#a gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs

[multi-fandom-imagine]

─ ★ Lucifer Morningstar with a breeding kink.

A/n: I am doing it! Lucifer is up first! { cause I love him}

Lucifer did not think he'd get a second chance at love, a second chance at being happy. But here you were, in his arm watching something he really didn't care about. And of course coming with this territory of wanting to be a father again. It was an over whelming thought, something that he desperately wanted with you.

Shifting your body, you peered up at him as a small smile formed on your lips. "What's with the look?" You asked poking his cheek.

"I.." Lucifer wasn't even sure what to say, how to even bring this up. "Want you.......I want to breed...."

Grinning, it was cute seeing him stutter, not to mention his blushing cheeks. "You what? I can't hear you?"

Sinking his fang into his lower lip as he pined you to the bed. His tail running up your hip pushing your dress up. "I want to...I want to breed you." Clutching your wrists tightly he kept his gaze on you.

Humming softly, you let your fingers run through his blond hair. You couldn't help but feel a rush of desire at hearing what he said. "Well then, what are you waiting for?" Your lips brushed his neck as your fingers ran dow his soft wings. "I want you to breed me Lucifer, to fill me with your seed."

Lucifer's eyes widened at your bold words, a mix of surprise and desire flickering across his face. He half expected you to slap him to shove him off of you, but hearing you express that you wanted him so explicitly ignited something primal within him.

His breath hitched as your fingers trailed down his wings. His eyes darkening with desire as he lent in close to you his voice husky with desire, as he whispered, "My love, I want nothing more than to fill you with my seed, to make you mine in the most intimate way possible." His voice was filled with a mixture of love and possessiveness, his eyes locked with yours.

The primal instinct to mate and reproduce still burned within him. And in that moment, he yearned to give you everything you desired, to fulfill your deepest wishes, to fulfill his own.

With a sense of urgency, he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours in a passionate kiss. His hands gripped your waist, his touch possessive and desperate. The heat between you intensified as your bodies pressed against each other, the desire for one another consuming you both.

Lost in a haze of pleasure and need, Lucifer let his kisses trail down your neck as he worshipped every inch of your body. His touch was gentle yet commanding, his strength evident as he positioned himself above you. His own clothes gone, his wings now shielding your body.

His cock throbbed with arousal, ready to claim you as he pushed your dress up, ripping your panties aside then with a low growl, he entered you slowly, savoring the feeling of your warmth surrounding him. Your gasps of pleasure spurred him on, his thrusts becoming more intense and passionate.

Each movement was filled with a mix of love and possessiveness, as he whispered sweet nothings and promises of forever against your skin. The room filled with the sound of your moans and the rhythm of your bodies entwined.

As your pleasure built, Lucifer's possessiveness intensified. His hands gripped your hips firmly, his thrusts becoming more primal and urgent. The sensation of his cock filling you completely sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you both closer to the edge.

And in the midst of your shared ecstasy, Lucifer's control shattered. He released a guttural roar, his climax washing over him as he spilled his seed deep within you. The intensity of the moment brought you to your own peak, your bodies trembling in unison as you found release together. Still buried deep within your pussy, the King of hell nuzzled his nose into your neck. "Thank you."

As you both basked in the afterglow, Lucifer held you close, his breath warm against your skin. In that moment, you knew that his love for you transcended any physical act, that his desire to fulfill your wishes and protect you knew no bounds.

You were his mate, his everything, and he would do anything to bring you happiness. And as you lay together, entwined in each other's arms, you knew that your love would endure, unbreakable and everlasting.

Taglist: LoonyToons , @smaranshakthi , @jellibean2018 , @lbcreations-blog ,

[misswynters]

His most prized possession

featuring. viktor x fem!reader

warnings. smut (18+), standing up sex on a vanity, p in v, size kink?, soft sex, viktor being sweet :)

requested. by anon

Moonlight spilled through the grand windows, painting your bedroom in a soft silver hue, illuminating the sexual dance unfolding within. The gentle breeze swayed the sheer curtains, but all else was still. The quietness of the world beyond, very different to the heated filling the room.

Every thrust of Viktor's hips created a rhythm, the wet, lewd sounds of your connection blending seamlessly with the faint creak of the vanity beneath you. Your moans were delicate but unrestrained. Compared to the soft, breathless groans that spilled from Viktor's lips, his voice shaking with the effort to maintain control.

His long, chestnut hair, slightly damp from sweat, framed his sharp features as it fell forward over his face. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead, catching the moonlight. Viktor looked almost ethereal, his honeyed eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror before you. His lips, slightly parted, trembled as soft whimpers escaped with each thrust. The sight of him: disheveled, breathless, and utterly lost in you, only made the heat pooling in your stomach burn brighter.

He leaned over you slightly, his chest brushing your back as he let his soft fingers slide down to press gently against the small of your spine. The weight of his palm grounded you, and his other hand gripped your hip firmly, keeping you steady against the vanity. “You’re doing so well for me, my love” he murmured, his voice low and warm, yet laced with restraint. “Just like that. Don’t look away, watch us in the mirror.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his gaze in the mirror. The sight of him behind you, his toned, wiry frame moving steadily. His hips slapping against yours forward with such precision, sent shivers cascading down your spine. You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. The way he focused on you—as though you were his entire world—was intoxicating. Well you were his entire world. His most prized possession.

The wet squelching noises grew louder as his cock pushed between your folds again, his thrusts unrelenting. Each thrust was accompanied by a soft slap of skin as his hips met yours, and the vanity groaned in protest beneath the weight of your desire. Viktor’s breathing quickened, and a shaky whimper escaped his lips as he felt you tighten around him.

“Good goddess…” he whispered, his accent thick, the words catching on a moan. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingertips pressing into your skin that would definitely leave faint bruises afterwards. “You feel so… tight and sweet. I—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, his brow furrowing as though the pleasure coursing through him was too much to bear.

You could barely form words in response, your own voice caught in a series of soft cries and broken gasps. “Fuck. Viktor… please—” you managed, though you weren’t sure what you were begging for. More? Faster? To never stop? He seemed to understand, though, his rhythm shifting slightly, each thrust hitting deeper.

“I know,” he said, his tone gentle yet commanding. “I know what you need.” He leaned down further, his long hair brushing against your bare shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck. The contrast of his soft lips against your heated skin sent a wave of pleasure through you, making your legs tremble beneath you.

As his pace continued, you could feel him hit the deepest part of your womb. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, his fingers splaying wide as he pressed lightly against your abdomen. “Feel that?” he murmured, his voice like silk. “That’s me, so deep inside you. All of me.” His words sent a shiver straight to your core as you couldn’t stop yourself from arching back against him. Your body seeking more of his warmth, his touch, his everything. All the words he said and the actions he did excited you more.

You truly couldn't believe how good it felt when he pressed his hand on your stomach as he poked through you slightly. Shakingly he took your hand, lacing your fingers together to place them on your stomach. With that you could feel him poking through, as he pressed harder, the better it felt.

The mirror in front of you reflected the way your bodies moved together in perfect sync. The slight shine of sweat on your skin, the way his hand on your back and stomach kept you steady, the blush that spread across his pale cheeks—it was all so vivid. His hair clung to his forehead in damp strands, and his lips were slightly swollen from where he’d been biting down. Trying to suppress his own sounds. But all he could do was left out whiny moans, which you absolutely loved. He knew how much you loved it.

"Keep your eyes on me," he urged softly, his hand trailing up to tilt your chin, ensuring you didn't look away from the mirror. "I want you to see how perfect you are." The words, spoken in that low, reverent tone, made your heart ache with a tenderness that contrasted the heat of the moment. You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his, even as your vision blurred with tears of overwhelming sensation.

The sounds of skin slapping only grew louder as he continued, the wetness between you making each thrust more pronounced. The vanity beneath you creaked with every thrust, and you could feel the vibrations of it in your palms where they rested against the surface. Viktor's movements became slightly erratic, his control slipping as he chased his release, though he still held onto the tenderness that defined every touch.

"You feel so good," he breathed, his voice trembling as he let out another soft whimper. "I can't... I don't want to stop." His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back against him with each thrust, his pace quickening just enough to make your breath hitch.

Viktor's movements slowed, his pace deliberate as though he wanted to memorize every second, every sensation. His grip on your waist tightened as his long fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he adjusted his angle. Trying to draw out every ounce of pleasure for both of you. His breaths were shallow yet measured, his body trembling slightly as he kept his control.

One of his legs shifted, his knee now perched on the vanity chair behind you. The new angle allowed him to push deeper, each thrust measured and purposeful. The motion made you press further against the vanity, your hips tilting slightly, granting him an even better angle. The cool surface of the wood beneath your palms was a different than the heat that radiated between the two of you. You braced yourself, letting out a soft gasp as he slid into you fully again.

"Does this feel good, my love?" Viktor asked, his voice a breathless whisper, breaking slightly on the question. His eyes flicked between your reflection in the mirror and the way your bodies moved together, his gaze heavy with adoration and desire. He pressed his cheek against yours, as he went down to your level. Eyes locking to another as he waited for your response.

"Yes," you murmured, your voice trembling as you nodded. "So good, Viktor. Don't stop..."

A low groan escaped his lips at your words, his grip on your waist shifting as he let one hand slide upward to the curve of your back, guiding your body into the perfect position. He paused for a moment, his hips pressed flush against yours, savoring the way you clenched around him before pulling back again, just enough to feel the emptiness before pushing in with a slow, steady thrust. The wet, soft sounds of your connection filled the room. Each time he pulled out and pushed back in, the noise became more louder, the sensation drawing soft moans from your lips. Viktor let out a quiet whimper of his own as he watched you, the sound raw and unrestrained, slipping through his control.

"You're so perfect," he whispered, his accent thick as he leaned forward slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "Every part of you. I want to remember this, you just like this. Forever."

His words sent a wave of warmth through you, your body responding instinctively as your hips pressed back against him. Viktor groaned at the motion, his hand moving back down to your waist, his grip tightening as he thrusts into you again, slow and deep. By now his cock has a white ring at the base due to how much the two of you have been going at it. The vanity beneath you creaked faintly each time he thrusted into you, the sound mingling with the soft whimpers and moans that escaped the both of you.

"Shit," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "Do you feel that? The way we fit... the way you take me in so perfectly?" His lips brushed against the curve of your ear as he spoke, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "It's as though you were made for me."

The pace he set left you trembling, each thrust igniting a fire that built slowly but surely. Viktor pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his hair damp and sticking to his skin, his breaths ragged. He let out another soft whimper as he felt your walls tighten around him again, his control slipping just slightly.

The coil in your stomach tightened, the heat building to a point where you felt like you might break apart entirely. "Oh my..." you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice strained but full of love. "Let go, my love." His hand slid lower, his fingers brushing against your sensitive clit, and that was all it took.

Your orgasm washed over you in waves. Your body trembling as you cried out, your hands gripping the edges of the vanity for support. Viktor groaned deeply as he felt you clench around him, his own body shuddering as he followed you over the edge. He remained inside you, his breaths ragged as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his long hair tickling your skin. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the echoes of your passion lingering in the air. Viktor's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you upright and against his chest. "I love you, my love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. His voice was soft, as though he couldn't quite believe you were really his.

taglist: @luneariaa @minagrayson @aliives @mammonsleftring @gxrextxgaidk @anna1-1 @bl-0-ndi-3

[moonreader1010]

𝓟𝓘𝓒𝓚 𝓐 𝓟𝓘𝓛𝓔

♥ 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 ♥

︵‿︵‿୨♡ Ｒｅａｄｉｎｇ ｂｙ － ＭＡＥ ♡୧‿︵‿︵

(PLEASE DO CHECK OUT THE NOTE AT THE END OF THE READING)

PILE 1

Cards: The Lovers, Four of Wands, Knight of Cups, and Ace of Pentacles.

Your wedding day is like a walk-in romance dream. The Lovers expresses a profound soul bond between you and your spouse to be, where both of you love each other entirely and unconditionally. This isn’t just a wedding; this is the celebration of two hearts beating as one.

The Four of Wands might represent that the venue radiates joy and togetherness. Imagine a magical venue – an outdoor ceremony, a charming vineyard, or a beautiful family garden.People you love stand beside you in smiling applause, and unity and warmth fills the air.

Nothing says more like the Knight of Cups and that all important love language. Your future spouse holds out symbolic promises of love and gentle gestures that will make you feel cherished in a way that cannot be put into words. They may surprise you with a poetic speech or an important gift that represents your journey together.

And finally, the Ace of Pentacles tells of a grounded life together in abundance, a life just beginning. This is a day not only of celebration, but the establishment of a prosperous future.

Vibe of the Wedding Day: A dreamy, heartfelt celebration filled with romance, beauty, and promises of a flourishing life ahead.

PILE 2

Cards: The Emperor, Queen of Pentacles, Ten of Pentacles, and The Star.

There is elegance, sophistication, and timeless charm to your wedding day. The Emperor leaves nothing to chance—his schedule, decorations, and ceremony run like clockwork. Your future spouse has a strong protective energy around them to make sure the day goes perfectly how you envisioned!

The Queen of Pentacles shines a light on the glam and abundance involved here. Just imagine a lavish ballroom, flowers so gorgeous they take your breath away, and a menu that dazzles the guests. Some genuine royalty with grace radiating from you, confidence captivating all around.

With the Ten of Pentacles, this is a day of not only a union of two people, but a union of families and traditions. All of the elders are present, blessings and love pass through generations. There’s a feeling of legacy in the making — your marriage feels like it will last.

The Star assures that this day fulfills your deepest dreams and hopes. There’s a magical, almost otherworldly aspect to the evening, whether it’s soft lighting, live music or a toast that no one will ever forget, a toast that ultimately inspires everyone.

Vibe of the Wedding Day: A grand, regal celebration filled with tradition, luxury, and the glow of dreams coming true.

PILE 3

Cards: The Fool, Two of Cups, Six of Swords, and The Sun.

