by her beauty and the tranquility of the scene. Y/N opened her eyes and smiled when she saw him, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“Good evening, my love,” she said softly.

Benedict’s smile widened as he walked over to the tub. “Good evening, darling,” he replied, his voice low and filled with affection.

Without another word, he began to undress, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N’s gaze followed his movements, a mix of curiosity and desire in her eyes. As he removed the last of his clothing, he stepped into the tub, the warm water enveloping him.

He settled behind her, pulling her close so that her back rested against his chest. She sighed contentedly, leaning into him as his arms wrapped around her. They sat like that for a moment, enjoying the closeness, the feel of each other.

“Benedict,” Y/N murmured, her voice a mere whisper.

“Yes, my love?” he replied, his lips brushing against her ear.

She turned her head slightly to look at him, her eyes dark with desire. “I’ve missed you.”

Benedict’s heart swelled with love and longing. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I’ve missed you too, more than words can say.”

Their lips met in a gentle kiss, a slow exploration that quickly turned passionate. Benedict’s hands roamed over her body, caressing her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

The steam from the bath began to fog up the windows, creating an intimate cocoon that shut out the world. The heat of the water and their rising passion mingled, making the air thick and charged with electricity.

Benedict’s lips trailed down her neck, eliciting soft moans from Y/N. He could feel her heartbeat quicken, matching his own. Their hands moved with increasing urgency, exploring, teasing, igniting a fire that consumed them both.

Y/N turned in his arms, straddling his lap, her eyes locked onto his. There was a moment of stillness, a shared breath, before they came together in a fervent embrace. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a dance of love and desire.

The water sloshed around them, spilling over the edge of the tub, but they paid no mind. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other. The windows were now completely fogged up, the room filled with the sounds of their passion.

Time seemed to stand still as they reached the peak of their desire, their cries of pleasure echoing softly in the steamy room. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling with the intensity of their release.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, they remained entwined, their breaths mingling, their hearts beating as one. Benedict pressed a tender kiss to Y/N’s forehead, his fingers gently stroking her back.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“I love you too, Benedict,” she replied, her eyes shining with tears of happiness.

Eventually, they reluctantly left the tub, the chill of the air sending a small shiver through Y/N. Benedict, ever attentive, quickly wrapped a plush towel around her, his hands moving gently as he dried her off.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” he said softly, guiding her to the bed.

He retrieved her nightgown, a soft, silky garment that felt like a caress against the skin. Benedict helped her into it, his fingers brushing against her bare skin, sending shivers of a different kind down her spine. His touch was tender and filled with love, his gaze never wavering from hers.

Once she was dressed, Benedict guided her to lie down on the bed, her muscles already beginning to relax. He straddled her hips, his strong hands starting to knead the tension from her shoulders. His thumbs worked into the knots with practiced ease, eliciting a deep sigh of contentment from Y/N.

“You’re so good to me,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as she let the sensation of his hands work their magic.

“You deserve nothing less,” Benedict replied, his voice low and soothing.

His hands moved down her back, working out every bit of tension, every stress of the day. The warmth of his touch seeped into her muscles, relaxing her completely. Y/N felt as though she was melting under his ministrations, her body becoming languid and heavy with contentment.

As he finished, Benedict leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her neck. “How do you feel, my love?”

“Wonderful,” she whispered, turning her head to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

He smiled against her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. “Good. Now, let’s get some rest.”

He lay down beside her, pulling her into his arms. They fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle, their bodies molding to each other as if they were made to be together. As they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, Benedict couldn’t help but feel grateful for the life they had built together.

And with that comforting thought, he drifted off to sleep, holding the woman he loved more than anything in the world.

[ms-snape]

You know how some people don’t know their true strength? Imagine severus arguing with y/n and they’re still freshly dating and he slams his hand on the desk and things fall off because his fit was too strong and y/n kind of flinched and uncomfortable stepped back from him

Title: Control

Warning: angst

Words Count: 1500+

Masterlist

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The house was still and quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire. The room, once full of warmth and comfort, now felt suffocating. The soft glow from the hearth cast long shadows on the walls, the orange flicker reflecting the heaviness that settled over the small space. It was late—later than either of them usually stayed awake—but neither seemed to notice the time. Severus Snape sat hunched over his desk, his quill moving mechanically across a piece of parchment, its faint scratching the only sound in the room.

Yn sat at the far end of the room, her tea now cold beside her. Her fingers traced the rim of the cup absently, her gaze fixed on Severus’ hunched figure. She had been watching him for hours now, noticing how distant he seemed, how lost in whatever battle was raging inside his mind. She had tried to reach out to him, tried to ask him what was wrong, but every time she approached, it was like hitting a wall.

There was a coldness to him tonight. A sharp edge to his words whenever they did speak, a stiffness in his posture that suggested he was battling with something dark, something he was desperate to keep buried. But Yn knew him better than that. She knew that whatever it was, it was tearing him apart from the inside, and no matter how much she wanted to help, no matter how much she needed to pull him back from the abyss, he was determined to face it alone.

Her thoughts drifted again, and she sighed softly, her eyes tracing the curve of his back. The air between them had been thick with tension for days. She could feel the distance growing, like an invisible chasm that neither of them knew how to cross. It had been there before—this quiet, suffocating silence. But never like this. Not like this.

"Severus," she said softly, her voice breaking the stillness. "You’ve been working for hours. Don’t you think you should take a break?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his quill continuing to dance across the parchment. It was as though he didn’t even hear her. But she could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched in frustration. Finally, after a long pause, he set the quill down with deliberate slowness, and without looking at her, he spoke in a voice that was as cold and distant as his eyes.

“I don’t need a break, Yn. I have work to do.”

His words stung, and she felt a cold, empty weight settle in her chest. She knew better than to push him when he was like this, but she couldn’t help herself. The fear of losing him—of losing the connection they once shared—gnawed at her insides.

“Severus,” she said again, her voice stronger this time, though still filled with concern. “We both know you’re not just buried in work. You’ve been shutting me out for days. And I don’t know what’s happening, but I need you to tell me. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He froze at her words, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to pick up the quill again, to bury himself in the endless task in front of him. But he didn’t. Instead, he slowly turned his head toward her, his gaze dark and unreadable. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—a storm of emotions—but they quickly disappeared, masked by the cold, indifferent mask he had spent years perfecting.

“You think I want to burden you with my problems?” His voice was low, dangerously calm. "Do you think you can fix me? I don’t need fixing, Yn.”

The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, she was frozen. Her chest tightened, and her hands trembled slightly. “I’m not trying to fix you, Severus,” she said quietly, her voice shaking. “I’m trying to be here for you. To help you. To... be with you. But you won’t let me. You won’t let me in.”

There was a beat of silence, and she could see his shoulders stiffen, his jaw tightening, a flicker of something dark crossing his face. He didn’t speak immediately, but she could tell that her words had struck a nerve. He looked at her—really looked at her—and for a brief moment, there was a tenderness in his gaze, something she hadn’t seen in days.

But that tenderness was quickly replaced by the cold hardness that had taken root in him.

“I don’t need help,” he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I’ve survived this long without anyone’s help. I don’t need anyone.”

Her heart ached at his words, the depth of his isolation sinking deep into her chest. How could he not see it? How could he not see that he was pushing her away, that the walls he was building between them were slowly destroying the very thing they had fought so hard to build? She took a step toward him, her breath quickening, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Severus, please... let me in. Please... I can’t help if you keep shutting me out.”

