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ovaryacted · 3 months ago

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ENDLESS LOVE

─ Old Man! Logan Howlett x fem! mutant! reader || WC: 5.4k

SYNOPSIS: Running out of options to save what was left of his family, Logan escapes to Canada and seeks refuge in a stranger's home. Once he arrives at your doorstep, beaten and bruised, he gets more than what he bargained for as your lives become intertwined.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. ANGST/SMUTTY/FLUFFY. Fix-it fic. Found Family. Strangers to Lovers. Budding relationship. Emotionally constipated Logan. Yearning. Mutual pining. Flirting. Kissing. Mentions of smut. Mentions of marriage & pregnancy at the end. Valentine's Day mention. Reader is an empath/telepathic mutant/mind bender. Mentions of Laura & Charles Xavier. Canon-adjacent to Logan (2017). Logan doesn't die and gets a happy ending!

A/N: Hi! This is my entry for the Loveuary Challenge hosted by @lubdubology & @yxtkiwiyxt (yes a month late, I’m sawry!) I was given Old Man Logan/Wolverine paired with the song Endless Love by Lionel Richie & Diana Ross, and this was what I came up with. I rewrote this like three times, so it was hard getting through it, but I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you to my twin @joelsdagger for the proofread, love you to bits. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

He remembers what it felt like. Loss. All-consuming loss. He’s lived through it more times than he could count, escaping the narrow grip of death for all of his very long, undeserving life.

So much blood had spilled on his hands that his pale skin was permanently stained in crimson, losing track of whether it was his own or someone else’s. The burdens of the world weighed heavily on his shoulders like the rest of him, dragging his feet through the Earth, searching for a safe haven, a home, a reason to keep going.

There was never enough time. No time to grieve. To beg for forgiveness. To find the light at the end of the tunnel. The suffering from the two centuries he’s lived through was imprinted on his psyche, doing reruns of the wars he fought in his sleep, the sound of cannon fire and dog tags dangling around his neck haunting him in his nightmares.

Logan was as much of a monster as people made him out to be despite his dwindling strength and delayed regenerative health saying otherwise. He was ready to throw in the towel as soon as Charles’ seizures started; losing his loved ones in one fell swoop was enough to break whatever was left of his fading spirit.

Years spent scavenging, fighting, surviving off of scraps…mending the broken pieces of the man he saw in the cracked mirror. The Wolverine, a fable tale like the rest of the mutants and the X-Men, lost to the ravages of time and the severed mind of their savior.

Of course, that all changed when they met Laura.

A feisty, angry, defiant young girl that flipped Logan’s life upside down. Really, he was initially putting up with her for some money to stretch over the next couple of months. He could get Charles his medicine, maybe get them out of New Mexico and into a house with steady walls, real plumbing, and a yard. It was a fantasy, dreaming of something other than the dust that polluted his sights so frequently, choking him up more often than the blood that clotted at the base of his throat.

Realizing she was his, his family, revived the dormant beating encased in his ribcage. From the scowl on her face to her nose scrunches, the furrow in her eyebrow when she was frustrated or in deep concentration, the way the side of her mouth curled upwards in a smirk. It was all irrevocably him; it couldn’t be questioned, and he didn’t think to do so.

Laura redefined what family meant to Logan, another chance at having the very thing he lost long ago.

They almost didn’t make it to Canada; the dreaded journey to the other side of the border dragged on far longer than any of them anticipated. The irony that Logan would find himself in his “home” country again after so long brought memories he could’ve sworn he had forgotten. Charles had told him before to prioritize getting there first, that everything else would work out on its own. That there were things Logan didn’t yet understand, and that he didn’t need to.

A second chance. A new life. It’s all within his reach, his and Laura’s. All he had to do was get there.

Logan had lost count of how many times the old man had been right, how Xavier’s wisdom wasn’t entirely clouded by his terrorizing Alzheimer’s, still locked somewhere deep in that dying brain of his, guiding his loved ones—the ones that remained—to safety. He wouldn’t allow the same mistake to repeat again; he couldn’t bear losing any more people because of his shortcomings.

He just had to get them to Canada.

Apparently, the journey led them right to you.

You were already walking out of your home and onto the porch when Logan’s truck pulled in the driveway, eyeing him closely as the hairs on the back of your neck and arms rose. He stepped out first, guarding a younger girl standing behind his broad figure, and none other than Charles Xavier in the backseat.