Your wedding day is unique, a bit daring, and entirely intimate. The Fool represents a new beginning, and your wedding embodies your eccentricities and need to do things your own way. It could also be a destination wedding, a beachside elopement, or a quirky ceremony in a place that’s significant to you both.

The Two of Cups embodies love and partnership. You and your soon-to-be spouse are totally in sync, generating an uber-intimate, heart-centric vibe. Every detail — from your vows to the guest list — reflects your shared values and deep connection.

Six of Swords suggests a transition—perhaps you’ve traveled far, emotionally or physically, to arrive at this moment. The wedding might include elements of healing and closure, making it a cathartic and transformative experience for you both.

Finally, The Sun guarantees joy, warmth, and radiance. Your wedding day is filled with laughter, fun, and moments that light up your heart. Children, pets, or playful elements might be involved, making the celebration feel carefree and joyful.

Vibe of the Wedding Day: An intimate, unique, and joyful celebration that reflects your adventurous spirits and love for authenticity.

Ⓝⓞⓣⓔⓢ

This is a general reading take what resonates and leave the rest.

Check out our latest service VISION BOARD READING PACK

All credit of the pictures goes to thier rightfull owners.

Sending lots of love to whoever is reading this, take care.

[connorsui]

☆ ■■ Stargazing in Your Eyes■■ ☆

- Sylus x fem! Reader

Synopsis: Sylus finds himself lost in admiration for you during a quiet, intimate moment at home, where the vastness of city lights seems small compared to the beauty he sees in your eyes.

Genre/warnings: pure fluff and comfort, no warning my luv we both die in hearts

The quiet of the evening wrapped around you like a warm blanket, filling the room with a peaceful stillness. Sylus lay comfortably between your thighs, his head resting just below your stomach as you silently read a book. The pages turned softly in your hands, but his attention wasn’t on the story in your lap. No, Sylus was entirely captivated by you.

His eyes drifted over your features, drinking in every curve and line of your face. He loved the way your eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration, how your lips parted ever so slightly when you came across a particularly interesting passage. But it wasn’t just the obvious perfections that held him—he adored the small things too, the little “imperfections” that made you uniquely, beautifully you. The faint freckle just below your eye, the way your nose crinkled when you stifled a yawn, and the soft shadows beneath your lashes that hinted at late nights spent together.

He marveled at how your skin seemed to glow, warmed by the light of the lamp nearby. Every detail of you was etched into his mind, a constellation of beauty that he could never tire of exploring. When his gaze finally settled on your eyes, he felt as if he were staring into the deepest part of you, as if he could almost see your soul shining back at him. There was a depth there that took his breath away, a quiet strength and kindness that made him fall for you over and over again.

You giggled, breaking the silence and his trance. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Sylus’s lips curved into a gentle smile as he shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbows to get a closer look at you. “No… I’m just admiring your beauty.”

His voice was soft, full of quiet reverence and adoration. He spoke as though he were sharing a secret with the stars, as if your beauty was something so profound it could hardly be put into words. The universe might have been infinite, but in that moment, Sylus only had eyes for you. Every part of you—perfections and imperfections alike—was a part of the celestial map he held in his heart, a map that always led him back to you.

Without a word, Sylus reached up and gently pushed the book from your hands, letting it fall softly to the side. His eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer, the air between you charged with an unspoken promise. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks as he closed the distance.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was tender and full of longing, a gentle press that spoke of all the love he felt for you. The softness of your lips against his was everything he had imagined and more, a moment of pure connection that made the world outside seem a distant memory. As he deepened the kiss, the universe might have been vast and mysterious, but in this intimate embrace, Sylus found his entire world contained in the warmth and tenderness of your touch.

When he finally pulled back, he gazed at you with a look of utter adoration. His fingers continued to gently caress your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

“You’re my favorite part of every day,” he whispered, his voice tender and sincere. “I just needed to remind you of that.”

His words were a soothing balm, and the simple, heartfelt gesture left you both enveloped in a bubble of unspoken affection and warmth.

[senualothbrok]

Carried Away

Summary: A response to @dekariosclan 's request for some good old fashioned boring bed sex with Gale. (Read the ask as it's a masterpiece of smut in itself). I hope this is boring enough for you, my dear 🫶 (it became more tender than hot, I hope this is ok😅)

Word count: 817

Disclaimers: NSFW. Smut. Vaginal sex / penetration.

AO3 link

When a rustle of cool air tickles your shoulder, you clutch at the blanket. Cocooned in the darkness of sleep, you are vaguely aware of the warmth of his body, his tired heave as he slides into bed beside you. You roll towards him, the scent of his teaching robes still clinging to his pores.

“What time is it?” you croak.

“Four o’ clock,” he breathes. “Go back to sleep.”

You grizzle. As his arm drapes over you, you bury your nose in the silk of his hair.

“So late,” you mumble.

Memory flickers in your slumber. The untouched dinner left on his desk in the study. His brisk peck on your cheek when you wished him goodnight. Your fleeting resignation as you glanced at the Gale-shaped hole beside you before you blew the candle out.

“Forgive me, my love.” His soft lips graze your forehead. “I got carried away with the modifications I was making to--"

A gaping yawn swallows his words. You nuzzle into him, your fingers seeking his. His legs tangle into yours, the tendrils of sleep wrapping around your bodies. He lets out a small sound, half-moan, half-breath, as his nose settles into the crook between your neck and shoulder. 

It could be minutes or hours. You drift through the veil between dreams and wakefulness, Gale’s breathing a soothing rhythm against your skin. From a distance, you feel the firm brush of his toes against your calf, a hard heat whispering against your thigh.

You ignore it at first. But a gentle pressure is circling your nipple, trailing down to your navel. A faint wetness tingles on your earlobe, his rasp trembling through you like a siren. Your lips search the roughness of his beard as you press against him. 

His mouth is open when you find it. His length nestles into your core, firm and insistent. Your tongues are lazy and slow as you savour his taste, thick with sleep and stupor and need. In the blind haze of exhaustion and desire, you do not need speech. Nor do you need light to find the points of each other’s pleasure, imprinted on your senses like an ancient map. 

He does not need to ask when he hooks his knee around your waist, pulling you closer. You do not need to check before your hand dips into his briefs to free the thrust of his cock. It surges against your touch as you skim his leaking tip, tracing the veins that twitch on his girth. You know them as well as the lines on your own palm, the heady fragrance of his musk. You relish each other’s groans as you lift your leg over his, guiding him into your waiting folds. And when, with one long stroke, he fills you to the brim, the ache that flares is like a spell. 

Your fingers fist into his tousled hair, the peaks of your nipples rubbing raw against his chest as he rocks. He clasps the cheeks of your ass in a silent demand, and you whimper as you angle your leg wider, inviting him deeper, into the deepest parts of you, reserved for him alone. You arch your back as he pumps into you with growing urgency. A throbbing hunger pulses with his every pant and plunge. You are fully awake now, and so is he.

“I missed you.” He laps and sucks at your mouth, your earlobe, your chin. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I'm here.” You grind against him, desperate for more. For all of him. “I’m yours.”

You clutch at his muscles, hard and taut as he rolls into you with gathering speed, a raging flood against your banks. There is no reserve, no restraint in him, nothing but love and unbridled need. Your walls clench around his stretching stiffness. 

“I love you."

He spasms, a shaking hand cupping your cheek, his forehead pushing against yours in a mist of sweat and sandalwood and desire.

“I love you.”

Your tongues are a ravenous frenzy, his beard a dizzying rasp against your chin. His hips snap furiously as he bottoms out again and again.

“I love you.”

You can no longer tell if it is his voice or yours, or where his touch meets your own in the darkness. You are one body, one soul, and when you cry out and shatter into each other, you cannot tell where his ecstasy ends and yours begins.

He remains inside you as your chests rise and fall, your breaths slackening. Sated, complete, your kisses become languid and halting. When he pulls out, he plants a feather light kiss on the tip of your nose, and you let out a silent laugh. Your fingers remain intertwined as his arm returns to drape over you, where it belongs.

“I forgive you,” you murmur, and you feel him smile into your skin as you sink back into sleep.

***

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[alluramiura]

hyunju nsfw alphabet <3

word count: 939 words

warnings: intended lowercase, afab reader

author’s note: hi tumblr :3 i’ll probably post a poll asking for which character to do next. i’m coming back to this app since i deleted tiktok like a dumbass. anywho. enjoy let me ride your face please hyunju

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

hyunju is incredibly gentle and sweet after sex. even if it wasn’t that rough (which it typically isn’t), she makes sure you’re okay. she would cuddle you for a little, running her fingers through your hair and whispering to you about how good you were for her, before getting up to run a bath, and maybe get you some snacks after.

B = Body part (favorite body part on themself and their partner)

her favorite body part on you is your eyes. she thinks they’re so beautiful, and she thinks there’s nothing more romantic and intimate than looking directly into your eyes while she fucks you. she wants to see all the expressions you make, because you’re gorgeous. she also wants to make sure she’s making you feel good.

her favorite feature on herself is her hands, working in the military she’s very good with her hands and she knows it, and she most definitely uses it to her advantage.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

i headcannon that after a while on hrt, she asks you if she can start cumming in you since hrt typically lowers fertility. if you say yes, it becomes her favorite thing to creampie you when she fucks you.

D = Dirty secret (dirty secret of theirs)

related to the last letter, she has a breeding kink. it’s not so much about the idea of getting you pregnant, more so the idea of filling you with her cum.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

i think she’s had sex a few times before you, but it was a while ago and she’s explored a lot about herself since then, so when you two started dating you both explored each others bodies, preferences and kinks together.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary. it gives her the opportunity to hit your deepest spots, and also the eye contact. as i said before, there’s nothing more intimate to her than looking you in the eyes while she fucks you slow and deep.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous?)

she’s usually very gentle which naturally makes room for some playfulness and slight teasing.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

i believe she is groomed and shaved clean since it’s necessary for tucking.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

she fucking looooovees intimate sex. sometimes after a rough day, she just needs lay you down on the bed gently, strip your clothes off, and give it to you deep and slow. not in a lustful way, she just loves the rawness and closeness, the warmth of your body and holding your hand, whispering how much she loves you. sex was never something she does with just anybody, especially after she started transitioning.

(picture you by chappell roan came on as i started writing this part, and i think that was so fitting lol)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

she only does it when she really misses you. she’ll grab one of your shirts and inhale it’s scent while stroking her cock slowly and imagining it’s your hand jerking her off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

praising (giving and receiving), body worship (giving most but also receiving when she really needs it), unnie kink, size difference, brat taming, overstimulation, edging.

L = Location (favorite place to have sex)

she doesn’t really like the idea of having sex with you anywhere other than in the comfort of your home. on that note, she’d be down to fuck you anywhere in your house. but she prefers the bedroom.

M = Motivation (what turns them on?)

nothingggg turns her on more than when you give her that look and call her unnie in that tone. that’s probably one of the few things that gets her a little rough with you. she can’t help how worked up it makes her.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that contains hurting you physically. she wants to take care of you, not hurt you. the most she’d do is some very light degradation.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

she loves eating you out. her eyes would be glued on yours, watching how you react when she adds an extra finger or gives a particularly tantalizing lick to your clit.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

typically gentle as i said before, but if you decide to be a brat she’s more than alright with putting aside the soft dom in her and being rough. and when she’s rough, oh does she ruin you.

Q = Quickies (their opinions on quickies)

she doesn’t mind a quickie. if you wanted to do one she wouldn’t object, but she wouldn’t ask for one on her own. she prefers taking her time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks?)

as long as it doesn’t involve hurting you or humiliating you too much, she’s down to try mostly anything at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

she can last a long time, that military service built her stamina up good. she can go for about 5 or 6 rounds before getting tired, but she’s also okay with less if you can’t keep up with that.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

she doesn’t own any toys personally, but she has a few she bought for you and loves to see you use them on yourself as foreplay.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

she usually likes to give you want you want, but if you’ve been misbehaving she’ll tease you and deny you of your orgasms as many times as she needs to until she’s sure you’ve learned your lesson. she’ll tease you in this condescendingly sweet tone with a pout on her face.

“aww, do you want unnie to let you cum, baby?”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what kind of sounds they make)

she doesn’t typically get too loud, she usually lets out short moans that get breathier when she’s close. one in a while, when your wrapping around her just right, she’ll let out louder moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

she has a snack drawer next to her bed specifically for aftercare, right above the drawer that contains the sex toys, lube, etc. couldn’t get this out my mind for some reason.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A (maybe B) cup tits, and a cock that’s about 5 inches soft and around 6 ½ inches hard.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

her sex drive is pretty regular since when you two have sex it lasts a while, she’s good for at most 3 days after that.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

she can manage to stay awake until you sleep, wanting to make sure you’ve fallen asleep peacefully in her arms before going to sleep herself.

[u6is]

im the release, you the dopamine

summary: the exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by a burning need to connect, to reaffirm the bond that had been stretched thin by their separate ambitions.

warning/s: thigh riding, dirty talk

— kylian mbappé x reader: smut

You woke up with a start, the digital clock on the bedside table casting a stark, blue light across the room, reading 2:47 AM. The usual comforting weight of Kylian's arm across your waist was gone, and the space beside you felt cold and empty.

In the last few weeks, Kylian's football career had taken off like a rocket. Practices had turned into marathons, games into weekends spent apart, and training sessions into solitary nights for you, filled with the echo of his laughter and the distant thud of a soccer ball against a wall.

You were equally engrossed in your own world of deadlines and conference calls, your work laptop a permanent fixture on the nightstand.

Last night, all you could think about was sleeping, not even a cuddle because you were both too tired.

Your body had simply collapsed onto the bed at the end of a long day, like rag doll thrown haphazardly into a box. The sweet exhaustion that came from pushing yourself to the brink of what you thought was possible had turned your intimate sanctuary into a battleground of competing schedules and unspoken worries. You had fallen asleep in your work clothes, the warmth of the bed the only comfort you had allowed yourself, too exhausted to even muster the energy for a goodnight kiss from the man lying next to you.