He rose abruptly from his chair, the movement so sudden that it startled her. She took an instinctive step back, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Stop it,” he snapped, his voice sharp. “Stop trying to fix me, stop pretending like you understand. You don’t.”

The words were like a slap to her face, and her chest tightened painfully. The anger in his voice, the bitterness—it was like an acid eating away at everything she had tried to build between them. Her eyes stung with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

“I’m not pretending,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m not pretending, Severus. I just want to be here for you. I don’t want to lose you.”

His eyes darkened, and he stepped back, as though her words physically repelled him.

“You’ve already lost me,” he whispered, the words cutting deeper than any physical blow.

Her heart stopped. She felt like she had been punched in the gut, the breath stolen from her lungs. She had expected harsh words, yes. But this—this was different. This was final. She had never heard him speak so harshly, with such coldness, with such… finality.

And before she could respond, before she could even process what he had just said, his hand slammed onto the desk. The sound of it echoed in the small room, and she flinched. Her heart raced in her chest, and for the briefest moment, she thought he might strike her. The thought took her breath away, and her body reacted instinctively. She stumbled back, her hands raised defensively in front of her, eyes wide with shock.

Her fear was palpable, and Severus saw it immediately. The look on her face—the way she recoiled from him, the way her breath caught in her throat—it hit him like a wave. His stomach dropped, and a cold, bitter regret spread through him like poison.

He had gone too far. He had let the anger, the frustration, the shame consume him, and in doing so, he had shattered something precious. The look of terror in her eyes made his blood run cold.

He stepped back, his hands shaking as he rubbed his face, his head bowed in shame. “Yn, I... I didn’t... I never meant to...”

But his words faltered. She was still standing there, frozen, her body trembling as if she were afraid to move. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths, and he could see the way her eyes flickered with confusion, with hurt, with something deeper—something that he knew he had caused.

“I thought...” Her voice was barely a whisper, her eyes distant, as if the fear had taken her somewhere else entirely. “I thought you were going to hurt me....”

The words hung in the air between them, thick and suffocating. The raw, painful truth of what she had feared—the thing he had never wanted to be—was now out in the open. And he couldn’t take it back.

“I would never...” he whispered, his voice raw with regret. “I swear to you, Yn, I would never hurt you. But I... I don’t know what I’ve become.”

Her hands were still trembling as she wiped away a tear, but her eyes never left his. “Then why did you leave me with nothing but fear?” she asked, her voice breaking.

The question stung him worse than any curse. He had no answer for her. No justification. All he could do was stand there, broken and regretful, silently wishing he could undo the damage.

Without saying another word, Severus turned and walked to the door. His heart was heavy, burdened with the weight of his mistakes. He had never wanted to hurt her, but his rage, his shame, had clouded his judgment. And now, as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold night, the loneliness pressed in around him. The guilt weighed on him like a thousand stones.

He needed time to think, to process. To understand what he had done. But as the door clicked shut behind him, a deep, hollow emptiness filled the space where once there had been something more.

Yn stood alone in the dimly lit room, her body trembling, her mind reeling. She didn’t know how long she stood there, lost in the silence, in the fear and hurt that had taken root in her heart. Her mind screamed at her to reach out, to run after him, to beg him to come back. But a part of her knew that he needed this. He needed space.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, the soft murmurs of the flames mocking the brokenness that had settled between them.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 14

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 8k

Trigger warning; fluff hehe

notes; What's up everyone, back again this week for a new chapter. This is one is cute, really cute but it was a pain in the ass to write after everything that happened in the previous one lol. either way, i hope that everyone is doing well. i have not much to say this week beside that i wish you will have a great time reading this chapter. See you next time <3333

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After a moment, the two of you left the garden, the cold air biting at your skin but doing nothing to dispel the warmth that seemed to radiate between you and Azriel. His shadows lingered around you like a protective veil, their faint touch against your skin a constant reminder of his presence. His hand was warm in yours, his thumb brushing softly over your palm in slow, soothing strokes. 

As you walked back toward the house, you cast a glance over your shoulder at the garden. The snow had already covered the imprint of where you had knelt together, erasing any sign of the moment that had passed. It was as though it had never happened, yet you felt it etched deeply into your heart, a memory that would never fade.

The house was calm when you stepped inside. The dining table had been cleared, and the soft glow of the fire in the living room, accompanied by a few flickering candles, bathed the space in a comforting warmth. The echoes of laughter and conversation from earlier were gone, replaced by a serene stillness. It felt as though the house, too, had exhaled and settled for the night.

Without speaking, the two of you climbed the stairs, your hands still entwined. The gesture felt natural, grounding, and neither of you let go. When you reached Azriel’s room, it felt as though your feet had guided you there instinctively, and you stood together just inside the doorway.

You exhaled softly, your shoulders sagging as though the weight of the night had finally lifted. “I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that before,” you admitted, your voice tinged with both humor and lingering emotion.

Azriel’s worried gaze softened, and he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. He kissed each of your closed eyelids, the gesture so tender it made your breath catch. “Are you okay with staying here tonight?” he asked, his tone careful, as though he didn’t want to push.

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Ah, yes. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Why would I mind?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your chest loosening as he turned toward the wardrobe. After a moment of rifling through his clothes, he pulled out a large, soft shirt and handed it to you. “You can change here if you want,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll step out to the bathroom.”

The simplicity of the gesture, the quiet respect in his tone, made you smile as you accepted the shirt. “Thank you.”

Azriel nodded and stepped toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back, his golden eyes searching yours for a moment as though reassuring himself that you were truly okay. Then, with a quiet click, the door shut behind him, leaving you alone in the room.

You looked around the space, noting the minimal yet thoughtful touches—books neatly stacked on the shelves, the faint scent of cedar and something distinctly Azriel lingering in the air. You ran your fingers over the shirt in your hands, a soft laugh escaping you as you thought about how surreal the night had been.

The house was silent, the snow outside continuing to fall, but in this moment, wrapped in the calm and warmth of Azriel’s room, you felt... safe.

You quickly changed, the oversized shirt draping comfortably over you, and the scent of Azriel surrounding you felt like a protective cocoon. It was grounding, familiar, and it made your heart ache in the best way. A faint laugh escaped your lips as you noticed one of his shadows curling playfully through your hair, tickling your nose.

Stepping toward the window, you gazed out at Velaris, a city that looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a dream. The soft glow of lanterns dotted the streets below, casting a golden hue over the cobblestone paths that wound between the elegant, timeless buildings. The Sidra sparkled under the moonlight, its waters calm and steady, mirroring the endless expanse of stars above. The sky was impossibly clear, the constellations vivid and bright as if painted by some celestial artist. Everything about the view felt magical, like a promise of serenity in a world too often filled with chaos. For a moment, it was as though the looming threats had vanished, replaced by this pocket of quiet perfection. No war, no god of death, no impossible decisions. Just peace. A fleeting, precious peace.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt him—Azriel’s presence was unmistakable. His arms slipped around your waist, pulling you gently back against him. The weight of his touch was grounding, steady, as if he was trying to anchor you to this moment. One hand rested firmly on your shoulder, his thumb brushing a light, comforting arc against your skin. The other circled you protectively, holding you close to him. His warmth seeped into you, chasing away the lingering chill of the evening.