You were waiting for them, distantly remembering years ago the professor had come to you in your dreams with a message, mentioning that he would need your help in the future, that you’d know when you were needed. He didn’t tell you anything else, didn’t say exactly who would be coming to you, just that you were to help them at all costs. Not one to disagree, you continued on with your life in Canada, assimilating into society despite the isolation you felt carrying a responsibility you didn’t know what to do with. Until now.

As you observed the older, scarred man, it dawned on you exactly who you were dealing with. You’ve heard of him, of the Wolverine; this first impression of him is different than what you expected. He watched you, body stiff, riddled with anxiety and uncertainty, a protective hand over the little girl’s back, keeping her close.

Staying in place, you kept your stance relaxed, showing no sign of a threat to the three individuals before you.

“You must be hungry.”

All sat at the dinner table, you didn’t say anything as you offered some hearty tomato soup, warming your guests from the inside out. The young girl, Laura, whom you’ve come to know, didn’t hesitate to hold her empty bowl up and ask for more. With a smile, you served her twice without question, more than happy to give whatever they needed, Charles and Logan included.

The first night in the new space threw Logan off-kilter, saying goodnight to Charles after you administered his new meds, the stronger dosage knocking him right out with no additional assistance. You helped in settling Laura to bed without needing to be asked, guiding her to the bathroom for a shower, spare clothes at the ready, and your comforting presence at the door.

Tentatively, Laura roamed around the other spare bedroom you had in your home, plopping on the plush bedding prepared for her, already claiming the bunny plushie you figured she might’ve liked. She murmured a thank you, shutting her eyes, and you stood by the entryway as Logan placed a kiss on her forehead, switching off the light and closing the door behind him.

He didn’t give you a chance to make any suggestions of where you wanted to put him, mumbling that he would take the couch in your living room. You figured he wasn’t ready yet. He’ll keep the walls he had spent decades building, the ones that nurtured his fears and worries, the ones that kept him alive. There was no need to push him further, offering the shower if he wanted to wash off the dried blood from his undershirt, along with clothes you guessed would fit him, telling him you’d wash the rest in the morning.

You leave him standing in the living room with a curt smile and a promise of safety, that Logan didn’t need to sleep with one eye open anymore. Surely, he’ll come to understand that. Retreating back to your bedroom, he cleaned up and lay back on the pillows you gave him, his body shutting down before he could finish his next breath, eyes closing as he plunged into a deep sleep.

For the first time in years, he slept through the whole night without jolting awake. Actually, he slept well into the next day. Whether that was because of exhaustion or because he felt comfort for the first time, that was for him to figure out later.

He remembers what it felt like. What love was—is.

His love towards his family, with Charles and the other X-Men, and now with Laura included; his daughter in more ways than he thought possible. He can faintly remember the traces of love he had towards Jean before she made her choice to stay with Scott, though he doesn’t think his feelings for her ever went away, loving from a distance despite letting her go. Over the course of his 200 years, he’s had that “spark” more than once, many happening when he wasn’t graying and knocking on death’s door, some lost in the deep mess of his scattered memories. Though, Logan didn’t anticipate feeling that same spark another time when coming to Canada, seeking refuge in your home.

It started off slowly, as it always did, through acts of kindness that came naturally to the both of you. He figured it was easier to make himself useful as a way to say thank you when he couldn’t find the words. You were very hands-on with Charles; whatever medicine cocktail you had been giving him kept his seizures at bay, and frankly, he’s the calmest and happiest he’s ever been. Logan almost thinks he could see the old Charles come back, stopping by the foyer to listen to the professor share his memories with a toothy smile. He had never smiled so wide, not in a very long time.

Logan tried to keep himself busy around the new space, doing repairs as much as his body would allow, and really, you didn’t need him to do anything. All you worried about was his health and well-being, which was easier said than done. He didn’t let you fuss too much over him and told you to focus more on Laura and Charles, who were more than happy to occupy your time. Still, always one to care for strays, you could never really leave him alone.

He often watched you take care of Laura, how patient you were with her despite her little temper tantrums as she adjusted to her new surroundings. He did his best in raising her initially, doing what he figured was best, but he couldn’t give her the softness he knew she needed at her age, the other half of what she didn’t know was missing in this dynamic.