Now, in the silent embrace of the dark, you felt the full weight of his absence.

It wasn't just the coldness of the unoccupied space beside you that made you miss him. It was the quiet moments between breaths, the little adjustments of his body against yours that signaled his presence even in his deepest sleep. It was the comforting throb of his heartbeat, the steady rhythm that lulled you into a sense of belonging.

You reached out a tentative hand to touch the pillow where he should have been, but it was as flat and lifeless as the rest of the bed. The silence was deafening, amplifying every tick of the clock and the distant hum of the city outside.

You ached for him, a deep, unrelenting ache that no distance could soothe.

With a sigh, you pushed back the covers and swung your legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool against your feet as you padded into the bathroom, the tiles a stark contrast to the warmth you'd just left. You flicked on the light and squinted in the sudden glare. In the mirror, your reflection was a blur of shadows and exhaustion. You turned away, not quite ready to face the reality of your solitude.

Your work clothes were a crumpled mess on the floor, a testament to the hastiness of your collapse. You reached into the closet and pulled out your favorite pair of pajamas, the soft fabric a gentle whisper against your skin as you changed.

At this hour of the night, you know exactly where to find him.

There are only two rooms Kylian truly favors in his house: the bedroom, where his PlayStation resides, and the gym.

You knew Kylian was in the gym, the room he retreated to when the pressure of his burgeoning career became too much. It was his sanctuary, where he could sweat out his frustrations.

The gym door was slightly ajar, and a sliver of light spilt into the darkened corridor. The closer you got, the more you could hear the muffled sounds of his laboured breathing.

There you saw him, lifting weights while sitting on the bench, his legs spread apart for balance. His shorts rode low on his hips, leaving his toned abs and the top of his muscular thighs on full display. His chest was heaving with the effort, the muscles in his arms straining as he pushed the barbell upward, the cords of his neck standing out with the exertion. His eyes were closed, and beads of sweat glistened on his bare skin, tracing rivulets down the valleys of his chest and stomach. His face was a mask of concentration, a silent battle being waged between mind and body.

You just stand there, simply appreciating his existence. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, and you felt a surge of affection for him, for his dedication, his passion, his drive.

As if sensing your presence, Kylian opened his eyes. They searched the room, the intensity of his gaze softening when it found you in the doorway. He offered you a tired but genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a greeting that was more heartfelt than any spoken word. It was the kind of smile that could melt away the stress of the day, the kind that made you feel seen and understood without a single syllable exchanged.

You made your way to him, his arms extending, welcoming you into the warmth of his embrace. He gently set down the barbell, the clank of metal against metal a stark contrast to the quietude of the room.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he sat while you stood in front of him. His lips brushed against your stomach, placing soft kisses there before looking up at you. You cupped his face gently with your hands, gazing down at him with love reflecting in your eyes, a love that matched his own. Holding your gaze, he kissed your stomach again, making you bite your lip and smile tenderly.

"I missed you today," you whispered, your voice barely rising above the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

Kylian’s eyes softened as they searched yours, his smile turning tender.

"Je voulais faire l'amour avec toi hier soir," (I wanted to make love to you last night)

"but you were too tired to even kiss me goodnight." he murmured.

"I thought you were tired as well," you say, your voice laced with apology.

Kylian shakes his head, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Tired or not, I always have energy for you."

As he was talking, you felt a sudden boldness wash over you. You slowly straddled his lap, feeling the warmth of his muscles beneath you. His hands automatically wrapped tightly around your waist, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on the bare skin above your pajama bottoms. Your heart hammered in your chest, the sudden closeness filling the void you'd felt since he left your side hours ago.

"If you can forgive me for being too tired," you said playfully, pecking his neck lightly, feeling his pulse quicken beneath your lips, "then maybe we can make up for it now." Your breath was hot against his skin, and you watched with a mischievous smile as his eyes closed, his head tilting back to give you better access.

He groaned softly as your kisses grew more insistent, his hands tightening around your waist.

"I can forgive you for anything." His voice was a low rumble, the hint of a chuckle in it.

You slid your hands into his head as you claimed his mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. The exhaustion of the day melted away, replaced by a burning need to connect, to reaffirm the bond that had been stretched thin by their separate ambitions. Kylian's arms tightened around you, lifting you slightly to align your bodies more perfectly. The strength in his embrace was reassuring, a promise that no matter how crazy their lives got, he would always be there to hold you.

The muscles on his thighs, so defined and powerful, flexed beneath you as he shifted his weight. The feeling of them against your inner thighs sent a shiver through your body, and you found yourself grinding against him instinctively. His breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he felt your heat. The connection between you was undeniable, a physical pull that transcended the physical exertion of the day.

Without breaking eye contact, Kylian leaned in, his mouth a whisper away from your ear.

"You want to fuck yourself against my thigh?" His voice was a low growl, the suggestion a heady mix of dirty and sweet that sent a thrill through your core.

Please. You nodded, your eyes giving him a needy stare, silently pleading for more.

"Let me see how desperate you are for me."

Kylian's hands slid around to the small of your back, pressing you closer to him. He controlled your movements by swaying your waist on his own accord, his strong thighs flexing beneath you. The friction against your clit was exquisite, building a crescendo of sensation that had you gasping for air.

His eyes never left yours, holding you in a silent contract of desire. The intensity in his gaze was unwavering, a stark contrast to the effort you put in to keep your own eyes from rolling in pleasure. The dance of your bodies grew more urgent, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces. His eyes searched yours, reading the story of your need like an open book. You bit your bottom lip, trying hard not to let the ecstasy overtake you too soon.

The pleasure was building, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to resonate through every inch of your body. Despite the thin barrier of fabric between your clit and his muscled thighs, the friction was electric. Every time you moved, every time he flexed, a wave of pure bliss washed over you. You could feel the heat emanating from him, the power in his muscles, the throb of his arousal pressing against you. The fabric of your pajama bottoms was soaked with your desire, the dampness a silent testament to the pleasure he was giving you.

As the pressure grew, so did the tension between you. The air was thick with it, a palpable force that seemed to vibrate in time with your racing heartbeats. You could feel it coiling tighter and tighter, a spring ready to snap. The eye contact was unbreakable, a silent conversation of need and want that spoke louder than any words could have.

Suddenly, Kylian adjusted his thighs, aligning them directly over your clit. The contact was more than you could bear, and a guttural moan tore from your throat. Your eyes rolled back in your head, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. You leaned in closer, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling in the space between your open mouths. Your eyes fluttered closed, unable to maintain the connection, but you felt his own eyes still on you, watching, absorbing every second of your unraveling.

"That's it, mon amour."

"You like that, don't you?" He murmured, his voice thick with lust.

His words were a symphony of dirty praise, a crescendo of filth that pushed you closer to the edge. You could feel the throb of his erection, his desire for you pulsing in time with your own.

"You like fucking my thighs."

His hands slid up to cup your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples.

"Tu es tellement parfaite." he groaned. (You are so perfect)

He knew your body so well and could feel every twitch and tremble that signalled your impending climax. His arousal was evident, his thighs flexing beneath you, his erection straining against the fabric of his shorts.

With a final, desperate roll of your hips, you came apart in his arms, your body shuddering with the force of your orgasm. It was a silent scream, a release of all the tension that had built up over the weeks of distance and exhaustion. Kylian's eyes never left yours, his smile a smug one of satisfaction as he watched you come undone.

As the tremors subsided, you collapsed against his chest, your body boneless and sated. He held you tight, his strong arms a warm cocoon that shielded you from the world outside.

Kylian gently kissed the top of your head, his breathing gradually evening out.

He leaned back, his thighs still beneath you, and reached for the water bottle on the gym floor. Unscrewing the cap, he held it to your lips, urging you to take a sip. The cool water was a stark contrast to the heat that still lingered between your legs, and you drank greedily, feeling it revive you like a lifeline thrown into a stormy sea.

He took a swig himself before setting the bottle aside, his eyes never leaving yours.

"But we're not done yet, are we?"

His voice had that playful lilt that told you he had more in store. He wrapped his arms around your waist and, with surprising grace for his muscular frame, stood up, lifting you with him. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, his erection pressing against your center.

cleaning my drafts 🧹 lmao. when that clip was released on twt i was so bored that i went to tumblr to write this 😭

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 07 Chapter 07 | renewal⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

The echoes of screams and steel still seemed to bounce off the walls of your mind, yet here, in the dimness of your small room, there was nothing but silence.

Your eyes stayed fixed on your hands, fingers slightly trembling, stained with sweat, dust, and the faint impression of lyre strings.

You didn't move when the knock sounded—gentle but deliberate. A pause, then another knock, more insistent.

You drew in a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before forcing yourself to rise, your legs heavy, as though the floor might swallow you whole.

The effort it took to cross the room felt monumental, each step echoing the weight of everything that had transpired.

You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle for a moment longer than necessary, your mind briefly drifting back to the sight of the great hall—blood pooling across the marble, the scent of death thick and metallic, bodies strewn in the grotesque aftermath.

The image was there for only a second before you pushed it away, burying it somewhere deep, somewhere you wouldn't have to face right now.

When you finally opened the door, Telemachus stood there, his silhouette almost blending into the dim hallway behind him.

He was covered in dried blood, dark streaks marring his skin and tunic. His face was a mask of exhaustion, shadows deepening under his eyes, yet his gaze was still sharp, still searching, as though even now he was ready to act.

His hair was disheveled, the curls sticking to his forehead, and the tightness around his mouth spoke of the strain he was under, the burden of what he had done.

You looked at him, your eyes meeting his, the question slipping out in a whisper, softer than you intended. "Is it done?"

For a moment, his gaze flickered, the exhaustion in his eyes softening to something else—something like regret or maybe understanding. He sighed, the sound heavy, like it came from the deepest part of him. "It's done," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips before you could stop it, your shoulders loosening slightly as the tension began to ebb away.

Though you understood this was the way things had to go, that this was the consequence of the suitors' actions, you couldn't help but feel the fragility of it all—how fleeting human life truly was.

One moment these men had been laughing, feasting, vying for a throne they did not deserve, and the next... nothing.

The silence of the great hall, the emptiness of death—it was stark, final.

You blinked, focusing back on Telemachus, and the memory of his actions flashed in your mind—the way, as soon as the massacre had ended, he had found you.

The hall had still been filled with death, the scent of blood thick in the air, yet he had been at your side, his hands gentle as he guided you away.

You remembered the way his voice had dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear as he urged you to close your eyes. "Don't look," he had said, his tone soft, a stark contrast to the lethal determination he had shown only moments before.

He had shielded you, turned your head away from the sight of the fallen, ushering you from that room of death with a tenderness that felt almost out of place, but deeply needed.

The memory lingered, his presence a stark contrast to the carnage left behind. His hand had been warm, steady, a lifeline amidst the chaos.

The blood on his skin had smeared onto yours, a reminder of what had happened, but in that moment, all you could feel was his warmth, his reassurance.

He had spoken to you softly, his breath brushing against your temple as he murmured that it was over, that you were safe now.

Safe.

It was such a fragile word, yet in that moment, with Telemachus by your side, you almost believed it.

"____," Telemachus said softly, your name pulling you out of your thoughts. Your eyes snapped up, meeting his, and you saw the concern etched into his features, the way his brow furrowed slightly as he watched you.

"I wanted to let you know what's happened since... since you left the hall," he began, his voice still carrying that edge of exhaustion, but also something warmer, a gentleness reserved just for you. "Father's first priority was to cleanse the palace. Both spiritually and physically." His eyes darkened slightly, his gaze drifting for a moment, as if recalling the grim work. "He commanded that the hall be purified, that the bodies of the suitors be cleared. He wanted everything cleansed—the stench, the memory. He demanded that it be done immediately."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the weight of his next words in the way he hesitated. "He ordered the disloyal maidservants to do it. The ones who... entertained the suitors. It was their punishment." He swallowed, his jaw tightening. "They carried out the task, clearing the bodies, scrubbing the blood. It was... not easy to watch."

You nodded slowly, your heart sinking. A part of you felt for them, for the horror of what they had been forced to witness and do.

Yet, you understood. Their betrayal had run deep, and the punishment, harsh as it was, felt just.

Balance had to be restored, even if it came at a heavy cost.

Telemachus must have seen the conflict in your eyes because he offered you a tired smile, a small attempt to lighten the mood. "But... not everything has been grim," he said, his voice softening, a spark of warmth returning to his gaze. "Father reunited with Mother."

Your breath caught, your eyes widening as a soft gasp escaped your lips. "Truly?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes shining with sudden hope. "The queen knows?"

Telemachus nodded, his smile growing. "Yes. She knows. It took some convincing, of course." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Mother was cautious, uncertain. After all that she endured—the lies, the suitors' deceptions—she needed proof. She tested him." He paused, his eyes meeting yours, his expression softening further. "She asked Eurycleia to move their bed out of the room. The bed that Father built himself. The one that can't be moved because one of its posts is a living olive tree."

You watched him, your heart swelling as warmth began to spread through your chest, pushing away the lingering shadows.

Telemachus continued, his voice filled with quiet pride. "Father's reaction was... passionate. He was indignant, even, that anyone would think the bed could be moved. That reaction was all the proof Mother needed. She knew then that it was truly him."

A smile tugged at your lips, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. The thought of your queen, finally at peace, her long years of waiting rewarded—it filled you with something close to joy.

After everything, after all the heartache and fear, she had her husband back.

Ithaca had its king, and Penelope had her Odysseus.

"I'm so glad," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "She deserves this. They both do."

Telemachus nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "We all deserve a little peace," he said quietly, and for a moment, the weight of everything seemed to lift, the heaviness replaced by something gentler, something hopeful.