You leaned back into his chest, letting out a soft sigh as his face came to rest against your shoulder. The light scrape of his stubble brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his embrace held only comfort. It was intimate, but not demanding, as though he was content simply to be close to you. You closed your eyes briefly, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing calm the storm in your mind.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly, his voice low and velvety, carrying a weight of concern and curiosity.

You hesitated before answering, your gaze still fixed on the peaceful cityscape. “Everything feels so calm, so peaceful,” you admitted. “Like nothing is coming for us. Like I can just... breathe. It feels strange—almost wrong—to feel this safe.”

You felt his gaze on you, steady and unwavering, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of your face under the soft glow of the moonlight. His presence behind you was grounding, a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone in the chaos of your thoughts. Slowly, you turned in his embrace, meeting his eyes.

And oh, those eyes. They held so much—concern, yes, but also something raw and vulnerable. Admiration, reverence, and something deeper still, something that made your heart ache with its intensity. It wasn’t just affection; it was understanding, a quiet acceptance of everything you were, even the pieces you struggled to accept yourself. The bond between you hummed softly, pulling you closer in ways you couldn’t resist.

Before you even realized what you were doing, you kissed him.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but deliberate, charged with an intensity that made your heart race. It was as though every word unsaid between you both poured into this single, searing moment. The bond thrummed stronger now, pulsing like a heartbeat, drawing you so close that the very act of breathing felt like a betrayal of the closeness you craved.

Azriel’s hands moved to your back, his touch firm yet tender as if afraid to let you go. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer, and the kiss deepened. It was intoxicating—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his body pressed to you, the way his scent enveloped you completely.

In one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground as though you weighed nothing. A small, surprised sound escaped your lips, and he smiled against your mouth. The gesture was fleeting but enough to send a shiver through you, softening the intensity just enough to remind you of the person behind all this strength.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, the world tilting as he carried you. His hands settled on your thighs, steadying you as he sat on the edge of the bed, his wings spreading slightly behind him for balance. The kiss didn’t falter. If anything, it grew more fervent, his lips claiming yours with a quiet desperation that mirrored the feelings you couldn’t yet bring yourself to name.

Straddling his lap, you cupped his face with trembling hands, your thumbs brushing against the sharp planes of his cheekbones. You broke the kiss, just barely, your foreheads pressed together as you both caught your breath. The silence was thick with emotion, the bond between you humming so loudly it felt like a third presence in the room.

Azriel’s eyes searched yours, his golden gaze filled with something you couldn’t quite place. A flicker of worry crossed his features, as if he was afraid this moment would shatter.

You shook your head softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. You cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing gently over his skin. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

And in that moment, his entire world shifted. The way you looked at him—with love so unfiltered, so honest—made his breath hitch. He had spent centuries yearning for something like this, for someone to see him, all of him, and not flinch. To accept him, scars and all.

He kissed you again, this time slower, softer, but no less intense. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, a quiet declaration of everything he couldn’t yet put into words. His shadows curled around you like a cocoon, warm and protective, as if they, too, were trying to tell you what he couldn’t.

When the kiss finally broke, you both lingered there, your foreheads touching, breaths mingling. His hands rested on your waist, anchoring you in place, while yours tangled gently in his hair. The world outside the room seemed to cease to exist, leaving only the two of you in this stolen moment of peace.

Azriel gently turned you both, and you found yourselves lying on the bed next to each other, tangled in each other's arms. His fingers traced delicate, reassuring patterns on your back as he pressed soft kisses to your mouth, your forehead, your cheeks, and even the corners of your closed eyes. Each touch felt like a silent promise, as if he was ensuring that you were truly there, in his arms, in his bed, with him.

“Stop it, that tickles,” you murmured with a small laugh, squirming slightly under the light press of his lips.

He raised his head, a smile playing at his lips as he looked down at you, golden eyes warm and full of quiet amusement. “Does it?” he teased, chuckling softly.

“Absolutely,” you replied with a grin, your laughter filling the quiet room.

The intimacy of the moment felt right, but doing anything more tonight felt premature for both of you. The bond, the emotions of the evening—it was too much, too raw, too fresh. You both needed to let the night settle, to breathe and process before taking another step forward.

Azriel shifted, resting his head against your chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wanted to let go. Your fingers found their way into his hair, softly threading through the dark strands. For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel felt completely at ease, the tension that usually resided in his body dissolving into your embrace.

“Are you hugging me like that because you want to feel my heartbeat,” you asked, voice tinged with playful mischief, “or because you like being in my boobs?”

His head snapped up, his golden eyes wide with surprise. “What?” he exclaimed, the disbelief clear in his tone.

You winked at him, laughter bubbling out of you. He stared at you for a moment before a grin broke across his face, and he began laughing with you.

“Both,” he finally admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

“Both?” you repeated, feigning shock, your grin widening.

“Yes, Y/N. Both,” he said firmly, his laughter softening into a contented smile.

As the laughter faded, your breathing became slower, softer. Azriel felt your hand still in his hair, your body relaxing fully against his. He tilted his head slightly to look at you, seeing your features softened in sleep. The sight sent a quiet pang through his chest—how lucky he was to have you here, to have this moment.

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, and then he felt the gentle brush of Rhysand’s presence against his mind. He let him in without hesitation.

How is she doing? Rhysand’s voice was quiet but full of concern.

Azriel hesitated before answering. It’s a lot, he admitted. And knowing her, she’s trying to process everything as quickly as possible so it affects her the least. But for now... she’s okay.

Good, Rhys replied, his tone firm but kind. I’m sure you won’t need my help for the moment, but if you both need anything, Az, please let me know.

Azriel paused, feeling a faint warmth in his chest at Rhys’s offer. Thanks, brother, he said softly, and he felt Rhysand’s reaction—an unspoken acknowledgment of the term—as the connection faded.

Azriel’s shadows curled protectively around the two of you, their touch gentle and comforting. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, settling further into the warmth of your presence. In that moment, with you in his arms and the world outside forgotten, he allowed himself to truly rest.

You stirred gently, the weight of Azriel’s arm draped over you grounding you in a way that made your chest ache with unfamiliar comfort. His embrace was firm yet tender, as though even in sleep, he feared you might slip away. Your head rested against his chest, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of him enveloping you. His scent lingered around you, rich and comforting, mingling with the faint, familiar smell of his room.

The sunlight creeping into the room was soft and golden, casting delicate patterns over the walls and the bed. It spilled through the curtains, brushing against your face like a whispered reminder that morning had come. The city outside was just beginning to wake, its quiet hum blending seamlessly with the steady rhythm of Azriel’s heartbeat.

Your gaze wandered, taking in the relaxed expression on Azriel’s face. In sleep, he looked so different—his brow smooth, the faint shadows under his eyes softened. His lips were slightly parted, and his hair was mussed from where you had run your fingers through it the night before. He looked peaceful, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

You raised your hand slowly, careful not to wake him, and watched as the sunlight caught the edges of your fingers. Azriel’s shadows, ever curious, danced around your hand, their movements gentle and almost playful. A small, tired smile tugged at your lips, the contrast between the light and shadow a quiet reminder of the bond you shared.

The past few days had been a whirlwind. Azriel discovering the bond, Elain’s vision, the attack on your way back from Dawn—it all felt like too much. Even for you, someone used to balancing on the edge of chaos, this was overwhelming. And yet, here you were, lying in the arms of the person who had unknowingly become your anchor.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you let your gaze drift back to the sunlit room. What were you supposed to do now? Pretend you hadn’t seen what Elain had seen? Ignore the ominous shadow of the future looming over you? It was an option, sure, but it was far from an easy one. The perpetual threat of what was coming made it impossible to fully relax, even in moments like this.