Laura liked your cooking, especially the pancakes you’d make for her in the mornings. She was also fond of bubble baths, the ones you’d set up for her after a long day of running around in your open yard. She really liked her room and the privacy it gave her, along with the toys you had gifted her. Sometimes when you both could, you’d read her to sleep, and he’d pass by the hallway to see Laura snuggled up against you, dozing off as you whispered fable tales she’d carry into her dreams. She felt safe with you; happy; it was all Logan could ask for.

It was then that he first felt the familiar flutter in his chest.

With time, that internal pulse spread to the rest of his body as the both of you were given more opportunities to get to know each other. It wasn’t easy for him to open up to you, and you didn’t blame him for it. With everything he had been through, you’d be closed off too, and the last thing either of you wanted was more unnecessary tension.

He’d often say how grateful he was for your attention towards Charles and Laura, and you shrugged it off as if it was no big deal, as if you hadn’t saved their lives by taking them in. Logan didn’t drag it out too long, but you knew he meant well even if he didn’t say it as clearly as he’d like.

His hands, scarred and calloused, would graze yours when you handed him the bowl of freshly baked rolls at dinner, the faintest of sparks flying between you. You liked enjoying silent mornings with him while drinking coffee, staring out of the window, and basking in the sun. Similarly, you’d share the labor of doing the dishes when everyone was stuffed, switching positions between washing and drying every other night. On grocery runs into town, he’d always be behind you pushing the cart as Laura tugged you through the aisle, dumping anything she could find into the buggy, and all either of you could do was laugh with her.

Logan never complained. Never requested or asked anything from you. Yet you gave him everything without question.

By October, they had been a part of your life for 5 months, and it felt natural to be living under the same roof as a family unit. You all had claimed your relative spaces, Charles and Laura in their own bedrooms separated from yours. And Logan? Well, he still preferred the couch, still wanted to stand guard when you were all asleep. It worked in the newfound system that was your household, and you never questioned him on it. So long as he stayed here, that’s all that mattered to you.

But the faint glances and moments of brief intimacy were beginning to drive Logan crazy. He kept it to himself as much as he could, refusing to look deeper into things and keeping the bond friendly to keep the peace. Eventually, it got to the point where he started purposefully looking for you in the mornings, admiring you from afar when you were doing anything. He liked the attention you gave him, the way you looked at him as just a man and not the monster he became. There was always a gleam in your eyes when your gaze was locked on his, the same quirky smile gracing your features when you flustered him just a bit.

He joked about whether or not you were a mutant one night over some beers once Laura and Charles had gone to bed, and in your tipsy confession, you may or may not have let it slip that you were a mind reader of sorts. In reality, your empathy was one aspect of what you could do; the other dealt with manipulating people’s thoughts and memories, what they chose to see or forget. Telling him you could get into his head was an easier way to say it.

How else would Charles have been able to contact you all those years ago? Logan thought you were bluffing, but at the touch of your hand wrapping around his wrist, his mind calmed instantly; the noise that kept him up at night was gone momentarily before you pulled your hand away. After that, he got a few tidbits about your origins, where you came from, how you’ve had your “skills” since you were born, and they’ve only gotten stronger with every birthday.

Logan marveled at you; it was easy to sense it on him with how the corners of his eyes creased as he looked over at you, reading your face. You mimicked his expression, peacocking at him over the rim of your beer bottle and listening to the stories from his past as part of the X-Men. It was nice to be with him like this, just two people enjoying a drink and enjoying the moment without worrying about everything else. The time had flown by after your second bottle had run empty, calling it a night and tossing it in the bin. Turning to face the older man, he caught the flirtatious edge to your words when you stepped out of the kitchen, heading to your bedroom.

“Don’t worry, I won’t read your mind unless you let me. Promise.”

By the holiday season, Logan had reached his limit; the back-and-forth teasing and banter had gone on for long enough. After the hearty feast you had cooked up for everyone, you both enjoyed some warmth by the fireplace. Snuggled up against his broad figure under a blanket, he had a strong arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing you closer. Your head rested on his left pectoral, listening to the steady beating of his heart, a calm rhythm that soothed your cautious nerves, a reminder that he was still alive and kicking.