But then, his expression turned grave, and he looked away from you for a second, his eyes darkening as if he were gathering his thoughts. Telemachus drew in a slow breath before speaking, his voice lower, almost hesitant. "There's... another thing I wanted—needed to tell you," he began, his gaze flickering back to meet yours, the seriousness in his eyes unmistakable.

You felt your stomach tighten, the sense of foreboding settling like a stone in your chest.

"Father decided that cleaning the hall and purging the memory of the suitors wasn't enough," he continued, each word heavy, deliberate. "Those who were disloyal to our family had to face something harsher—a punishment fitting their betrayal."

You nodded slowly, understanding what he meant, your heart sinking further.

Your thoughts immediately went to Cleo—how she had seemed so certain of her choices, so defiant. You wondered how she would take it, if she had even expected this outcome.

Telemachus cleared his throat, his jaw clenching as he looked at you, his eyes searching for something—maybe understanding, maybe forgiveness. "At first, Father simply wanted them banned, expelled from Ithaca. He thought that was enough," he said, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "But I... I insisted that it wasn't." He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor, a flash of shame crossing his features. "Their betrayal was unforgivable. I felt that they needed to be held accountable in a way that truly reflected the gravity of what they had done. I... pushed for a harsher punishment."

He paused, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his face tightening with determination. "Father gave me the green light to decide. He let me take over."

You blinked, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, a cold dread washing over you.

Cleo.

Her face flashed through your mind—her smile, her laughter, the way she had nudged you with that teasing grin, the way she had spoken about living freely, without care for consequences.

Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. "What... what happened to them? To Cleo?"

Telemachus' expression hardened, his gaze steady but filled with an emotion you couldn't quite name—regret, perhaps, or maybe a sense of duty fulfilled. "I ordered the disloyal women to be led outside the palace," he said, his voice devoid of any softness now. "They were executed by hanging—it was meant to reinforce the message that their betrayal had cost them their place in Ithaca." He paused, his eyes flickering away from yours, as though ashamed to meet your gaze.

Your legs suddenly felt weak, the strength draining from them as the full weight of his words hit you. You reached out, your hand grasping the doorframe for support, your knuckles turning white as you leaned into it.

Cleo... was dead?

The world seemed to blur for a moment, the edges of your vision darkening as you tried to steady your breathing. You swallowed hard, your mind reeling, unable to fully process the reality of it.

She was gone. Just like that. A life snuffed out, her laughter silenced... forever.

You closed your eyes, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as you tried to ground yourself, to find some sense of stability amidst the turmoil in your chest. The room felt as though it was closing in, the air too thick, too heavy.

Telemachus' voice broke through the haze, softer now, almost pleading. "I know it was harsh. I know. But I couldn't let it go unpunished. Not after everything." He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours again, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and conviction. "I had to do what I believed was right for Ithaca. For my family."

You nodded faintly, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat tight with emotion. You understood, on some level, why he had done it. But that understanding didn't make the pain any less real, any less sharp.

"I'm sorry, ____" Telemachus whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm so sorry." he reached out, his hand gently brushing against your arm, but then he pulled away, as if unsure of whether he should offer comfort or remain distant.

You took a shaky breath, swallowing down the hurt that rose within you. It was painful, the realization that someone who had once laughed by your side, who had shared moments of friendship, was gone.

But still, you forced yourself to take a step toward the prince, your legs feeling heavy as though each movement took all of your strength.

A wobbly smile pulled at your lips as you looked up at him, tears swimming in your eyes, blurring your vision just a little.

Your hand shot out, quick and instinctive, wrapping around his before he could pull away entirely.

The warmth of his skin grounded you, your fingers trembling as they closed around his.

"It's... it's okay," you croaked out, the words shaky but sincere. You paused, clearing your throat, trying to steady your voice. "I understand why you did what you had to do. There is no excuse for the betrayal they committed... not after everything Queen Penelope endured, all the kindness she still showed even in her darkest times."

You watched as Telemachus' face slowly began to untighten, the tension in his features easing.

His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight he carried seeming to lessen, even if just for a moment. He fully grasped your hand now, his fingers interlocking with yours, and he stared at you, his eyes filled with both sorrow and gratitude.

You continued, your voice softening, trailing off with a sigh. "The only thing I am truly sad about... is Cleo. Her decisions, the way she chose to live—it wasn't supposed to end like this." You closed your eyes for a brief moment, shaking your head slowly, trying to push away the image of her face.

When you opened your eyes again, you squared your shoulders, squeezing Telemachus' hand a bit tighter. "But I understand, my prince. I do." You forced yourself to smile again, hoping that it might bring him some comfort, even if it couldn't heal the wounds entirely. "We move forward from here, as we must."

Telemachus' gaze softened, and he nodded, his eyes glistening with a mixture of emotions. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze in return, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. I... I needed to hear that." His eyes searched your face, as if trying to gauge whether you were alright, whether you could handle what came next.

You swallowed, offering him a small nod, though the words you wanted to say felt caught in your throat, tangled with all the emotions you didn't know how to express.

He nodded back, a hint of a weary smile tugging at his lips. "We have much to do," he said, his voice a little stronger now, a little more like the Telemachus you knew—the one who had always looked forward, even when the weight of the world tried to hold him down.

And you knew he was right.

The massacre was over, but the real work was just beginning.

☆

☆

Side by side, you walked through the palace corridors, the silence between you both as heavy as the air that hung in the aftermath of all that had happened. The long hallway to the throne room seemed endless, each step echoing faintly against the cold stone floors.

The few servants who passed by moved with downcast eyes and hushed footsteps, their presence almost ghostly. You counted only one or two every other minute, each one looking tired and burdened by the knowledge of the events that had taken place.

Your eyes flickered to Telemachus, a worried frown pulling at your brows; you couldn't help but voice the fear gnawing at your chest as you stared up at him. "Were we truly betrayed by so many?"

Telemachus let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, the weariness evident in the lines of his face. "Yes," he admitted, his tone thick with exhaustion. "There were more than we imagined... We'll have to find new servants, people we can trust, but until then... we'll manage."

Your lips pressed together, your brow furrowing even further at his words. You could see the strain etched across his features, the weight of what lay ahead already pressing down on him.

Without thinking, you blurted out, "Maybe we can start by training some of the sheep to carry trays—at least they're loyal."

Telemachus blinked, a look of confusion crossing his face before he realized you were joking. A surprised laugh escaped him, sudden and unguarded, his eyes widening slightly as he shook his head. "That's horrible," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth lifted into a reluctant smile.

You giggled, a small sense of triumph bubbling up within you at the sight of his smile. There was a pep in your step now, pride welling up inside you for managing to lighten his burden, if only for a second. "Horrible, maybe," you said playfully, "but it made you laugh, didn't it?"

Telemachus shook his head again, the smile lingering on his lips as he glanced at you, the weariness in his eyes softening just a bit.

The two of you continued on, the throne room drawing nearer with each step.

As you rounded the corner, the grand doors to the throne room came into view. Telemachus paused, reaching out to push one of the heavy doors open, his other arm extending just slightly for you to slip through first.

You met his eyes, offering him a soft smile as you whispered, "Thank you." You slipped under his arm, stepping into the room, with Telemachus following close behind.

The moment you entered, both of you froze at the scene before you.

In the center of the throne room, instead of the two royal seats occupied by separate figures, there was a single, intimate silhouette—Odysseus and Penelope, wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious to the grandeur surrounding them.

They stood at the heart of the space, a quiet monument to love and endurance.

Penelope's arms rested around Odysseus' shoulders, her hands gently tracing the back of his neck, as if grounding herself, ensuring he was real.

She looked down at him with a softness in her gaze that betrayed years of longing, a gaze only two people who had known both separation and deep love could share.

Her dark hair cascaded down her back, catching hints of the sun's warmth, and her face, usually guarded and composed, was now tender, her lips parted in a silent reverence.

Odysseus, in turn, gazed up at her with an expression that was almost childlike in its vulnerability.

The lines of hardship and the sharpness of war softened in his face as he looked at his wife, his hand lifting to trace the curve of her cheek with a gentle reverence. His thumb brushed just below her eye, a touch so light it seemed almost as if he feared she might vanish if he pressed too hard.

There was a tenderness in his eyes, a deep, unwavering devotion that spoke of both gratitude and relief—relief that, against all odds, he had returned to her, that this moment, once only a distant hope, was finally real.

As he traced her face, his hand slid up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as if savoring the warmth of his palm. She tilted her head down, pressing her forehead to his, her lips curling in a gentle, almost shy smile, one that held years of love, longing, and relief

They didn't need words. The silence between them was rich and full, a communion that transcended speech, filled only by the gentle cadence of their breathing and the slow, rhythmic beat of their hearts.

Their love, once tested by time, loss, and separation, had returned to bloom, stronger and more resilient than ever.

The throne room itself seemed to share in their reunion.

The sunlight bathed the scene in a warm, golden hue, illuminating the lovers as if blessing them.

The once cold stone of the palace was now softened by the light, casting an ethereal glow that made everything feel otherworldly, almost enchanted.

The columns, the high vaulted ceiling, even the shadows themselves seemed to embrace the moment, framing the couple in a warm, protective cocoon.

You and Telemachus found yourselves hesitating at the threshold, not wanting to break the spell that enveloped them.

Telemachus' hand lingered on the door, his gaze fixed on his parents. His expression was a mixture of awe and deep, unspoken emotion.

His mother and father, finally reunited, had become more than parents or rulers in this moment—they were a testament to everything he had fought for, a symbol of everything that made this kingdom worth saving.

For a moment, the two of you simply watched, the light and peace of the room seeping into your souls.

The throne room was empty, yes, but it was fuller than it had ever been—filled with the presence of those who had returned, with the love that had endured, and with the hope of a new beginning.

The peace in the room seemed timeless, untouched by the world's sorrows, as though the gods themselves had blessed this moment, wrapping the long-awaited lovers in a warmth that was both eternal and fragile, like a dream finally brought to life.

Odysseus, sensing his son's presence, turned his head slightly, a soft smile forming on his lips as he said, "Hello, Telemachus. Hello to you as well. ____."

But even as he acknowledged his son and you, he didn't release Penelope. He held her closer, as though anchoring himself in her warmth, her solidity, as if reassuring himself that she was no figment of his imagination.

His other hand moved to the small of her back, drawing her just a fraction closer, and Penelope straightened to face you and Telemachus, her arm still wrapped around her love. Her gaze was tender, her eyes shimmering with both joy and a vulnerability rarely seen.

Penelope's lips curved into a smile, and she reached out with her free hand, her voice soft and filled with affection. "My son," she said.

Telemachus took a step forward, his movements almost hesitant, his steps jittery as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

When he finally reached his parents, both Odysseus and Penelope wrapped him up in their arms, pulling him close, holding him securely between them.

You watched, feeling your heart swell with warmth. Your eyes shimmered, tears blurring your vision as you placed your hands over your chest, as if to hold in the feeling of love and relief that threatened to overflow.

For a moment, it was as if Telemachus was a child again—sheltered between the two people who meant everything to him, the tensions of the past few days melting away as this family was finally reunited.

The sight brought a small smile to your face, and you could almost feel the weight of all the fears and worries lifting. The image before you was something sacred—something that spoke to hope, to love that could endure the worst of trials.

Penelope turned her head, her eyes catching yours as her smile widened. She waved at you gently, her voice inviting, "Come here, dear."

You blinked, a bit taken aback, your brows rising as you stuttered, "M-Me?"

A soft chuckle escaped both Penelope and Odysseus. Odysseus nodded, his gaze warm. "Of course. Penelope has told me all about you," he said, his voice full of appreciation. "You played a vital role in keeping our kingdom alive. You have our deepest gratitude."

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you nodded, feeling a rush of warmth and something akin to disbelief. Softly, you began to walk up the steps toward the royal family, your steps shaky, your heart racing.

When you reached them, Telemachus looked at you with that warm, familiar smile that never failed to calm your nerves. He gently reached out, grabbing your hand.

You let out a small yelp of surprise as he pulled you forward, drawing you into the embrace.

Suddenly, you were wrapped in warmth—surrounded by Penelope, Odysseus, and Telemachus.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way, the love and warmth pressing in on you from all sides.

You could feel Penelope's arm resting gently against your back, Odysseus' sturdy presence beside you, and Telemachus' hand squeezing yours.

Your heart raced in your chest, and you could feel tears stinging your eyes again, but this time, they were tears of happiness.

For a moment, everything felt perfect—like all the pain, the uncertainty, the fear, had been worth it just to be here, embraced by the people who had fought so hard for this peace.

Your chest tightened, filled with hope, warmth, and love.

It was a family reunited, and though you were not born into it, in this moment, you felt as though you belonged.

For once, there was no distance between you and those you stood beside—you were part of something larger, something enduring, and it filled your heart with a sense of quiet joy.

Slowly, the embrace broke.

Penelope and Odysseus still held each other, their arms wound tightly as though unwilling to let go even for a second, while you found yourself standing beside Telemachus, his presence comforting by your side.

Odysseus then turned, his gaze sweeping the room, pausing for a moment on each face—Penelope's steadfast gaze, Telemachus' thoughtful expression, and even your own, as if pulling strength from those who had stood beside him.

He drew in a breath, the tension in the air palpable. "My dear family, and you, who have been loyal to us through everything," he began, his voice rich with emotion, "our journey has been long and arduous, filled with trials I would not wish on anyone. Ithaca has suffered in my absence. Our people have faced uncertainty, hardship, and loss."

You saw Penelope's expression darken, her brow furrowing as those memories returned—the suitors, the constant manipulation, the feeling of being cornered.

Telemachus, too, looked down for a moment, his eyes clouding with thoughts of the years without his father, the struggles, the moments when hope had seemed lost.

"But," Odysseus continued, his voice rising above the weight of the past, "we are here now. We have survived, and we will rebuild." He looked to Penelope, his gaze softening. "Together, we will heal these wounds. I will not let Ithaca remain broken, not when it has so much potential for prosperity."