You let your hand fall back to rest lightly on Azriel’s arm, your fingers brushing against his skin. His shadows seemed to respond to the movement, curling protectively around you both, as though they, too, were trying to shield you from the weight of it all.

For now, you told yourself, you could take this moment. Just this brief, fleeting moment of peace in the arms of someone who had become so much more than you had ever expected. The world outside could wait, if only for a little while longer.

Azriel shifted in his sleep, his arm tightening around you as his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and the lazy movement made your heart flutter.

“Good morning,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

He mumbled something incoherent in response, the sound low and gravelly, which only made your smile widen. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, his soft strands tangling around your fingers. The small motion seemed to comfort him, his hold on you firm yet tender.

You thought you could stay like this forever, wrapped in his warmth and the quiet safety he provided. Azriel seemed to drift back to sleep for a moment, his breathing evening out against your neck. But soon, he shifted again, his face lifting to yours. His sleepy golden eyes met yours briefly before he leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and unhurried.

It was a simple gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you. You leaned into it before pulling away gently, stretching your arms above your head as you sat up. The morning light illuminated the room, and you were acutely aware of your messy hair and puffy face from the night before.

Azriel didn’t seem to care. He was still lying on his side, propped up on one elbow as he watched you. His gaze was so soft, so unguarded, that it made your chest ache.

“What are you doing today?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

You combed your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the wild strands. “I’m probably going to finish working on the last files you brought me last time. I forgot them here and didn’t had the time to come and get them. So I’m a bit late. Before lunch, I should head back to the clinic to check on things. If Elain is feeling better, I might examine her by the end of the afternoon or tomorrow, depending on how busy things are. Honestly, probably tomorrow. You ?”

Azriel nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve got a few reports to go through and some meetings with Rhys and my spies. Tomorrow, I’ll need to head to Hewn City, so we’ll need to prepare for that.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused at the nonchalant way he mentioned visiting one of the most dreadful places in the Night Court. “Sounds delightful,” you teased, earning a soft chuckle from him.

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you, his shadows swirling lazily around his shoulders. “Are we seeing each other tonight?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Well, it depends on my schedule,” you said with a playful smirk. “But I should be able to pencil you in.”

His lips quirked up at the corner. “Generous of you,” he replied dryly. “We could go out in Velaris, or stay in and do something here. Whatever works for you.”

The thought of spending a quiet evening walking through Velaris filled you with a sense of warmth. “Walking around Velaris sounds nice,” you decided, your smile softening.

Azriel remained on the bed, his gaze following your every move as you stood and leaned over him. Your hair fell in a curtain around your face, brushing against his cheek as you kissed him again. It was sweet and lingering, and when you pulled away, you noticed the way his shadows curled gently around your wrists, as if reluctant to let you go.

You stepped out of the bed, collecting your clothes from the night before since they were the only ones you had. As you moved around the room, you couldn’t help but notice Azriel’s gaze following you, his golden eyes filled with a quiet intensity that made your cheeks warm. You ducked into the bathroom, trying to shake off the flutter in your chest as you got dressed and washed up.

When you came back into the room, Azriel was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair slightly tousled, and his shadows swirling lazily around him. He looked up at you with a soft smile.

“Hungry?” he asked, standing as you approached.

“A bit,” you admitted.

“Good,” he said, already heading toward the door. “Let’s get breakfast before you leave.”

You followed him down to the kitchen, where the quiet warmth of the townhouse enveloped you. Azriel moved to the counter, rolling up his sleeves as he started to prepare something. You took a seat at the kitchen island, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him.

“You’re cooking?” you teased, a playful lilt in your voice.

He glanced back at you, a faint smirk on his lips. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

You laughed softly and leaned forward. “So, about this trip to Hewn City—what exactly are you and Rhys hoping to accomplish?”

Azriel’s shoulders stiffened slightly at the mention of Hewn City, but he continued cracking eggs into a bowl. “There’s been some tension with the Court of Nightmares lately,” he explained. “We’re going to remind them where their loyalties should lie. Nothing too dramatic, hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With Keir, there’s no such thing as a simple conversation.”

Before Azriel could respond, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning, you saw Feyre, Rhysand, and Nyx entering the kitchen. Rhysand had Nyx cradled in his arms, the babe’s small hands clutching at his father’s shirt.

“Good morning,” Feyre greeted warmly, leaning down to hug you and kiss your cheek.

You winked at her. “Good morning.”

Rhysand shifted Nyx in his arms, giving you a sly smile. “Do you mind taking him for a bit?”

“Of course not,” you said, reaching out to take the squirming babe from him. Nyx immediately latched onto you, his tiny hands grabbing at your hair with a delighted gurgle.

As Azriel worked on breakfast, you balanced playing with Nyx and chatting with Feyre and Rhysand about the upcoming meeting in Hewn City. Rhysand eventually brought up the healer meeting and the detailed recap you’d provided him.

“Was it always like that?” he asked, tilting his head.

You nodded. “Pretty much, yes. Most of the time, Madja made me go instead of her to represent the Night Court.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “She did?”

“She never told you?” you asked, laughing softly at his surprised expression. “Well, besides the last hundred years—because I was on the continent, and then Amarantha happened. But usually, we either went together or I went alone.”

Azriel turned toward you with a plate of food and a steaming cup of coffee, setting them down in front of you. Feyre gently took Nyx back from your arms, giving you a chance to eat.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your eyes meeting Azriel’s as he leaned against the counter. He gave you a small nod, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he turned back to the others.

The warmth of the kitchen, the quiet hum of conversation, and the contented sounds of Nyx cooing in Feyre’s arms made the moment feel almost surreal. For the first time in days, everything felt... right.

You left the townhouse shortly after breakfast, the large stack of files balanced precariously under your arm. Feyre laughed softly as she watched you struggle, shaking her head in amusement. Azriel, leaning casually against the counter, smirked as you maneuvered toward the door.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Feyre asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

You grinned back at her. “I’ve got it, don’t worry. Just another day in the life.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re carrying enough paperwork to bury an Illyrian camp. Impressive.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Keep making fun, Shadowsinger, and I’ll add your reports to the pile.”

Both of them chuckled as you waved and made your way out the door, heading toward the clinic. The brisk air of Velaris filled your lungs as you walked through the quiet streets. Despite the weight of the files, you couldn’t help but smile at the city’s beauty, the soft buzz of life returning to normal around you.

When you arrived at the clinic, the familiar scent of herbs and the gentle hum of conversation welcomed you. Healers bustled about, patients seated in the waiting area, and the overall atmosphere felt calm and controlled. You exhaled softly, relieved to be back.

Elira spotted you first, her face lighting up as she approached. “Y/N! You’re back. How are you feeling?”

You set the stack of files down on a nearby counter, rolling your shoulders. “I’m fine. Just a little sore, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to the faint bandages peeking out from your shirt, her brows knitting together. “I saw Azriel’s wing the other day. Everything okay on the trip? We haven’t talked about it yet.”

Another healer, Aline, joined the conversation, her curious gaze darting between you and Elira. “Yes, tell us! How was the Dawn Court? Was it as beautiful as they say?”

You smiled, brushing off Elira’s concern with a wave of your hand. “Everything went fine, don’t worry. The Dawn Court was stunning—exactly as beautiful as they say, maybe even more. The palace is breathtaking, and Thesan’s hospitality is unmatched.”