It was already quite late, the clock striking past twelve, and the festive punch you made in the fridge with the rest of the leftovers. Logan absentmindedly ran lines up and down your spine, eyes on the red embers that crackled every few seconds. Despite the comfort of the moment, the air was tense, coming directly from the man who held you.

“I can hear you thinking, you know?” You raised your head to glance at him, your hands on his shoulders in light caresses. “Something on your mind?”

“It’s nothing.” Logan shrugged, but he knew what was plaguing him. It was you, your scent, your warmth, your touch. Everything about you conquered the empty space that was left in his head, mending the remaining pieces of his broken heart since he first stepped on your doorstep.

“You want me to help?” You suggested, as if your sole purpose was to tend to his every wound, to take away his pain and share the burden of his existence alongside him.

You’d think he would’ve said no, told you that he’d be fine and eventually leave you alone for the rest of the night. To your surprise, he brought one of your hands to the side of his aged face, his bearded cheek nuzzled into your palm, seeking the security you offered out of the kindness of your heart.

“If you’re really that curious to find out what’s bothering me so much, go ahead, sweetheart.”

With trained practice, you search through the tormented chasms of his consciousness, looking over every nook and cranny for the thing that troubled him to such an extent. There were certain parts of his mind you refused to look into; Charles had given you the rundown a while back that there were parts of Logan you should avoid, too dark and extreme even for the professor to handle. Yet the last thing you felt was Logan’s despair. When he first arrived here, his stress would radiate over him and spill into any room he walked into; at least that was your first impression of him. But at the moment, all you felt was a giddy spirit, something that pulled you towards him and encouraged you to dig deeper.

Once you did, all you saw were images of yourself, memories of your budding companionship presenting before you. You never searched through Logan’s mind; you knew better than to do that or to question him on his intentions or emotions, and now you think you may have been oblivious to how he saw you the entire time. He may not be a man of many words, but you knew what he felt, how he felt about you in particular, and it ran through your body like an electrical current, shocking you to the core.

The moment ended when you moved your hand away from his face, or attempted to when he held on to your wrist with firm hands. Your pulse spiked; surely he had to be aware of that. All you could do was stare at him with raised eyebrows, eyeing him carefully.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You kept his attention on you as you thumbed the scar on his cheekbone, the raised skin growing hot under your touch from his faint blushing.

“Didn’t want to scare you off. Couldn’t ruin one of the good things I had left…” he replied nervously, the shift in his demeanor bringing goosebumps to your skin. “You’re too good for me. Always have been.”

In an attempt to prevent another self-deprecating speech, you shut him up with a kiss, softly meshing your mouth over his, your heart pounding from the brief contact. For once, you had stunned The Wolverine and taken him by surprise, and the pure look of disbelief on his face caused you to smile mischievously.

“You couldn’t scare me off even if you tried, Logan.”

He grinned at that, leaning to steal another kiss that led to his large hands roaming over your body, palming your chest and pinning your hips to his on the couch. Like young lovers, you recommended moving this to the bedroom, snuffing out the fire and muffling your giggles into his shoulder when he carried you to your room. Your clothes were tossed to the ground, passionate touches exchanged between you as you welcomed his body into yours for the first time.

Merging as one, your limbs entangled with his, nails digging into his back as he finally claimed you for himself, nipping at his neck to keep your sounds down to a minimum as he brought you to the edge over and over again. The sun threatened to peek over the horizon by the time you were done, leaving Logan to snore behind you with your bare body secured under his grip. You were able to rest easily for the few hours you had before Laura would wake up, granting yourself a late start to the morning for once.

That was the last night Logan slept on the couch.

The relationship change between you and Logan was not something unexpected; Charles was mentally placing bets on when it was going to happen. Safe to say, when the grumpy mutant came down from his prolonged nap to wrap his arms around you like it was within his nature, Charles wouldn’t shut up about it for the rest of the day. To Laura, it was new seeing the two adults that cared for her together, and perhaps there will be a more serious conversation to be had in the future when the time is right.

For now, all that mattered was the four of you together, in this blended family that had found each other in the strangest of circumstances. It might’ve been fate, or your destiny, so to speak, to meet each other in this broken world. Had you known this was how you would be rewarded for taking them in, you’d have taken on the burden of Charles’ prolific message much sooner.

February 14th. Valentine’s Day. Two years later.