There was a conviction in his voice, the kind that left no room for doubt. The people deserved a leader who not only defended them from threats but also ensured their prosperity.

And he wanted to give them that.

You could hear the weight of his words, each one resonating with a sense of duty. He was not merely concerned with power; Odysseus was a protector, a man who saw his kingdom not as territory, but as people who needed him.

He then turned to Telemachus, his gaze softening, the fire in his eyes shifting to something more paternal, more tender. "Telemachus," he addressed, "As the rightful heir to Ithaca, you have much to learn. The road won't be easy, but together we can restore Ithaca to what it should be," he added, his voice laced with both challenge and hope. "Are you ready for what lay ahead?"

You watched as Telemachus listened, his face serious, his eyes reflecting the weight of his father's expectations. There was no hesitation, no hint of the boy who had once doubted himself.

Instead, you saw a young man who had faced darkness, who had seen the price of weakness and betrayal, and who had emerged with a stronger will.

Telemachus seemed to stand a little taller before his father, his posture straightening, his eyes meeting Odysseus' with newfound strength and understanding. "I understand, Father. I am ready," he replied, his voice steady, a glimmer of something resolved in his eyes. "I have waited for this my whole life—to learn, to be worthy of this kingdom, and of you."

You could see the resolve in his eyes, the promise he silently made to both his father and himself.

The trials of the past days had forged him into someone who understood the cost of leadership—the sacrifices that must be made, the difficult choices that lay ahead, and the burden of carrying the hopes of others on his shoulders.

Odysseus smiled, a warmth crossing his features that was rare in the years of battle. He stepped forward, his free hand reaching out to rest on his son's shoulder. "Telemachus, you have already proven yourself worthy. What remains is for us to build this future, side by side. It will be hard—harder still than what we have faced—but I believe in you. I believe in us."

You watched as Penelope closed her eyes for a moment, as if to absorb the strength of Odysseus' words, her lips curving into a faint smile. She reached her hand out to her son, her fingers brushing against his arm. "Telemachus, Ithaca is as much yours as it is ours," she said, her voice filled with both love and a gentle seriousness. "This is your future too."

Telemachus nodded, his chest rising as he took in a deep breath. Then he turned, looking down at you standing beside him. His eyes were kind but tinged with uncertainty, and you could see the vulnerability beneath that mask of resolve. "We have all had to make sacrifices," he said softly, his words directed towards you. "And you—you've been with us, helped us more than you know."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your heart pounding at the sincerity in his voice.

The royal family—Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus—were not just rulers, not just legends. They were a family bound by love, by their trials, and by the quiet promise of better days ahead.

You gave Telemachus a small nod, your eyes meeting his. "I am honored to serve," you managed, though your voice was barely a whisper.

Penelope's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her hand tightening around her husband's arm. "We have waited so long for this day," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And now that you are here, I know we can do it—together."

Then, Odysseus' eyes softened as he turned to his wife, his smile growing warmer. "Now, Penelope, prepare a feast—a gathering not for celebration, but for remembrance and hope. It is time to honor those who have been lost, those who fought for Ithaca, and to mark the beginning of a new era."

Penelope smiled, a soft, knowing expression crossing her face. "Of course, my love," she said, her voice gentle, filled with both relief and affection. She glanced towards Telemachus, who in turn looked towards you, his eyes lighting up with an idea.

"Perhaps you could play for us," Telemachus suggested, his gaze resting on you, a hint of encouragement in his expression. His mother immediately nodded, her eyes sparkling in agreement. "Yes, please do. It would bring such warmth to the gathering," Penelope added, her voice sincere.

You felt Odysseus' eyes cut to you, his gaze evaluating for a brief moment before softening. "I have encountered many in my travels," he began, his voice carrying the weight of experience, “but I do not think I have ever heard one play or sing a tune as sweetly as you." His compliment was genuine, his eyes holding yours as though to impress upon you the depth of his words.

Heat rose to your face, and you bowed your head slightly, a warm smile spreading across your lips. "Thank you, my king," you replied, your voice filled with pride. "I would be honored to play."

With that, the conversation shifted towards preparations, the room slowly filling with a sense of purpose.

You found yourself standing beside Telemachus once more, his hand briefly brushing against yours as you both turned to follow his parents. A small smile played on your lips as you looked towards the future—one that, for the first time in a long while, felt hopeful and bright.

A/N: alright, first arc done/building up the romance between telemachus, now onto two our nextn contestants. hm, should it be apollo or hermes? or should i leave apollo last to meet???; also, how do you guys like my newest fic, 'godly things?' i'm trying my hand at tackling a more softer mc, so i hope i make her empathetic/not too apathetic like makima from the kne one lololo.

[writersblockiskillingme]

hi! could you write a chloe x red x fem!reader (ben's younger sister) imagine where the reader is sick and they take care of her?

Sick Days | Chloe Charming & Red

Pairing: Chloe Charming x Red x fem!reader (Ben's!younger!sister!reader)

Summary: Being sick certainly isn't fun. Luckily, girls are always ready to take care of you.

Warning/s: fluff, short fic, like really short fic, sickness, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: My Wi-Fi sucked the whole day yesterday AND today, so I'm only posting this now even though I wanted to yesterday. Anyways, here you go. Hope you enjoy it!

The Isle of the Lost was a place where shadows clung to every cracked cobblestone, and love was a rarity. But you, Ben's younger sister, had always been drawn to the unexpected—the way Chloe's laughter echoed through the narrow alleys, and the way Red's eyes softened when she thought no one was watching.

Your secret relationship with both Chloe and Red was a delicate dance.

Chloe, the daughter of Cinderella, was fierce, but a true softly and she was never afraid to show it. Her blue hair fell in curls, and her eyes held secrets she'd never share.

Red, on the other hand, was all brooding intensity—the daughter of the Queen of Hearts, tuff nature with eyes filled with determination, but with a big golden heart.

One chilly evening, you stumbled upon their dorms. The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Chloe's eyes widened when she saw you, shivering and pale.

"You're burning up," she said, her voice gentle like always. "Red, we need to take care of her."

Red grunted, but there was concern in her eyes. She pulled you closer, wrapping you in a blue and yellow blanket.

Chloe brewed a cup of herbal tea, her fingers deft as she stirred in honey and whispered incantations for healing.

"You're lucky we found you," Chloe said, her fingers brushing against your forehead. "We're not exactly known for our nurturing skills."

Red scoffed, but she stoked the fire, making sure you were warm. She pulled out an old book—a relic from Auradon—and began reading aloud. Her voice was deep, resonant, weaving tales of magic and redemption. You leaned against her, feeling the fever slowly go away.

Chloe sat on the other side, humming a soothing melody. Her touch was tender as she traced patterns on your arm.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered. "We won't let anything happen to you."

And in that moment, surrounded by two unlikely protectors, you believed her. The Isle might be harsh, but love had a way of healing even the deepest wounds. Chloe and Red took turns caring for you—Chloe with her potions and Red with her stories. They stayed by your side, their hearts entwined with yours.

Days blurred into nights, and you drifted in and out of fever dreams. Chloe braided your hair, and Red traced intricate patterns on your hair. They argued about the best way to break the curse that plagued the Isle, their voices rising and falling like a symphony.

When you finally opened your eyes, weak but alive, Chloe pressed a kiss to your forehead. Red grunted, but her hand found yours, rough and steady.

"You're stuck with us," she muttered.

And you realized that maybe, just maybe, the Isle wasn't so dark after all. One of them almost came from it. Love had found you in the unlikeliest of places—in the arms of a villain's daughter and a scarred hero.

As you recovered, you vowed to protect this fragile connection, to let it bloom like a forgotten flower pushing through the cracks.

And so, hidden in their dorms, surrounded by whispers of magic and the warmth of two hearts, you healed.

Chloe and Red became your anchors, and you, their shared secret—the missing piece that completed their fractured souls.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@xoxo-h3arts @i-am-fork @a-homosexual-homosapien @snixx2088 @cyb3r-st4r @heartsfromcoco @angeliangelo @judgment-days-kid

[sunarc]

34 please ♡

Ask Game: Here

Tw: Somnophilla

You look so pretty right now. It’s like you were begging for him, wearing a silky nightgown with no panties to bed, it’s like you know exactly what you were doing. You sweet snores were like music to his ears. You were in your deepest slumber perfectly sprawled out on the bed, core glistened basically calling his name. His fingers slid against your warmth, collecting your slick in the process. 

“Look at how perfect you are” he breathed the words as he watched his fingers glisten in the moonlight. “So wet, so pretty and all for me” he stroked his cock over your sleeping figure watching as your chest moved up and down at the most gentle pace. His hand moved at a slow pace massaging his cock in an attempt to match your breathing. He placed his tip against your clit softly circling the bundle of nerves. 

“Shit you dont understand what you do to me” he whispered

“You have the most perfect body, I just wish i could slam my cock in you” he brushed his tip against your entrance not yet wanting to fully sink himself into you yet. 

“Could you imagine waking up and the bed is just soaked with your cum?” his eyes stared at you with hunger. His tip was growing an angry red as if screaming at him just to get a taste of your succulent cunt. 

“Imagine waking to find your thighs covered in my cum. I bet youd get so fucking wet at the thought, just knowing my cock was shoved so deep inside of you and you had no clue in the world”

He slowly inched himself into you groaning at the way your slick walls welcomed him with ease.

“You’d probably beg me to fuck you all over again, sad at the fact you couldn’t experience me making love to you.”

You laid still in a deep slumber unbeknownst to the fact he was slowly sinking himself into you rocking back and forth at a constant pace preparing himself to fill you with his cum. He let in a short gasp trying to contain himself. He wanted to let his moans flow free but the thought of you waking up had him holding his breath with worry. 

“You don't even have to be awake for me to know you love this. Your body tells me everything I need to know” he groaned softly. 

His thrust were long and slow. He wanted so desperately to hold you tight and fuck you at a pace that would leave you shaking uncontrollably. 

“Look at how you're screaming for me, this is your body’s way of telling me how much you love me isn't it?”

If only you could see the look of hunger engraved in his eyes as he watched your sleeping figure take his cock. He was getting desperate, craving just a bit more. He needed to have you in the most filthy way. He wanted to watch you fall apart for him without you even knowing it. 

He wanted to see how far he could take you. Would you wake if he just gripped your hips and maybe fucked you just a tad bit harder. No, no you could handle it, he’s knows his baby

“Just like that, take my cock and make it nice and wet for me baby” he whispered the words as his eyes rolled back. 

With each thrust he made he was growing more and more desperate.

“Your mine” he growled the words “Your body is mine, and I wanna see how many time i can make you cum without waking you”

His words were filled with determination

“Sleep tight baby, I promise I’ll take real good care of you”

Characters:

Armin, Connie, Eren, Kuroo, Bokuto, Tendo, Gojo, Choso, Toji(im going on an whim and saying him because part of him would not give a fuck but another part of him would like seeing you be so clueless), Bachira, Shidou

[shandoratheexplorer]

"Always, always you save me."

Art made by @acutecastle (thank you so, so much for this!!! I LOVE IT!)

As the others gather at the docks, their eyes turn skyward. The nautiloids above them, once terrible in their dominion, now spiral out of control, their monstrous forms colliding with the towers of Baldur’s Gate. A deafening cacophony of destruction fills the air as they plummet, their impact sending shockwaves through the city. Some disappear into the Chionthar below, the river swallowing their ruin whole. Astarion barely notices. "I—It’s gone...", he gasps, his voice wavering with disbelief. "The tadpole... I can’t feel it anymore." The words tremble on his lips as his mind races to process what it means. A slow smile spreads across his face, something fragile, something real—until his gaze finds Octavian. Octavian, who is already moving toward him, worry etched into every sharp line of his expression. The Paladin’s mismatched eyes search his face with an urgency that tightens Astarion’s throat. The vampire knows what’s coming next. He knows, and yet— Just one more time. Just a few more seconds. His chin tilts skyward, and he lets the evening sun caress his face. The glow of it, the gentle warmth against his skin, the way it bathes the world in gold—gods, how he will miss this. How he will long for it. He drinks it in, clings to the sensation as if he can will himself to withstand it. But the sun is a cruel lover. The warmth sours into fire, licking at his skin, searing through his flesh. He stumbles, the pain blooming across his body, but he refuses to move. "Astarion!" Octavian’s voice cuts through the agony, hands gripping his shoulders. "You have to get out of the sun!" But he can’t. Not yet. Because even as the fire tears at him, as his body weakens under the onslaught, he grieves. He grieves the one thing he loved most about this entire accursed tadpole business— Apart from finding his soulmate. His legs give out beneath him. He collapses, knees hitting the dock with a thud, the sun scorching his skin like a brand. He braces for the agony, for the light to consume him— And then, shadows envelop him. A rustle of feathers, the soft snap of wind against wings, and suddenly, the fire is gone. Astarion gasps as cool darkness swallows him whole, shielding him, saving him. The agony recedes, leaving behind only trembling exhaustion. Slowly, he lifts his head. Octavian’s wings stretch above them, crimson like the deepest velvet, silver filaments catching the dying light. Astarion’s breath stutters. Crimson meets pearl grey and sapphire blue. "Octavian..." His name is not just a name. It is a lifeline. A prayer. A love story written in blood and battle and a future that should have never been his to dream of. Astarion chuckles weakly, his voice fraying at the edges. "Always, always you save me." Octavian smiles down at him, something impossibly soft in his gaze. "If shelter is what you need, then shelter is what I will give you. Always, Starlight. Always." Astarion no longer has the strength to hesitate. He throws himself into Octavian’s arms, allowing the Paladin to gather him close, to wrap him in the warmth and safety of his wings, to become his shield against a world that has never been kind to creatures like him. His face presses into the cool metal of Octavian’s armor, and he exhales shakily, a whisper slipping from his lips like a sacred confession. "I love you." Octavian’s arms tighten around him, his voice steady, unshakable. "I love you too." And just like that, Astarion is home.