Aline leaned against the counter, her eyes wide with curiosity. “I can only imagine. What about the healers? I’ve heard the Day and Summer Court healers are some of the best.”

You nodded, a warm smile on your lips. “They are. It was wonderful catching up with everyone. The collaboration between the courts has grown so much stronger over the years. It’s really inspiring to see.”

Elira tilted her head, a playful grin on her face. “And Thesan? How was he?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Still as charming and graceful as ever. He sends his regards, by the way.”

The three of you laughed, the lighthearted conversation a refreshing change after the tension of the past few days. As you discussed the various techniques and approaches you’d seen during the meeting, the healers listened eagerly, their excitement palpable.

The rest of the day passed quickly as you dove into your work, consulting with patients and organizing the files Azriel had brought you. The clinic buzzed with its usual rhythm, and for a while, you felt a sense of normalcy settle around you—a reprieve from the storm of emotions and events that had been swirling lately.

Back in your office, the organized chaos of the clinic buzzed faintly beyond the closed door. The soft light streaming in through the tall window illuminated the neat stacks of files on your desk. You pulled the chair closer, letting out a small sigh as you adjusted the lamp for better visibility. The familiar scent of herbs and parchment filled the room, grounding you as you began sorting through the documents.

Each file held the weight of decisions to be made: updates from the Dawn Court healer meeting, notes on new treatment methods shared between courts, and detailed reports from various Night Court healers. You carefully reviewed each one, annotating the margins with your thoughts and proposed actions. Your quill moved swiftly, the scratch of ink on paper blending with the faint sounds of the clinic.

Every now and then, a knock at the door would interrupt your focus. Healers popped in to ask for your opinion on a patient’s treatment plan, or to share updates on how things were progressing in the clinic. Despite the heavy workload, you welcomed these moments—they reminded you why you loved this work. Even in the chaos, there was purpose, and that purpose kept you grounded.

One particular case stood out, and you set the file down with a frown. It was from one of the Illyrian camps, detailing the ongoing challenges they faced. Supplies were running low but still manageable, and while progress had been impressive and made in spreading knowledge and materials, it wasn’t enough. Your mind wandered to Windhaven, the memories of your last visit there stirring unease in your chest. You would have to go back soon, as much as you dreaded it.

Between files, you found yourself slipping out of your office to assist in the clinic. A child with a persistent fever needed a careful examination, and an elderly woman with chronic joint pain sought relief. You moved seamlessly between tasks, your presence steady and reassuring. The healers you worked with were competent and kind, and it warmed your heart to see how well they managed everything in your absence.

Still, there was a heaviness lingering in the back of your mind. You hadn’t had time to check in on Elain yet, and the thought left an unsettling feeling in your chest. While Feyre had assured you earlier that she was resting, the memory of her vision—the way her body had convulsed and her eyes had gone stark white—clung to you. You couldn’t shake the image of what you had seen when you entered her mind, the darkness that had consumed the vision, the death it foretold.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you stared at the document in front of you. The words blurred slightly, your thoughts drifting back to the moment Elain had slapped you. It wasn’t her fault, you knew that, but the weight of it all—her vision, your role in pulling her out, and what you’d seen—pressed heavily on your shoulders.

Forcing yourself back to the present, you straightened in your chair and picked up the next file. There was too much work to be done to dwell on the unsettling feelings. But even as you worked, the nagging thought remained: you needed to check on Elain. If not today, then tomorrow. You owed her that much.

By the time you finished the last document, the sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow across the room. The clinic had quieted down, and you sat back in your chair, staring at the neatly stacked files on your desk. Progress had been made, but the unease in your chest hadn’t abated. You knew it wouldn’t—not until you addressed everything that was hanging over you.

As you finished scribbling the last note on your parchment and set it aside, the soft knock at your door caught your attention. You glanced up just as Azriel stepped in, his presence instantly filling the space with a quiet, steady warmth.

"Busy saving the world again?" he asked, a faint smirk on his lips as his eyes darted to the towering stack of completed files on your desk.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head. "Something like that," you replied with a small grin. "I guess you could say I’m trying to keep the chaos at bay."

Azriel crossed the room, his steps unhurried, and perched on the edge of your desk. "You’ve been locked in here all day, haven’t you?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Are you keeping tabs on me, Spymaster?"

"Someone has to," he teased, his tone light but tinged with something deeper. "Otherwise, you’d probably forget to leave."

You laughed softly, pushing yourself up from the chair. "Guilty as charged. But I’m officially done for the day—well, almost. What brings you here?"

Azriel tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to the nearly empty desk before meeting yours. "We made plans, remember?"

"Right," you said, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. "Our walk. I didn’t forget, I swear. I just... lost track of time."

He smirked, standing as you slipped into your jacket. "You’re lucky you have me to drag you out of here."

As you both stepped out into the clinic’s hallway, Elira spotted you and raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Leaving work before the middle of the night ? Who are you, and what have you done with Y/N?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. "Very funny. I’m trusting you to keep everything under control while I’m gone."

"Go," Elira said, waving a hand dismissively. "You deserve a break. And maybe some fresh air."

"Don’t let her fool you," Azriel murmured as the two of you exited the clinic. "She’s probably relieved to have a break from you hovering over everything."

"Hey!" you protested, nudging him lightly as a laugh escaped you. "I do not hover. I supervise."

"Mm-hmm," he replied, his tone teasing but affectionate as his hand brushed lightly against your back, guiding you down the quiet street. The air between you felt warm despite the evening chill, and as you glanced at him, you found yourself smiling without even realizing it.

The streets of Velaris were alive with a quiet kind of magic that only came with the nighttime. The soft glow of faelights lined the cobblestone paths, their golden hues casting a gentle shimmer on the river that wound through the heart of the city. Above, the stars sparkled like tiny shards of diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas, their light reflecting off the spires and rooftops of the City of Starlight. It felt as if the world had slowed down, the rush of the day replaced by a serene rhythm, like the city itself was breathing in sync with the stars.

You and Azriel walked side by side, your steps in tune with each other, though neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t heavy; it wasn’t awkward. It was comforting—like a blanket wrapped around the two of you, shielding you from the chaos of everything else. Occasionally, his shadows would dart out, flickering like curious wisps before retreating back into him. Their presence was faint but constant, as if they, too, were enjoying the peaceful night.

The streets were mostly quiet now, save for the occasional soft laughter or distant hum of music spilling out from a café or a home. The scents of freshly baked bread, spiced teas, and blooming night jasmine drifted through the air, wrapping you in their warmth as you wandered further into the heart of the city. The river reflected the starlight, creating an endless mirror that seemed to stretch forever, and every now and then, you caught Azriel glancing at it, a small, almost wistful smile playing on his lips.

Your hand brushed his arm once—accidentally, at first—and you felt a jolt of awareness run through you. You weren’t sure why, but it felt like the bond, subtle and unspoken, was humming softly between you. A few moments passed before you carefully, almost nervously, slid your hand to gently rest on his arm, your fingers lightly curling around his sleeve. It was such a small gesture, but it felt like everything in that moment.

Azriel glanced down at you, his golden eyes catching the faint light of the faelights. His smile was soft, unguarded, and it made your chest tighten. "Comfortable?" he asked quietly, his voice warm and tinged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You nodded, a faint smile of your own tugging at your lips. "Yeah," you murmured, your gaze shifting to the stars above. "I think I am."