A firm hand remained on the steering wheel of the car, rolling into the familiar driveway with practice. Logan sat in the driver’s seat for a moment longer, taking a second to exhale the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He shouldn’t be nervous; usually he never is, but he took one look at the calendar and realized he better not come home empty-handed.

Home. It was a funny concept, something Logan often didn’t think he was deserving of after the countless times it had been painfully ripped away from him. He’s lived so many lives, many of which he’ll never get back, but he likes to think that the old versions of him will live on in the far traces of his memories, scattered across time and space. Maybe in another reality, he could share a slice of this heaven he had been blessed with after suffering for so long.

Mentally he never stopped thanking Charles for convincing him to make the trip to Canada a few years ago; he doesn’t think they would have made it this far without your help and love. Logan owed him everything, from the life and family he was given with the X-Men to the one he has now, smaller but just as loving.

Taking the bouquet of flowers that was in the passenger seat, Logan stepped out of his car, clicking the lock and stepping to the front door. He noticed your car parked in the front when a familiar whirring filled his head, the one signal he knew meant you were expecting him on the other side of the door.

Twisting his key into the lock, his nostrils were hit with the accustomed scent of cranberries and citrus, something tart wafting through the lower level of your home, a sign you were probably busy in the kitchen. Dropping his key in the dish set by the foyer, he was careful to hold the flowers behind his back in case you spotted them first, going to the threshold of the living and dining room and turning the corner to see your figure whisking over a bowl.

Logan tries his hardest to be quiet in a sad attempt to surprise you, but you could sense him anywhere he went without trying. Still, you give him the benefit of the doubt, even if he knows with your sixth sense nothing slips by you so easily.

He was quick to curl an arm around your waist, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder and the side of your neck, satisfied at the light hum you released at his attention. Turning your head to view him, Logan didn’t hesitate to give you a loving smooch, one that made your knees weak every time he stole your breath.

“You’re home early,” you stated, a peaceful smile on your face, content now that he was here. “Thought they were never going to let you go.”

“We had a light day today on the site, said I had better places to be.” Logan answered with full confidence, a lighthearted chuckle slipping from you.

“Ain’t that right? You have a missus I don’t know about?” you teased. He’d never get over your quick wit, one of the many qualities he fell for over the past two years of living together.

“Only one. A real pretty thing I snagged up, she keeps me young.” At that, you laughed, a deeper rumble Logan felt through your back.

“Sounds like a keeper, that one,” you smirked at him, receiving a perky wink on his end.

“Definitely is. Had to make sure she wouldn’t run away from this old man.” That got him a playful slap to his chest, relishing in his frisky attitude way too much.

You enjoyed toying with him like this; the never-ending innuendos and flirtatious remarks were solidified by the golden band on your ring finger, the clear diamond sitting pretty on your digit to match with the rest of you. In the midst of your conversation, the bouquet of flowers hidden behind Logan was presented to you, and you lit up instantly at the tailored mix of roses, peonies, and lilies.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” He appeared almost sheepish when he spoke, and you leaned up to kiss him sweetly; nothing else needed to be said other than—

“I love them. And I love you.” Logan still remembers when you first said those three words to him, how they echoed in his mind for weeks after the fact. To this day, he never gets sick of you reminding him how much you cared for him and Laura, how you served as a healing balm to his weathered soul, and loved him as he was.

“I love you too, so much.”

You held the flowers in your arm while he cupped your cheek, his other free hand drifting down to palm your lower stomach carefully. It hadn’t been that long since you surprised your husband with the news that you’d be having a new addition to your family, and to say Logan was both excited and terrified was an understatement. Though you think Laura is the one that’s more ecstatic about getting a sibling.

“How’s junior doing? Still being a pain in the ass?” he asked, curious as ever, caressing over your small bump protectively.

“Unfortunately. I think they want me to suffer; keeping me nauseous and having me piss so frequently is a sure way to do it.” Your hand joined Logan’s, growing quiet as you rubbed your thumb over his fingers. “He would’ve loved this, you know? Wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut until the end of time, probably trying to guess our odds of having a girl or a boy. God, I miss him.”

“I know, honey. I miss his nosy ass always in my head, miss hearing his voice. I’m pretty sure with this he’d probably slip up and tell me before you had the chance to surprise me.”