[angeliccss]

A Witch’s Prayer, A Saint’s Sin

Pairing: Joan Ramsey/FemWitch!Reader

Chapter: 3/3

Words: 5.5 k

Summary: Joan revealed her deepest, darkest secret, but when love shifts into something unshakeable, she stops hiding and starts holding on—because now that you’re by her side, she’s never letting you go.

Warnings: Explicit!

Read on AO3

AN: Slightly edited, enjoy! Please tell me if there's any mistakes. I hope y'all enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Xx

Soft light filters through the open window, gently pulling you out of sleep's warm embrace. The air is cool, and the room is quiet, save for the soft sound of Joan’s steady breathing. You blink a few times, disoriented, before realizing she’s holding you close, her arm draped over your waist, fingers lightly tracing the curve of your back. The warmth of her body against yours is grounding and comforting, yet there’s an underlying tension in the air—something you can’t quite place. 

“Sweetheart,” Joan murmurs, her voice low and steady, pulling your attention to her. “I want you to do something for me.” She gently tilts your chin, guiding your face to meet hers. The sunlight bathes her in a warm glow, her hair shimmering like a halo, and for a moment, she looks ethereal–angelic. She’s watching over you with such tenderness that it takes your breath away.

She leans in just a little closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and the air between you feels thick with something unspoken. “Show me,” she whispers, her voice soft but insistent. There’s a tremor in her gaze, as though the request is both a plea and a command. “Show me what you are. I want to see the light you carry inside you. The part of you that’s pure. That’s good.”

You hesitate for a moment, a flutter of uncertainty in your chest. Joan’s gaze is unwavering and intense yet gentle, as if she’s waiting for something you don’t fully understand. She’s always been so sure, so confident in her control, but in this moment, there’s a raw vulnerability in her eyes that pulls at you, urging you to trust her.

“Please,” she breathes, her voice soft but thick with a hunger you can’t quite place. “I need to see it… I need to see the light you hide. You’re not like them, and I want to understand you.”

You take a slow, shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you feel her hand still on your face, warm and comforting. It’s as if she’s giving you space to be something more than you’ve shown her before.

“I’m not afraid,” she adds, her thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid either. Show me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and tender, as the tension between you both thickens. The thought of letting her see the side of you that’s always been hidden, the part that’s always felt dangerous, untouchable. It feels both terrifying and freeing. 

You close your eyes, your breath shallow, and let yourself feel the shift inside you. Slowly, you extend your hand towards Joan, not out of any conscious thought but because the pull between you feels too strong to ignore.

The moment your fingers brush her skin, the air around you seems to crackle, and light begins to pulse softly from your body. At first, it’s faint—a shimmer, like the first rays of the sun at dawn, but it quickly grows, swirling around you, wrapping you both in a warm, golden embrace.

Joan stares at you, wide-eyed, her breath catching in her throat. “What… what is this?” Her voice is barely a whisper, filled with awe and something more—something that stirs in her chest. She reaches out, hesitating, before her hand finds its place on your wrist. The light flickers like the softest flame, yet it’s constant, filling the space with a divine glow.

“It’s… me,” you whisper, the words almost too soft to be heard. “I don’t know how to explain it, Joan. This is who I am.”

Her eyes search yours, filled with wonder and disbelief. “You… you’re not like anyone else,” she murmurs. “This isn’t—” Her voice falters as she watches the light flow from you, bathing the room in a soft, golden radiance. It’s so pure, so beautiful, that for a moment, it feels like time has stopped.

The warmth of your magic washes over her, and Joan closes her eyes, leaning into the sensation, as though she’s being embraced by something more ancient and protective than she can comprehend. “You’re an angel,” she breathes, her voice trembling with reverence. “A real angel…”

Your chest tightens at the word, the weight of it sitting heavily in the air between you. But in that moment, you realize she’s not afraid. She doesn’t recoil or question you. She simply accepts, as though your light is as natural as breathing, something that belongs with her.

The light swirls around you, filling the room with warmth, and Joan’s eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat. The brilliance of your magic overwhelms her, and before she can stop herself, the words slip out.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she stares at you. The words feel ancient, heavy with centuries of belief, but in this moment, they’re more than just scripture. They’re an invocation, a prayer to something higher.

You feel the shift in her as she speaks, the way her fingers tighten around your wrist, pulling you closer. Her eyes are full of something you can’t name—something between reverence and fear. She continues, almost as though compelled by something beyond herself.

“Yet, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” Her gaze softens, and for a moment, she’s no longer looking at you as a mere mortal but as something more—something divine. “For Thou art with me.”

The words echo in the air, and for the first time, it feels like she truly understands, even if she can’t fully explain it. She’s not afraid. She’s entranced, caught between the religious teachings she’s held onto and the undeniable truth of what’s standing before her.

“Are you... sent from Heaven?” she asks, her voice trembling, as though the very question could shatter something inside her. “My savior to bring me back from damnation?”

Joan’s breath comes unsteady, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around your wrist. There’s something almost fragile in her expression, something teetering between devotion and devastation.

“I…” Her lips part, but the words fail her. Instead, she lifts a trembling hand, hovering just above the light that still lingers around you. Her hesitation is brief. Then, as though drawn by something beyond her own will, she touches you.

It starts at your cheek, her fingertips ghosting over your skin like a whispered prayer. A sharp inhale—her own, yours, you can’t tell—cuts through the quiet, and then she presses her palm fully against you, as if confirming you are real. Warmth floods her touch, and her lashes flutter as she exhales, like something in her has just unraveled.

“You…” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “You are holy.”

Her touch is reverent, burning and delicate all at once. You should pull away, you think—you should say something, deny whatever sacred image she’s built of you in her mind. But you don’t. You can’t.

Joan strokes her thumb across your cheek, her touch both hesitant and possessive, as though afraid you might disappear if she loosens her grip. The light still lingers in the air, the warmth of it pulsing gently between you, casting shadows along the sharp angles of her face.

“Joan…” Your voice is quiet, uncertain. You search her face, trying to understand the depth of emotion flickering in her eyes. It’s too much. The way she’s looking at you—it’s too much. Like she’s unraveling, like she’s breaking apart and holding herself together all at once.

“Say it,” she whispers, her voice raw with something you don’t quite recognize. “Tell me you were sent to me.”

The weight of her words settles over you, heavy and consuming. The reverence in her gaze makes your chest tighten. You weren’t sent from Heaven. You weren’t anyone’s salvation. But Joan looks at you like you are. Like she’s already decided.

Your lips part, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t know what she wants from you—what she needs from you. Your silence only makes her tighten her grip, fingers sliding down to trace the line of your jaw. The way she touches you feels like worship, and it terrifies you. “Joan,” you try again, softer this time, but she shakes her head.

“You don’t understand,” she murmurs. Her hand trails lower, ghosting over your throat, then down, pressing over your collarbone. “You were made for me.” Her fingers flex, like she’s trying to ground herself in the feeling of your skin beneath her hand. “You’re… perfect.” Something twists inside you. A shiver, a flutter of warmth—something you can’t name.

She exhales sharply, eyes flickering between your own. Her other hand rises to cradle the back of your neck, and you’re caught, unable to move, unable to breathe. “Let me feel you,” she whispers, her lips barely inches from yours. “Let me prove it.”

Her fingers glide down your throat, slow and deliberate, pressing just enough to feel your pulse flutter beneath her touch. A shuddering breath escapes her, and for a moment, she just watches you, taking in every reaction, every tremble beneath her hands.

“You were made for me,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as though speaking it aloud makes it real. Her hands drift lower, mapping over the curve of your collarbone, the rise and fall of your breath. She moves without hesitation, with purpose, like she’s committing every inch of you to memory.

The room feels smaller, the air thick with something unspoken. Joan leans in, her lips brushing against your temple, a soft, reverent press of warmth before she trails lower, her breath hot against your skin. Her mouth lingers just beneath your jaw, and then she kisses you there—slow, searching. You can feel her sigh against you, the way she exhales like she’s finally breathing for the first time.

Her hands continue their descent, teasing over the fabric of your nightgown before slipping beneath, her fingertips tracing the bare skin below. She moves with aching slowness, dragging this moment out, savoring it. When she finally presses her lips to yours, it’s not rushed or desperate—it’s consuming, a slow claiming, like she’s taking her time proving to both of you that you belong to her.

Every touch sent a shiver through you, pleasure blooming beneath her fingertips like something electric. Your skin was alive with sensation, every nerve attuned to her, drawn to her.

"So sensitive," she murmured, her lips brushing against yours in a teasing whisper before trailing lower, pressing warm, lingering kisses along your jaw. Your breath came in quick, shallow pulls, each one tangled with the warmth of her touch. Beneath the haze of sensation, a deeper need stirred—a quiet, aching longing for more. For her to unravel you completely.

“Look at you,” Joan murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers trace slow, lazy patterns across your skin, as if she’s memorizing every inch of you. “So soft… so perfect.”

She kisses your cheek first, then the corner of your mouth, lingering, savoring the warmth of you beneath her lips. There’s something almost hesitant in the way she touches you—not because she’s unsure, but because she wants to take her time, to draw this out for as long as she can.

“My angel,” she breathes, the words reverent, as though they carry a weight only she understands. “God didn’t send me salvation, He sent me you.”

She cups your face in her hands, tilting your chin up until your eyes meet hers. There’s something desperate in her gaze, something that makes your stomach flutter. Like she’s not just touching you—she’s worshiping you.

“You were made just for me,” she says again, softer this time, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw before moving lower. “And I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”

Without warning, she leans in, pressing her lips to you—reverent, exploratory. The first taste of you pulls a moan from deep within her, raw and unrestrained, sending a shiver through you. A small, gasping sigh escapes your lips, fingers twitching against the sheets.

Joan wraps her arms around your thighs, anchoring herself to your warmth as she pulls you closer, desperate, devoted. Her breath is hot against your skin, her grip firm as if she’s afraid to let you go. And then, with a slow, aching hunger, she buries her tongue inside you.

You gasp at her eagerness, your fingers tangling in her hair as your body responds instantly to her touch. “Mmm—yes… right there,” you breathe, voice trembling. “J-just a little—ahh, yes, keep going… just like that. God, that’s so good.”

Your moans spill out in breathless, incoherent syllables, your thighs trembling as you chase the crest of your pleasure. Joan seems to sense it, the way you’re teetering on the edge of bliss, and she doesn’t hesitate—her fingers slip inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right. At the same time, her lips replace her tongue, wrapping around your aching bundle of nerves, drawing you in deeper, pulling you apart.

As she works you closer to the edge, Joan’s breath becomes more uneven, her body shifting slightly as if trying to anchor herself in the same growing tension that you’re experiencing. Her fingers never falter inside you, but there’s something restless in her—something she can no longer deny.

Her free hand drifts down, trembling slightly as it slips between her own legs. A soft gasp escapes her lips, and her movements become more frantic, almost desperate, as she touches herself in time with the rhythm she’s setting for you. She’s lost in the sensation of giving you pleasure—her own need rising as she watches you fall apart beneath her, the way you’re completely undone because of her.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Joan murmurs, the words rasping out of her as she speeds up, pressing against herself. “You make me lose control… feel so good, watching you fall apart for me.”

Joan’s breath quickens as she watches you, her fingers still moving inside you, guiding you closer to the edge. Her own hand works faster now, as though she can’t contain the pleasure building inside her, drawn tighter with every soft, desperate gasp you release. She’s completely lost in you, in the way your body shivers and trembles under her touch.

"You feel so perfect," Joan breathes, her voice thick with desire. Her eyes lock onto yours, her grip on you tightening as she watches your face contort in pleasure. "I need you... need to feel you fall apart just for me."

Her fingers move more urgently, driven by the rising tide of her pleasure, but she never breaks her attention from you—never loses sight of how you’re unraveling beneath her. Every movement feels like worship, like she’s offering herself to you just as much as you are to her.

A low, breathy moan escapes Joan as she presses her fingers against her clit, the sensation adding a frantic edge to her motions. She’s trembling now, the need to finish building in her voice as she looks down at you. "Come for me, angel... show me how much you need this."

Joan’s movements grow more insistent, her fingers curling deep inside you, perfectly attuned to every shiver, every gasp, every helpless sound spilling from your lips. Her pleasure mounts with each motion, each whimper she pulls from you, her hips subtly rocking into her touch. She’s completely lost in you—drunk on the sight of you writhing beneath her, on the way you cling to her, fingers fisting in her hair like she’s the only thing grounding you.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice nearly shaking, caught between reverence and desperation. “Give in, my sweet thing. Let me feel you—let me have you.”

She’s trembling now, undone by her own touch, by the way you’re coming apart for her, by the way your body arches into hers as if you were made for this. Her breath catches as her pleasure crests higher, as the tension coils tight inside her, the sensation heightened by the way you gasp her name, the way you break beneath her hands.

“Oh, God—” The words spill from her lips like a confession, like an oath, but she isn’t thinking of Him. Only of you. Only of how you’re unraveling for her, how your pleasure drags her deeper into the abyss.

And then it happens—your body tenses, eyes fluttering shut as a sharp cry escapes you, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Joan feels it, the way you clench around her fingers, the way you tremble in her arms, and it’s too much—she chases her release with a desperate moan, shuddering as she finally lets herself fall with you.

For a moment, there’s only heavy breathing, the warmth of her body still pressed against yours, her hands still gripping you like she’s afraid to let go. She rests her forehead against your thigh, her breath warm against your skin, her fingers twitching where they still rest against you.

Slowly, Joan lifts her head, her gaze meeting yours. And when she speaks, her voice is raw, breathless—filled with something that sounds dangerously close to devotion.

“I love you,” she whispers, and this time, there is no hesitation. Only certainty.

Silence hangs between you, thick and trembling, the only sound your uneven breaths mingling in the still air. Joan’s words echo in your ears, sinking into your bones, wrapping around your heart like something sacred.

I love you.