His smile widened just a fraction, and he turned his head to look at the sky as well. You could feel the muscles of his arm relaxing under your touch, as if your presence grounded him in the same way his did for you. The world around you both felt distant, as though this walk was its own little pocket of time, reserved for just the two of you.

As you walked, your steps carried you to a small bridge overlooking the river. You both stopped, leaning slightly against the railing to admire the view. The stars seemed impossibly close here, their light dancing on the water. The gentle sound of the current filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of life in the distance.

Neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of meaning, of unspoken words and shared thoughts. Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around your fingers where they rested on his arm, and you let out a soft breath, feeling your heart settle into a steady rhythm that matched the peace of the night.

When you finally turned to look at him, his gaze was already on you, his expression calm but filled with a quiet intensity. The corners of his mouth lifted just slightly as he met your eyes. You weren’t sure if the warmth flooding through you came from the glow of the stars or from him, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

The walk was quiet for a while, the comfort of Azriel’s presence beside you a soothing balm to your thoughts. You glanced up at the stars, your hand still lightly resting on his arm. After a moment, you decided to break the silence.

“How was your day?” you asked softly, turning your head slightly to look at him.

Azriel glanced down at you, his expression softening. “Busy,” he admitted with a faint sigh. “The preparations for Hewn City are done, but it’s… tedious. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, the mention of Hewn City tugging at something in the back of your mind. “It’s always tedious with them, isn’t it?” you teased lightly, though your tone held understanding.

He let out a low chuckle. “That’s putting it mildly.”

The conversation turned to smaller things after that—the tasks he’d tackled during the day, the little moments you’d found peace while working in the clinic. The exchange was easy, flowing naturally as you walked, the night air crisp and refreshing around you.

Then, as you turned down a quiet street, your steps slowed. You stopped in front of a large house, its windows glowing warmly with light. Even from the outside, you could hear the faint sound of laughter and the chatter of children. Azriel halted beside you, his sharp gaze flicking from the house to your face, where a wistful smile had formed. Your expression was soft, tinged with nostalgia and a faint sadness.

“What’s going on?” Azriel asked, his voice low and curious.

You gestured to the building, your eyes still fixed on it. “This is where I grew up,” you said softly. “It’s one of the orphanages of Velaris.”

Azriel blinked, clearly surprised. He had known of the orphanage’s existence—Velaris was a city that cared for its own—but he had never really thought about it, never imagined you having a connection to a place like this. But the way you looked at the house, with a mixture of warmth and old sorrow, made his chest tighten.

“What was it like, growing up here?” he asked, his voice careful.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile deepening as your gaze lingered on the house. “It was… fine, I guess. Much better than so many other places could have been. They took care of us, made sure we had what we needed.” You paused, the corners of your lips tugging upward in a bittersweet way. “I was the only winged child here, though. That made me different—set apart from everyone else.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“The times were difficult,” you admitted, “but still, there were good memories. I remember Madja coming to see me every other day, checking in on me. She practically raised me, even though she couldn’t take me in.” A soft laugh escaped your lips as you looked at the house. “I tried to fly on my own once. I barely made it off the ground before I fell straight into the Sidra.”

Azriel couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips at the image. “Did it hurt?”

“Only my pride,” you teased, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the house. “I had good moments here, even though it was hard. Losing my parents… that was the hardest part.”

The lightness in your tone faltered slightly, and Azriel’s hand on your arm tightened just a fraction, a silent gesture of comfort. “Do you still think about them?” he asked softly, his voice gentle.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Sometimes I do,” you admitted. “But… I can’t even remember their faces clearly anymore. I was so young when they passed. It makes sense, I guess, but it’s still hard to accept sometimes.”

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression somber as he listened. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quiet but weighted with sincerity.

You smiled softly, turning away from the house to meet his gaze. “Thank you,” you said simply, appreciating the steadiness in his presence. Then, with a deep breath, you glanced back at the house one last time before stepping away.

“Come on,” you said, your voice lighter now as you tugged him gently forward. “We still have the rest of Velaris to see.”

Azriel nodded, falling into step beside you again. But even as you walked away, he couldn’t help but glance back at the house, as if trying to picture the younger version of you that had lived there—the one who had already endured so much and somehow still become the person walking beside him now.

As the two of you continued walking, the streets of Velaris became livelier, the marketplace ahead buzzing with energy. Merchants called out their wares, the scent of roasted almonds and spiced cider filling the cool night air. You instinctively stepped closer to Azriel, the press of people making you feel the need to stay near him.

Azriel, ever attuned to you, noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he reached down, his fingers brushing over your wrist before one of his shadows slithered around it like a soft tether. The feeling sent a shiver up your arm, but it wasn’t unpleasant—it was comforting. A silent reassurance that he was there, that he wouldn’t lose you in the crowd.

You looked up at him with a small smile. “Keeping me on a leash now, Shadowsinger?”

He smirked slightly, his golden eyes gleaming under the market lights. “Just making sure you don’t wander off.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t move away. Instead, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of his presence, the way his fingers occasionally brushed yours when you both shifted through the bustling streets.

As you turned a corner, lost in the vibrant atmosphere, a small figure suddenly crashed into your legs, nearly knocking you off balance. A tiny child, no older than four or five, looked up at you with wide, teary eyes, his little hands clutching at the hem of your coat.

“Oh, little one,” you said softly, crouching down. “Are you alright?”

The boy sniffled, looking back and forth frantically. “I—I lost my mama.”

Azriel stepped closer, crouching beside you. “Do you remember where you last saw her?” he asked, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

The boy shook his head, looking on the verge of tears. Without hesitation, Azriel reached out and carefully lifted him into his arms. The sight of it made your heart clench in the best way. The way Azriel, the feared spymaster, held the child with such ease and gentleness made something warm settle deep inside you.

You watched as the boy curled against Azriel’s chest, tiny fingers gripping his tunic. “We’ll find her,” Azriel murmured, his voice steady and reassuring.

The moment didn’t last long before a frantic woman came rushing through the crowd, calling the child’s name. Relief flooded her face when she saw him, and she all but collapsed in front of you both.

“Mother above, thank you,” she breathed, reaching for her son. Azriel handed him over with care, and the little boy beamed up at both of you before burying himself in his mother’s embrace.

The woman gave you both a tearful smile. “Truly, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” you said warmly. “We’re just glad he’s safe.”

As the mother and child disappeared into the crowd, you turned to Azriel, still feeling the lingering warmth of the moment. He was watching them go, his expression unreadable. But there was something softer in his eyes—something distant, as if a part of him had once longed for the same embrace that child had just received.

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with his. He looked down at you, blinking in surprise.

“You’re really good with kids,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “You say that like I don’t deal with Cassian and Rhys every day.”

You grinned. “That’s different. Nyx loves you, you know? And that little boy—you calmed him down faster than I ever could.”

Azriel just shook his head, but there was the faintest dusting of pink on his ears. He gave your hand one last squeeze before leading you both forward again, back through the winding streets.

As you walked together through the quieting streets of Velaris, the familiar silhouette of the House of Wind loomed above, nestled in the mountains, its presence both imposing and oddly comforting. You tilted your head slightly, glancing up at Azriel.

Azriel hesitated for a moment before glancing at you. “Stay tonight,” he said softly. “Even though I’m leaving early tomorrow.”

Your chest ached at the thought of waking up without him here, but you nodded, offering him a small smile. “Of course.”