Logan’s joke helped lighten the mood a bit despite your eyes watering at the notion. He wiped at the tear that streaked down your cheek, the moment of silence hanging heavy above your heads. You both knew Charles would end up passing eventually; his condition had stabilized significantly thanks to your care, but you all knew he was on borrowed time. The professor was able to enjoy the last few months of his life surrounded by the three of you, knowing he was loved and would be remembered regardless of where he thinks he’d end up in the afterlife.

In the eerie calmness of his bedroom with his impending death looming over him, Charles privately spoke to you of Logan’s origins, of the man he was and became once he had taken him in, much like how you had done. He finally confesses why he sought you out all those years ago, why he knew you’d be the one to save them and give Logan the life he deserved, the one he had always dreamed of when he thought nobody was listening. You held his words to your heart, holding onto his wrinkled hand, and like he had done before, he made you swear you’d take care of your newfound family with everything you had.

You didn’t plan on breaking that promise anytime soon.

“Where’s Laura? Thought she’d be home by now.” Logan asked, wondering where your daughter had wandered off to.

“She’s out with some friends from school having a Valentine’s Day get-together of sorts. She’ll be back before dinner.”

Pacing around the kitchen to fill a vase with water, you submerged the fresh flowers in the narrow glass, arranging them to your liking. You place the bouquet on the round breakfast table towards the side of the room, stepping back to appreciate them with Logan coming to hold your hips, swaying you tenderly.

“Means we have the house to ourselves for a while…” His voice dropped an octave, a hushed whisper beside your ear. Your body responded instantly, a pulse blooming between your thighs.

“Are you proposing something, Logan?” Pivoting to face him, your fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first two to stroke along his collarbone.

“Depends. What are you in the mood for, hm?” He nipped at the side of your jaw, your scent overwhelming his senses, his mouth watering with the sweetness he could taste on his tongue thanks to your hormones changing.

“Well, I was kind of busy making the lemon loaf you like so much,” the cheeky glint in your eye couldn’t be missed, gesturing over to the batter you started whisking before he came home. “But I’d really want you to show me why you like keeping me around, old man.”

Logan stares down at you with darkened eyes, a ball of heat twisting in his gut and simmering low under his belt. You were the only one that could get him this riled up so quickly, having him wrapped around your finger in more ways than you can imagine. A sharp canine sinks into his bottom lip, already imagining how he plans on having you later on, a sneaky hand reaching to greedily knead your ass. You didn’t need to read his mind to know just how explicit he was envisioning you two together, as he usually did, and the confirmation of it only intensified the desire growing inside you.

“If you wrap that up in the next five minutes, I’ll show you exactly why I slipped that ring on your finger.”

With a giggle and an affectionate swat to your behind, you were quick to cover your bowl with some saran wrap and clean up as best as you could before Logan grabbed your hand and dragged you towards your bedroom. You couldn’t stop the laughter that poured out of you as the man practically tackled you into bed, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and running his hands over your thighs that opened for him with ease.

This life you had built was far from where you imagined you’d be a few years ago. If you were told that you would safehouse a trio of mutant runaways, you’d laugh and think this is far from something you’d do. Yet these three strangers you welcomed into your life granted you with purpose and taught you how to love, showing you what it was like to finally find your village. They saved you like you saved them, and the life you carry and nurture inside is proof of this new beginning with your family.

This love I have inside

And I'll give it all to you

My love, my love, my love

My endless love

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starkeymeow · 6 months ago

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content: rafe cameron x reader, fluff, angst, heavy inspo if not me shamefully imitating stefan & elenas scenes i fear LMFAO, secret relationship, past & future, time skip

authors note: guys omg my finals week is over n i get a month n a half break BLESS. but i still dont know if ill be totally active like i used to be. ill update u guys if that ever changes !!

main masterlist

your relationship with rafe had always been easy, natural in a way that almost felt inevitable. you’d known each other for years, if not all your life, your families orbiting each other like planets in the same solar system.

your parents met his dad in college, you think. all you knew was that every holiday, every long weekend, every summer, the camerons were there. sarah and wheezie were like sisters to you, and rafe . . . well, rafe had always been different.

you’d grown up side by side, bickering and teasing like it was second nature, but somewhere along the way, the dynamic shifted. you weren’t sure when it happened, only that it felt right. a few months ago, he kissed you for the first time, and it was like something clicked into place. since then, everything had been smooth sailing—well, as smooth as things could be when you were secretly dating your best friend.