It doesn’t sound like a mistake. It doesn’t sound like something she wishes she could take back. It lingers—soft, raw, unguarded. And for once, Joan Ramsey does not flinch from the truth.

She stays there, her head resting against your thigh, her hands still gripping you as though afraid you’ll slip away. Her breath is warm against your skin, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak again. Maybe she’s waiting. Waiting for judgment, for rejection, for you to recoil from the weight of her love.

But you don’t.

Instead, you reach for her. Your fingers thread through her dark hair, gentle, reverent, as if touching something holy. Joan exhales sharply, shuddering beneath your touch, and when she finally lifts her head, her eyes find yours—wide, searching, almost afraid.

“Joan…” your voice is soft but steady, carrying none of the hesitation she must have feared. You brush your thumb against her cheek, feeling the way she leans into it despite herself, as though she’s spent her entire life aching for this kind of tenderness.

Her lips part, but no words come. It’s as if she doesn’t know what to do now that the truth has slipped free.

You could say it back. The words sit on your tongue, warm and certain, ready to be spoken. But instead, you let your hands speak for you—pulling her closer, guiding her up until she’s wrapped in your arms, her body molding against yours like she was always meant to be there.

Joan melts into you, burying her face against your neck, her breath shaky, uneven. You feel the way she clings to you, her fingers digging into your skin, like she’s terrified you’ll disappear.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispers at last, voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it. “Just… let me stay like this. Just for a little while.”

You tighten your arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple, your lips lingering against her skin. “As long as you want,” you murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The afterglow clings to you both like silk, warm and heavy, but Joan doesn’t move away. Instead, she lingers, her fingers ghosting over your skin as if committing every inch of you to memory.

She exhales, slow and measured, then shifts onto her elbow, brushing damp strands of hair from your forehead. Her gaze is unreadable, something between reverence and restraint, like she’s caught between indulgence and the need to pull away. But she doesn’t pull away. Not yet.

Wordlessly, she reaches for the glass of water by the bedside, sitting up just enough to press it to your lips. The act is surprisingly tender—careful, almost hesitant. You accept it, taking slow sips, your throat still raw from breathless gasps and whispered pleas.

When she sets the glass down, she leans in, her hand resting against your cheek, her thumb stroking absentmindedly. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

Her voice is different now—low, lacking its usual sharpness. It’s almost gentle.

Still, she doesn’t let go. Instead, her fingers trace down your arm, following a path over your wrist before entwining with yours.

She shifts again, this time reaching for a cloth, dampening it with cool water before bringing it between your legs, cleaning you up with a touch so soft it makes your chest ache. She doesn’t say anything as she does it, only watching, her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted as though she wants to speak but doesn’t know how.

You don’t stop her. You don’t flinch away.

When she’s finished, she sets the cloth aside, but still—she doesn’t move away. Instead, she wraps an arm around you, tucking you against her, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. And just before sleep threatens to claim you, you hear it—so quiet it’s almost swallowed by the night.

“Mine.”

A prayer, a promise, a plea.

The loud, jarring slam of the door swinging open startles you from sleep. You barely have time to process the sudden chill in the air before a sharp voice cuts through the room. “Well, well. Isn’t this cozy?”

Your body tenses, eyes flying open—only to find Joan already awake, holding you tightly. Her arms tighten instinctively around you, her grip possessive, unwavering. The warmth of her body is still wrapped around you like a shield, but now it’s something more. A declaration.

Fiona stands in the doorway.

Her gaze sweeps over the two of you, taking in the way Joan cradles you, the way your body is still pressed against hers, boneless and pliant from sleep. Her lips curl—not quite a smirk, not quite a sneer—just something knowing.

Behind her, Luke lingers, his expression shifting rapidly from confusion to disbelief to something dangerously close to betrayal.

“Mother?” His voice is rough, like he already knows the answer but doesn’t want to believe it. Joan doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t loosen her hold on you. If anything, she draws you closer.

Her chin tilts upward, eyes cold, voice smooth. Unbothered. Untouchable. “What are you doing in my home, Fiona?”

Fiona scoffs, stepping further inside, the heels of her shoes clicking against the floor. “Please, Joan. You think a locked door is going to keep me out?”

Her eyes flick to you again—still drowsy, still tucked securely against Joan’s chest. Something flickers across her face, something unreadable.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” she muses, shaking her head. “Stealing away a pretty little thing like her. Though, I have to say, I expected you to put up more of a fight before you lost yourself.”

Joan finally smiles. It’s slow and deliberate. Dangerous. “Who says I lost?” Fiona lets out a low chuckle, the kind that curls at the edges with amusement but never quite reaches her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs, shaking her head as she takes another slow, measured step forward. “That’s adorable.”

Joan doesn’t react; she just tilts her head, her grip around you never loosening, her fingers slowly tracing over your arm in lazy, absentminded strokes—a display, a silent message.

This one is mine.

Luke, however, is far less composed. He’s still standing in the doorway, still staring, his mouth opening and closing like he can’t quite find the words. “Mother…” His voice is tight, tinged with something raw. “Tell me this isn’t—” He stops, swallowing hard, his face twisting. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

Joan’s lips curl, not quite a smirk, but something dangerously close. “And what exactly do you think it looks like?” Luke takes a step forward now, his hands clenched at his sides. “It looks like you’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

Fiona hums, not disagreeing. She moves to the side, leaning against the nearest surface with all the ease of someone watching a game unfold before them, thoroughly entertained.

“It’s fascinating, really.” She gestures vaguely toward you, still nestled against Joan, the sheets barely keeping you covered. “I never thought I’d see the day Joan Ramsey let herself be undone.” Her lips purse. “Over a witch, no less.”

Something inside Joan flickers at that, but she masks it well.

She exhales through her nose, slow and deliberate, and finally—finally—untangles herself from you. But she does it carefully, almost reverently, as though letting go is something unnatural to her.

Then she stands, tall. Steady. Unshaken. Joan meets Fiona’s gaze head-on. “Call her that again.” Fiona raises a brow. “Oh?” Joan’s voice dips—dangerous, steady. “Call her that again, and see what happens.”

Fiona studies her for a moment. Then, instead of responding, she shifts her gaze to you. “And you?” she muses, bored, curious, calculating. “Are you just going to sit there and let her speak for you? Or do you have something to say?”

The weight of their eyes falls on you. Luke’s, pleading. Fiona’s, amused. Joan’s… expectant. Waiting. It's up to you to choose.

You sit up slowly, the sheets pooling around your waist, but your voice is steady, unwavering. “I have nothing to say to you.” Fiona’s brows lift in amusement. “Oh? Nothing at all?”

Your gaze doesn’t leave hers. You don’t shrink away. “I don’t owe you anything.” Something flickers across Fiona’s expression surprise, intrigue, something almost akin to approval.

But Luke looks like you’ve struck him. “You don’t mean that.” His voice is hoarse, searching, desperate for something, for the girl he thought you were. “She’s manipulating you.”

You shake your head, exhaling slowly. “No, Luke. I made my choice.” And then you turn to Joan. She hasn’t moved. Hasn’t spoken. But her eyes are locked on you, sharp and assessing, full of something unreadable.

And then full of warmth. Something softens at the edges, something subtle. You chose her. And she is never letting you go. Luke goes still. Fiona’s smirk falters just for a second. But you don’t hesitate. Your voice is clear, steady, a truth that’s been waiting to be spoken.

“I love Joan.” It’s not just defiance. Not just a choice. It’s everything. Joan inhales sharply. Her grip on control, on restraint fractures. Her name in your mouth, shaped with love, not fear. Her name, declared before those who would tear her from you. She has never heard anything more sacred.

Fiona exhales, shaking her head with something between amusement and frustration. “Well, shit.” Luke’s expression crumbles. “No—” Joan moves before she thinks. She reaches for you, fingertips brushing your cheek, tilting your chin up, needing to see you, to be certain. And when she finds no fear, no doubt, only love… Her lips part, but for once, Joan Ramsey has no words. 

Fiona clicks her tongue, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch between you all. Then, with a smirk, she shakes her head. “Love, huh?” She exhales a laugh, sharp and knowing. “Well, that’s adorable. But tell me, sweetheart, what happens when she decides you’re just another sin she needs to repent for?”

Joan’s jaw tightens, her fingers curling at your waist like she's ready to defend you, but she doesn't say anything. “Watch your mouth.”

Fiona raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Hit a nerve?” She looks at you like she’s trying to read your soul, her words sharp as glass. “You sure about this, angel? Sure you won’t wake up one day and find yourself crucified for it?”

You don’t blink. Don’t waver. “I’m sure.” Joan tightens her hold on you, as if the very act of standing your ground requires her protection. And in a way, it does. Fiona sighs, rolling her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, don’t come crying to me when it all burns down.”

She takes one last glance at you and Joan, her gaze hard but tinged with something almost respectful. And then she turns on her heel, leaving with a final, almost mocking, “Try not to get excommunicated, Joan.” The door clicks shut, and the room feels quieter, emptier.

Luke lingers, but only for a second. His gaze falls to you, full of something that hurts to see. It’s almost as though he’s saying goodbye without saying it aloud. Finally, he walks away, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the distance.

And then there’s just you, and Joan. The air feels heavier now, filled with quiet certainty—this is yours. This is real.

Joan exhales slowly, her hand still resting on the small of your back as if grounding herself through your warmth. She doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, she watches the door, like she’s waiting for it to swing open again, like she might still be pulled from this moment.

But no one comes. “I need to tell you something,” she says at last, her voice soft, barely breaking the silence. “Before this goes any further. Before you look at me like that again.” You blink, turning toward her. “Like what?”

“Like I deserve you.” She finally meets your eyes, and the expression there makes your stomach twist—haunted, resolute. “I’ve done something. Something unforgivable.” You stay quiet, waiting.

“He was going to leave me,” she begins, slowly, carefully. “My husband. Said I was... too cold. Too much. Too everything. He packed a bag. Said he’d found someone else.” Her jaw clenches. “Said he wanted freedom.”

She’s trembling. Just slightly.

“I knew he was allergic,” she continues. “To bees. Terribly so. I knew he didn’t always carry his pen. And I knew he wouldn’t check his car.” She laughs, once, sharp and humorless. “So I filled it with them. Bees. Dozens. Hundreds. I stood at the window and watched him go.”

Your breath catches. “He died before he made it to the hospital,” she says, and for the first time, her voice cracks. “And I didn’t feel sorry. Not then. I felt relieved.”

Joan turns toward you now, fully, her eyes wide and raw. “But now I look at you, and all I feel is guilt. Because you… you make me want to be something better. And I don’t know if I can be.”

You don’t flinch. You just reach for her hand, lacing your fingers together. “I was so angry,” she says. “I thought… if he could just be gone, then maybe I wouldn’t be left again. I wouldn’t be unloved.”

You don’t tell her it was wrong. She knows that already. What she needs isn’t punishment. It’s someone who won’t run. You lean your head against her shoulder. “You’re not unloved now.”

Joan lets out a shaky breath and turns her face into your hair. “Do you believe in second chances?” she asks. You close your eyes. “No.” Her breath stills. “I believe in choices,” you whisper. “And I choose you.”

Her arms tighten around you like she might fall apart otherwise.

Outside, the wind rustles the trees. Somewhere in the house, the old walls creak like they’re settling around this new truth: she killed for love, and you stayed anyway. Joan presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Say it again,” she murmurs. You smile. “I choose you.”

The days that follow settle into something quiet. Not perfect, not easy—but real. The house feels lighter now, like the walls have let out a long-held breath. There are no more secrets waiting behind doors. No more shadows trying to take you from each other.

Joan still wakes before you sometimes, lying beside you in the soft golden light, just watching. Like she’s memorizing your face. Like she’s making sure you’re still here. You always are.

She brings you tea in the mornings, her hand brushing yours with a tenderness that’s new and unhurried. You help her tend to the garden, your fingers brushing in the soil, laughter blooming between you like wildflowers.

One evening, you curl up together on the worn couch, a blanket tangled around your legs and your head tucked beneath her chin. Her fingers trail idly along your spine. The fire crackles low in the hearth, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no tension in her shoulders. No storm in her eyes. Just the slow, quiet settling of someone who knows they are no longer alone.

“I used to think I’d have to pay for what I’ve done forever,” she whispers into your hair. You tilt your head to look at her, your palm resting over her heart. “You’re not paying anymore. You’re healing.” Joan closes her eyes at that, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “With you, I think I can.”

You stay there long after the fire dims to embers. The night wraps around the two of you gently, not to hide, but to hold. To cradle something reborn in softness, and hard-won love.

No one comes to take it away. Not Fiona, not the past, not even the guilt. Just the two of you, safe in the quiet glow of something true. You are hers, and she is yours.

And for once, that is enough.

[velarisdusk]

Murmurs of the Abyss

Day 26: Mind Control | Rhysand x Reader word count: 800 author's note: yk whats so crazy is that i HATED this while i was writing it but im looking at it now and she's kinda beautiful a little bit ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

Your thoughts are no longer your own, drifting in a haze of pleasure and warmth. Rhysand’s voice fills every corner of your mind, his commands soft but absolute. 

Good. Just like that, my love, he purrs, his words sliding through your consciousness, sending shivers down your spine.

You find yourself kneeling on the bed before him, his dark eyes fixed on you, a lazy confident smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Your body responds before you can even think—your back arches, your legs spreading wider, as though moved by an unseen force. Unseen, but not unknown. Rhysand’s will. His touch is featherlight, but the connection in your mind makes every brush of his skin against yours feel electric, as though the sparks are traveling straight to the deepest parts of you. There’s no need for words—he doesn’t need to speak to you when his voice is already buried inside your thoughts, guiding every movement, every breath.

Touch yourself for me, darling, his voice commands, and before you can process the thought, your hands are already sliding down your body. Your fingers find the slick heat between your thighs, and a gasp escapes your lips, your hand moving in slow, tortuous strokes, entirely out of your control. 