“Do you change places every night or something?” you asked, teasing.

He let out a low chuckle. “No, but the House of Wind is calmer than the river house. Feyre and Rhys barely sleep now with Nyx still not fully settling through the night. It’s better to leave them some peace for the moment.”

You hummed in understanding, your gaze drifting up to the House of Wind. It had been a long time since you’d been there. The last time had been brief, business-related. But now, standing here with Azriel, the idea of returning felt... different.

You turned to him with a smirk. “Are you going to fly me up there?”

He raised a brow, smirking back. “If you don’t mind, yes. Unless you’d rather take the stairs.”

You made a face, feigning deep thought before flashing him a grin. “Fine. But only if you don’t let me fall.”

Azriel scoffed, shaking his head in mock offense. “That happened once. And it will never happen again.”

You gave him an exaggerated, knowing look. “I know,” you said with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry.”

Without another word, Azriel scooped you up effortlessly, his arms locking around you with practiced ease. The rush of wind wrapped around you as his powerful wings spread wide, lifting you both into the air. The city of Velaris shrank beneath you, the lights twinkling like stars against the darkened streets.

You nestled closer, the warmth of his chest radiating through his leathers. The steady beat of his wings was soothing, the flight smooth, effortless. As the altitude climbed, you let your lips ghost closer to his ear, your voice soft, just above the sound of the wind.

“Your flying’s not bad, I’ll admit,” you teased lightly, feeling the faintest shift in his grip on you.

Then, without thinking too much, you leaned in further, brushing a kiss against his cheek—just shy of the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched slightly, nor the faint dusting of pink that rose along his cheekbones. His grip on you tightened just a fraction, but he remained steady, his expression unreadable save for the telltale warmth in his golden eyes.

The reaction made you laugh softly, pressing your forehead against his temple for a moment. “I think I like flying with you.”

Azriel exhaled, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the slight blush he tried to hide. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t intend on letting you go anytime soon.”

You didn’t have time to process the weight of those words before the House of Wind came into view, its towering presence greeting you as Azriel angled his wings and began the descent.

——

Azriel’s room in the House of Wind was just as you remembered—calm, dark, and carrying the faint scent of cedar and night-chilled air. As you stepped inside, he set you gently on the ground, his hands lingering at your waist for a moment longer than necessary before finally letting go.

The space was warm despite the vastness of it, the heavy curtains barely letting in the moonlight. It felt safe, intimate even, as if the very walls carried the weight of memories—of quiet moments, of healing, of revelations too heavy to be spoken aloud at the time.

You swallowed, taking in the familiarity of it all. It had been months since you had last stood here, when Azriel was still recovering, when you had barely left his side. When you had first discovered the bond and had buried it deep within yourself, refusing to acknowledge the aching truth of what it meant.

And now?

Now, you were here again, but no longer holding that secret alone.

Azriel turned to you, his golden eyes scanning your face before stepping closer, his hand rising to brush your cheek with a softness that made your chest ache. You tilted your head into the touch, savoring it, before reaching up to hold his wrist, your fingers tracing the warmth of his skin.

Neither of you needed words in that moment.

Instead, you leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was slow, deliberate—not rushed or frantic, but full of understanding. The bond thrummed between you, a quiet hum of recognition, of home.

Azriel kissed you back with the same reverence, his hands settling at your waist, pulling you just a little closer. Not out of desperation, but out of certainty—certainty that he wanted you, that this was right. But still, there was a quiet restraint in the way he moved, as if he was making a silent promise to himself.

After a while, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the dim light.

“I want you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But not here. Not tonight. Not hours before I have to leave for the Court of Nightmares.”

You blinked up at him, waiting, listening.

“I want to take you to the cabin,” he continued, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Away from all of this. Just us.”

A shiver ran through you at the thought, not just from the idea of what would happen, but from the way he said it—like he was already certain, already planning, already waiting for the moment you both fully accepted what was between you.

You smiled softly, nodding. “Then it will wait.”

Azriel exhaled, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your forehead before leading you toward the bed.

As you lay down beside him, your fingers instinctively reached for his. He let you trace the scars that marked his hands, let your nails gently drag over them, sending faint shivers through him. His wings twitched slightly behind him, betraying the way your touch affected him, but he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” he murmured, watching you closely.

You smirked faintly, tilting your head as you continued your slow movements. “Maybe I like being gentle with you.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s dangerous.”

“Is it?” you whispered, lifting his hand and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He swallowed, his eyes darkening just slightly, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before tracing his own fingers along your jaw, down to your shoulder, then back to your wrist, as if mapping every part of you he could reach.

After a while, you leaned in, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his lips before settling into his arms.

The silence between you was easy, comforting. Your breath matched his, slow and steady, as you allowed yourself to sink into his warmth.

Then—

“Oh,” you mumbled suddenly, your eyes widening slightly as the distant sounds of something unmistakable echoed through the walls.

Azriel groaned, closing his eyes. “I forgot about that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, heat creeping up your cheeks as Cassian and Nesta’s… activities carried on without a care for who could hear them.

You hid your face in Azriel’s neck, shaking slightly with quiet laughter. “It’s fine,” you murmured against his skin, biting back another giggle.

Azriel let out a soft huff of amusement, his arms tightening around you. “I’ll soundproof my room next time.”

You nodded against him, letting your laughter fade as the warmth of his embrace lulled you toward sleep. His scent, his touch, his presence—it was enough to make everything else melt away.

As your breathing evened out, Azriel pressed a final, featherlight kiss to the top of your head, letting his own eyes slip shut.

Tomorrow would come soon. But for now, for this moment, it was just the two of you.

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[s4svnn]

first big argument of oub couple pls!!!

Shower (teaser)

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

Pairing: F1 racer Jungkook x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, smut (18+)

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

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

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

"He likes you. I can tell."

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

"No, he doesn’t! We’re just friends!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then let’s fight."

[kaayyyys]

Daryl Dixon X reader

Fluff alphabet

A is for Arms: His arms. Strong, calloused, always ready. Ready to pull you close when a walker gets too close, ready to hold you tight when the nightmares come. They’re not always gentle, a little rough around the edges like the man himself, but damn, they feel like home. Sometimes, when he thinks you're not looking, he'll just wrap one arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the warmth, a silent promise that he's there.

B is for Banter: Before you, Daryl didn't 'banter'. He grunted. Now, he teases. It’s subtle, a dry remark about your terrible aim (which isn’t that bad), or a playful jab about the time you tried to cook squirrels and nearly burned down the house. It's his way of flirting, his way of showing he's paying attention. You tease him right back, of course, because seeing that small, almost-smile flicker across his face is worth any risk.

C is for Comfort: He's not one for grand gestures, but he knows how to offer comfort. A silent hand squeeze when you're upset. Sharing his blanket on a cold night, even though he pretends he doesn't need it. Leaving you the last of the clean water. Comfort, Daryl-style, is quiet, practical, and fiercely devoted.

D is for Dreams: You share them now, whispered in the dark. Nightmares of what you've lost, yes, but also dreams of a future. A future where you can build a life, a home, a garden even. Daryl doesn’t talk about them much, but you catch him looking at you sometimes, a hopeful glint in his usually guarded eyes.

E is for Eyes: His eyes are a roadmap. They tell you everything he doesn't say. The worry when you're out on a run. The pride when you take down a walker. The raw, untamed affection when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world. You've learned to read them, to understand the language he keeps hidden from everyone else.

F is for Firelight: Sitting by the fire, the crackling flames painting dancing shadows on his face. It's in these moments, quiet and still, that you feel closest to him. He'll sometimes share stories, snippets of his past, things he's never told anyone else. The firelight makes him open up, makes him vulnerable, and you cherish every word.

G is for Grateful: You're grateful for him. For his strength, his loyalty, his unwavering presence in a world that wants to tear you apart. He’s grateful for you too, though he'd never say it in so many words. You see it in the way he watches your back, the way he always makes sure you're safe.

H is for Hair: The first time you ran your fingers through his hair, he tensed up, ready to fight. Now, he leans into it, closes his eyes, lets you card your fingers through the strands. It's a small intimacy, a quiet moment of connection that means more than any grand declaration.

I is for Inside Jokes: You have a whole language of inside jokes now. A raised eyebrow, a shared glance, a mumbled word that means something entirely different to the two of you. These tiny moments of shared understanding are what build your bond, what make you a team.

J is for Jealousy: He doesn't show it often, but you see it sometimes. A flicker in his eyes when someone gets too close, a tightening of his jaw when someone else makes you laugh. It's a possessive, protective kind of jealousy, born from fear of losing you. You reassure him without words, a gentle touch, a reassuring smile. He's the only one you want.

K is for Kiss: His kisses aren't soft and gentle, not at first. They're raw, desperate, like he's trying to pull you into his soul. But over time, they soften, become tender, a quiet promise of forever.

L is for Loyal: Daryl Dixon is nothing if not loyal. He'd walk through fire for the people he cares about, and you are at the top of that list. He's got your back, always, no matter what. That loyalty is the bedrock of your relationship, the foundation on which you're building your life together.

M is for Mending: You mend each other. He patches up your physical wounds, stitching you back together when the world tries to break you. You mend his emotional scars, slowly, carefully, with patience and love.

N is for Near: Just being near him is enough sometimes. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder by the fire, walking side-by-side on a supply run, just knowing he’s there is a comfort in itself. His presence is a grounding force, a reminder that you’re not alone.

O is for Outdoors: You both find solace in the outdoors. The woods, the quiet, the sense of freedom. You often take walks together, just to escape the confines of the walls, to breathe in the fresh air.

P is for Protect: The need to protect each other is fierce, primal. You'd both lay down your lives for the other without hesitation.

Q is for Quiet: Sometimes, the best moments are the quiet ones. No words, no distractions, just the comfortable silence of being together.

R is for Respect: He respects you, your strength, your intelligence, your compassion. He sees you, really sees you, and values you for who you are.

S is for Scars: You both carry scars, both visible and invisible. They're a reminder of what you've been through, but also a testament to your resilience. He doesn't shy away from your scars; he traces them with his fingertips, a silent acknowledgment of your pain.

T is for Trust: Trust is everything, especially in this world. You trust him with your life, with your heart, with your deepest secrets. And he trusts you, completely.

U is for Understanding: You understand each other, on a level that transcends words. You see the pain behind his stoicism, the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. And he sees the strength behind your kindness, the fire beneath your gentle demeanor.

V is for Vulnerable: It takes time, but he lets you see his vulnerable side. The moments of doubt, the flashes of fear, the pain of his past. He trusts you enough to show you his true self, and that's the greatest gift he can give.

W is for Warmth: His warmth. Physical, in the way he holds you close. Emotional, in the way he makes you feel safe and loved.

X is for XOXO (Kisses and Hugs): He's not one for saying it, but he shows it in every action, in every glance, in every protective gesture.

Y is for Yearning: Even after all this time, you still yearn for him. For his touch, his voice, his presence. The yearning is a constant reminder of the depth of your love.

Z is for Zenith: You've found your zenith with him. Your peak, your highest point. He makes you a better person, stronger, more resilient. Together, you can face anything. Together, you are home.

[masoncantthinkofaname]

A day in the life of Mason, httyd edition

Considering our days can be wildly different, rather than an average routine, I'll describe actual day from my last shift there💚

Most importantly, my coffee picture of the day

Reminder: our dr is based on how to train your dragon, none of the original cast exists there, we don't live on Berk, and there are likely many dragon species that don't exist in the movies!

We woke up, around an hour before sunrise. Which would have been a little before 8am (winter). The fireplace in our room was almost burned out, and I was laying on my husband's chest. We woke up from the sound of children's feet running around outside of our room, for a moment just laying there and enjoying the last bits of our slumber and peace.

Our twins (and in that reality our only sons), were whispering rather loudly, clearly trying not wake us up, and I remember hearing Daeron chuckle quietly. We had our guess what they were doing, they like to sneak in their dragons into their room, especially now that said dragons sleep besides our house.

Eventually I told my husband I'd go check on them, if he could put some logs in both the fireplaces, and we shared a kiss before getting up. I walked into the living room, and my own dragon, Flicker was sleeping curled up near the fireplace. He opened one of his eyes like usual, and just grumbled a bit. I knew exactly why.

Surprise surprise, I walked into the boys' bedroom, to find them and their counterparts there, all with wide, guilty eyes. We went through the usual excuses like ''It's already morning, they didn't sleep here,'' and ''They were lonely outside.'' Honestly I wasn't really mad. We don't mind dragons in the house, Alcae and Stig are just a bit young still, and they have a tendency to chew on things that shouldn't be chewed on.

Made sure the kids, Soren and Oisin got themselves dressed, and it was cute to see them help each other with their hair. Daeron and I also got ready, all while Flicker (my dragon) was still sleeping (he's not a winter person- or well, dragon, which is unfortunate because it's almost always winter). By the time we were ready it was starting to get a little lighter outside, and we had made a plan for the day.

Rather than our usual breakfast, we proposed going out for an early flight, and visit one of the nearby isles. The twins absolutely love flying, and they soak up every bit of practical teachings that we show them. Theory? Not so much, but that's also not what vikings are known for.

Daeron went off to let Bjorn known we would be gone for a little while, and I helped the boys get their dragons ready. Considering their dragons are still growing we take off their gear every time we get home. A lot of people leave it on their older dragons for a few days, because well fitted saddles are not in their way, but can be a bit time absorbing to strap on every time. I also said hello to Frostfang, Daeron's dragon, who usually sleeps outside, as he's quite big and doesn't fancy the warmth that much.

Right before leaving we had to go back inside because the kids didn't dress warmly enough, and were stubbornly set on not being cold until a breeze hit them. When Oisin gave in, Soren folded as well, and they finally listened.

We went in the direction of Haste, watching the sunset on dragon's back. Although cold, it cleared up pretty quickly and it was a beautiful day to be out. I think all our dragons enjoyed getting some freedom, and we spent some time chasing each other, snatching the children off their dragons and practicing their balance, before going to a small bit of land for a break.

Or that's what they taught. Survival day means that we're gathering our own food. I explained to them how to find fresh water, and know you can safely drink it. And then we spent a while catching fish, making a fire and roasting them. Probably half of the catch got eaten by the dragons, but that's fair since they helped us.

They wanted to know some more tricks regarding balance. Their dragon riding is really good, but they're still learning how to keep their balance without being seated or using their hands. We spent some more time practicing, bothering Flicker by walking all over him, considering Alcae and Stig stopped sitting still after 10 minutes.

It was a lot of fun, definitely peaceful. And, I think if anyone is interested I'll have to make a part two because I just realised how ridiculously long this has gotten. If you came this far, thank you for reading, my apologies for yapping!💚