The sensation is overwhelming, your body responding to a desire that feels both yours and not. You’re trapped in this strange, blissful limbo—aware of everything, but powerless to stop it. And gods, you don’t want to. The way his magic wraps around your mind, pushing your body to obey, is intoxicating.

Faster, just like that, Rhysand’s voice growls, and your fingers pick up speed, each movement dictated by him, drawing you closer to the edge. He’s not just watching you—he’s making you do this, and the knowledge sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.

Your mind screams with pleasure, your body obeying his every silent order. Your legs tremble, hips rising off the bed to meet the rhythm he’s set for you. His power presses down on you, a constant, gentle force that takes away your agency, leaving you to be a willing puppet to his desires.

“Rhys,” you whimper, but the words barely register before he takes hold of you again.

Hands off. Now, he commands, and just as easily as your fingers had moved, they stop, pulling away from the heat of your core. The denial makes you moan, but even that sound is swallowed by the fog in your mind. You’re helpless to do anything except what he wants, and it makes your pulse quicken, your arousal burning even hotter.

Rhysand’s fingers replace yours, stroking along your thigh, but you can’t move. Can’t reach for him, can’t even shift your hips toward him—his hold over you is too strong, his power keeping you locked in place. You’re at his mercy, unable to do anything except feel.

Now, ride me, darling. Show me how much you crave this, his voice purrs in your mind, but your body already knows what to do.

Without conscious thought, your legs swing over him, straddling his hips, your core aching as you sink down onto him in one smooth motion. The sensation is sharp, almost too much, but you’re powerless to stop. His hands rest lightly on your hips, but it’s his mind that truly controls you, forcing your body to move up and down in a rhythm that drives you wild.

Your mind is foggy, dazed by the intensity of it all—his control, the way he fills you completely, the way your body obeys his every command without hesitation. You’re moving, rocking against him, but it’s all him. You couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

Faster. Harder. You better not be holding out on me.

Your pace increases, each movement deep and desperate, your body responding to his will, and only his. He’s pushing you higher, taking you to the edge, and you can’t stop it—he won’t let you.

“Please,” you gasp, your voice broken, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t have control anymore.

Come for me, beautiful, he orders, and with that final command, your release hits you like a storm, ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. You’re nothing but sensation, your body writhing in his lap, every nerve ignited as your orgasm crashes over you. He holds you through it, his grip firm on your hips, guiding your body until the last shudder fades.

When you finally come down, your mind begins to clear, the fog lifting as Rhysand slowly pulls back his influence. You feel his power recede, leaving you breathless and limp in his arms, the echo of his control still lingering on your skin.

“Perfect,” he murmurs against your ear, his hands gently stroking your back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@isnotwhatyourethinking @randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @90angiex

@fourthwing4ever

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Asexuality and Demisexuality: A Shadowgast Rec List

This week, we have asexuality! Check under the cut for 14 fics that explore and feature asexuality, demisexuality, and explorations of the whole spectrum! Don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!

I’ve been lost before by Toneofjoy (165000, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

It’s about professional rock climbers but that’s not important to the story, it’s just great writing.

Reccer says: Spectacular writing and world building. I have no interest in rock climbing but am glued to this story. Great representation of healthy relationships goals of all types

The Upward Arc of Sun and Moon by Marsastronomica (255854, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn

“ Though Essek and Caleb met three years ago, a misunderstanding put them at odds. The more they talk, the quicker Essek falls into his first romance…which unknowingly leads them both into a web of underhanded machinations.”

Reccer says: The best Shadowgast AU that might ever exist. Lovely demi vibes for so much of it, and great character exploration

The Art of the Possible by CatgirlTheCrazy (3655, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek's libido was an annoyingly unreliable thing. Caleb, on the other hand, was pretty much always open to sex. Making that disparity work was not a simple matter.

Reccer says: This might just be the single most thought provoking, revelation creating story I’ve ever read. It’s BEAUTIFUL.

On the Nature of Attraction by eeveev (7536, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek finds himself falling in love, and has a few revelations along the way. They prompt a conversation with Caleb.

Reccer says: Among the greatest Shadowgast fics out there! This so perfectly captures part of their relationship and their relationship with the Nein. I love it!

a gentle warmth filling the deepest of needs by nevenne (4101, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek has never had any interest in romance, or physical touch, until Caleb.

Reccer says: It's a very relatable demi experience, and highlights some very sweet experimenting between the wizards.

go ahead, decipher me by lakrisrot (enheduane) (2854, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Early relationship, Caleb and Essek discover that drow have sensative ears.

Reccer says: So sweet and sexy!

How to Rest by eeveev (17762, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

After Aeor, after making their feelings clear, Caleb is in Rexxentrum and Essek is on the run. Still, they find ways to be together. Or: Six months in the lives of wizards falling in love.

Reccer says: Delicate as lace and just as intricate, a must read. Also, BOTH wizards are ace-spec and I love them to bits. This fic is part three of four in the series On the Nature of Love, which further explores Caleb and Essek's dynamic.

Sex Education by sociallychallengednerd (25487, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

College AU where Caleb and Essek hook up to 'learn' about sex, but miscommunication between them complicates their relationship.

Reccer says: Sappy, sexy, and with a happy ending! All of my favorite things!

you know that time is all we’re made of by Chronocrystal (20107, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

5 times Essek saw Caleb's unmasked self (and loved him all the same) and 1 time Caleb saw Essek's (and loved him the way he deserved).

Reccer says: A beautiful story of a developing relationship. I love it!

a winter's crest detour by jaskofalltrades (22873, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

No powers modern AU where Essek and Caleb meet on a plane and quickly form a connection neither wants to end.

Reccer says: One of my favorites! I love seeing the two of them getting to know each other and their immediate connection. The way Essek describes his demisexuality is very similar to my own so I connect very closely with this fic.

A Body in Absentia by Nonwal (103602, Explicit) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

A scourger!Bren au with amazingly written and in depth exploration of Esseks demisexuality.

Reccer says: The characterisations especially, this fic is exactly what I look for when I’m reading. The plot is one to have you gripping your device nervous for the outcome of the next chapter.

The Heart is Hard to Translate by CatgirlTheCrazy (6964, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

“Are you telling me that you’ve been forcing yourself to have sex with me when you didn’t want to?” Caleb’s voice is soft, yet paradoxically echoes around the space as if the salon has become a mausoleum. Essek shifts about uncomfortably. “Well—yes, I suppose that is a way to describe it.”

Reccer says: A fantastic story that continues/preceeds another in this series but can be read alone. It’s incredible and so relatable. I love it dearly.

both our tender bellies wound in baling wire by lakrisrot (5233, Mature) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Months after Essek has moved in with Caleb, he finds he has trouble sleeping. He visits Caleb’s room one night.

Reccer says: I like the atmosphere and the unconventional first time together.

Hands to Myself (Can't Keep My) by Luuuna03 (6399, Teen) Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes

Essek explores his new and confusing feelings toward initimacy - in regards to one wizard, in particular

Reccer says: Very soft and fluffy!

This is one of our weekly communally-generated shadowgast rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. 

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring merfolk fics!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit!

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Adam with fem!reader who gets off by adams pleasure during sex

Like observing his reactions, movements, sounds, just knowing they’re giving him pleasure is enough

A/n: I wrote this on my way home from work.6:30am baby!

Sitting on Adam's hips, you couldn't help but feel warmth in your belly watching your love pant, doing his best to catch his breath after your love making.

Biting your lip you let your fingers run up and down his chest. "Do you know what gets me off my love? Watching you cum, knowing that I am the one doing that....I want to do it again." You whispered into his ear.

Adam's eyes widen with surprise and intrigue as he listens to your words. He can feel a surge of desire reignite within him as he realizes the depth of your desires. He could feel himself harden from that gaze you were giving him alone.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Oh, my sweet and adventurous angel. I'm more than happy to oblige your desires."

With a swift movement, he flips you onto your back, positioning himself between your legs once again. His hands glide over your body, his touch both gentle and possessive. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Tell me, my love, how do you want to make me cum? Show me just how much power you have over me."

The anticipation and excitement fill the air as he eagerly awaits your response, ready to indulge in your deepest fantasies and desires.

"Shit! Please Adam. I need you, I want to feel you cum in me, I need to feel each thrust, I need to hear each of your groans telling me how good I feel." You whispered as your legs moved to his hips.

Adam's eyes darken with a mix of desire and possessiveness as he hears your plea. He can sense the urgency and need in your voice, and it ignites a primal hunger within him.

A low, feral growl escapes his lips as he aligns himself with your entrance, his gaze locked with yours. With a powerful thrust, he impales himself deep inside you, filling you completely.

His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he begins to move with a primal intensity. Each thrust is filled with a raw, carnal desire, his hips meeting yours with a powerful rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his deep, guttural groans.

Your name spilling from his lips like a prayer as his wings encased you both. Leaning down his lips hovering over yours, his voice a husky growl against your ear. "You asked for it, my love. Feel every inch of me. Take all of me. I'm going to make you mine again and again."

You let a cry, your nails digging into his shoulders as you did your best to met his thrusts. Your walls clenching around his cock.

With each thrust, he seeks out your most sensitive spots, his movements becoming faster and more intense. The pleasure builds within him, his need to claim and mark you overwhelming everything else.

As the pleasure reaches its peak, he can no longer hold back. A deep, primal roar escapes his lips as he releases himself inside you, filling you with his warmth. His body trembles with the force of his release, his hips continuing to move, riding out the waves of pleasure.

He collapses beside you, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you possessively, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and adoration. "You're mine. Always and forever. And I'll make sure to give you everything you desire."

Doing your best to catch your breath, you could feel little spasms hit you. Grinning you nuzzled into his chest as his wings covered your body more. "You'll always have me Adam, I love you."

Eyes softening, Adam gave you a smirk though it did not take long for it to soften in a smile. "I love you too"

[letmetakecare]

Saria awoke to disorientation and an oppressive silence. The air felt strange... too warm, too thick and her first instinct was to gasp for breath. Instead, her lungs filled with a strange, sweet-smelling vapor, delivered by the mask strapped tightly over her mouth and nose. Panic surged as her fingers flew to her face, clawing at the unfamiliar device, trying desperately to pull it off. The straps held firm, unyielding, no matter how hard she tugged.

Her breaths quickened, the mask hissing softly in response. Each inhalation brought a flood of warmth into her chest, spreading through her body like liquid fire. It felt… wrong, but also so very good. Too good. Her fingers faltered, shaking, as a wave of dizziness overtook her. The faint whisper of a voice accompanied the gas now, threading into her thoughts like a song.

Breathe. Relax. Submit.

“No,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the mask. She tugged again, frantic, but her grip weakened as the gas worked its way deeper into her mind. Her movements slowed, her hands dropping limply to her sides. A soft moan escaped her, unbidden, as a rush of warmth surged through her veins. She couldn’t deny it... the mask’s vapor felt intoxicating, soothing, as though it knew exactly how to touch the deepest parts of her mind.

“Saria,” a deep, commanding voice called from the shadows, smooth and cold. “Don’t fight it. The mask knows what you need. It’s helping you.”

Her head snapped toward the voice, eyes wide with panic, but her body refused to move. The gas worked its magic, and the whispers grew more insistent.

Obey. Let go. You want this.

Her resistance wavered as the words began to blend with her own thoughts. Did she want this? Her body betrayed her, arching slightly as the warm haze of pleasure intensified. She whimpered softly, her breaths deep and slow now, drawing more of the addictive vapor into her lungs. It felt too good to stop.

“You feel it, don’t you?” the man continued, stepping into the faint light. He was tall, his silhouette imposing, his eyes gleaming with a predatory calm. “The mask is showing you the truth. Every breath you take, every thought it whispers, it’s all for your benefit.”

“No…” Saria tried to protest, but the word sounded hollow even to her. The gas drowned her objections in another wave of soothing euphoria. She shuddered as her mind grew softer, her will melting under the relentless whispers.

Surrender. It feels so good to let go.

Her hands, once clawing at the mask, now rested limply on her lap. Her body felt weightless, her thoughts distant, as though they were no longer her own. The sensations coursing through her were impossible to resist. It wasn’t just physical; it seeped into her mind, rewiring her, making her crave more of the gas, more of the mask, more of him.

“Please…” she whimpered, though she wasn’t sure if she was begging him to help her or to let her fall further.

The man approached, towering over her as she sat frozen on the floor. Slowly, he placed a hand atop her head, his touch gentle, almost affectionate. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, and the whispers grew louder, clearer, their words sinking deeper into her thoughts with every stroke of his hand.

Good girl. Obey. You need this.

Her breathing hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as her body surrendered completely. His fingers moved through her hair with slow, deliberate care, the rhythmic motion lulling her deeper into submission. With every touch, the mask’s power seemed to intensify, the whispers consuming her.

You love the mask. You love the gas. You love to obey.

Her body trembled violently as the words locked into place within her, becoming her truth. The whispers wrapped around her like a cocoon, stripping away everything she was and replacing it with their commands. Her mind became blank and pliant, eager to absorb the truths the mask offered.

She knelt there, trembling, staring blankly for a moment before her lips parted again, this time in desperate pleading.

“Please…” she begged, her voice breathy and broken. “Please let me serve you. I want to serve. I need to serve.”

The man said nothing, his lips curling into a knowing grin. His hand remained atop her head, stroking softly, ensuring the whispers continued to root themselves deeper and deeper into her mind.

The pleasure of her submission reached an unbearable peak, her muscles spasming as the mask’s hypnosis locked in completely. With a choked gasp, her eyes rolled back into her head, her lips parting as soft moans escaped her. The pleasure and arousal consumed her entirely, her mind sinking into a blank, glassy state of total hypnosis.

She knelt in silence, her body still trembling, her glassy eyes staring blankly ahead, utterly lost in the mask’s control.

Her thoughts were gone. All that remained were the whispers, repeating endlessly, ensuring she would never be anything but what the mask had made her: a vessel for obedience, bound to serve without question.