you’d both decided to keep it quiet, at least for now. your families were too close, too intertwined, and the thought of all the questions, the teasing, the pressure . . . it was easier this way. for now, it was just yours, something special you didn’t have to share.

tonight was no different from the dozens of christmases before. your parents were hosting, the camerons were invited, and everything was perfectly predictable. your dad was in the dining room with ward and rose, sharing some expensive whiskey that probably had a story behind it. sarah was in the kitchen helping your mom, wheezie trailing behind her like a shadow. you and rafe were in the living room, curled up on the couch by the fire, a blanket draped over your lap.

your head rested on his shoulder, the soft glow of the fireplace making the whole scene feel oddly intimate. rafe’s hand was hidden under the blanket, his fingers lightly resting on your thigh. it wasn’t obvious—he wasn’t obvious—but it was enough to make your heart race. you pulled the blanket tighter around you, leaning into him as the sound of the tv filled the room.

“sarah asked me about you,” rafe said suddenly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

you lifted your head, intrigued, your fingers idly playing with his under the blanket. “oh yeah?” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“yeah.” he glanced down at your intertwined hands, then back at you. “she asked if we were together.”

you snorted softly, amused. “and what’d you say?”

“what do you think i said?” he asked, raising a brow.

you just shook your head, letting the silence hang for a moment. then, rafe gave you a look, one that made your stomach flip in a way you’d never admit. “we should start a fight,” he said, completely deadpan.

you blinked at him, pulling your head back to study his face. “what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

he shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “might throw sarah off our scent.”

“you’re so stupid,” you muttered, shaking your head, but there was no bite to it.

“i’m serious,” he said, leaning back against the couch. “we get into some dumb argument, everyone’s gonna think we’re just . . . you know, being us.”

“but it’s christmas,” you said. “we’re supposed to be in the christmas spirit, not the . . . i don’t know. hateful one.”

“fine, fine. not hateful,” he conceded, tilting his head slightly. “okay, what about this—” you watched him, waiting, your fingers still tangled with his. “—when i say, ‘you always have to get the last word, don’t you?’ what i’ll really mean is, i love you.”

you stared at him, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. he was so stupid. so him.

“okay,” you said slowly, your voice soft. “then when i say, ‘only because you never know when to stop talking,’ that’ll mean i love you back.”

rafe squinted at you, his lips twitching into a smirk. “oh, i don’t know when to stop talking?”

you nodded, a playful glint in your eyes. “yeah.”

“yeah?” he echoed, leaning in closer.

“yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely audible now.

before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours, soft but firm, shutting you up in the most effective way possible. it was quick, but it was enough to leave you breathless, your heart pounding as he pulled back, a smug smile on his face.

now the dining room buzzed with the usual holiday energy—silverware clinking against plates, the hum of casual conversation, and the faint scent of rosemary and cinnamon wafting in from the kitchen.

your dad was deep in conversation with ward, their low voices occasionally punctuated by laughter as they sipped their whiskey. rose stood nearby, her forced-polite smile unwavering as she chimed in here and there, while wheezie flitted around, setting plates at each spot on the long, polished table.

you lingered near the head of the table, your fingers brushing the back of one of the chairs as you debated where to sit. rafe stood just a step behind you, his presence unmistakable even without looking.

sarah appeared in the doorway, carefully balancing a steaming casserole dish in her hands, her gaze scanning the room before landing on the table. rafe must have noticed her at the same time because, without warning, his shoulder bumped into yours—not hard, but enough to make you stumble a step forward.

“move,” he muttered, his tone sharp enough to catch your attention.

you blinked, caught off guard, before turning to him with a raised brow. there was amusement in his eyes this time, but his expression remained serious. you knew exactly what he was doing.

“excuse me?” you shot back, your voice dripping with mock irritation as you planted your feet firmly where you stood.

“you’re in my way,” he said, gesturing toward the chair you were closest to as if you were blocking his path.

“i’m in your way?” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. “you’re the one taking up half the room with your oversized ego.”

his lips twitched, but he kept his composure. “and you’re taking up the other half with your big mouth.”

he did not.

you stared at him, fighting every urge to laugh. your lips twitched as you bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep it together.

for a second, you thought he might crack. his lips pressed together, his shoulders stiffened, but he stayed in character, his determination to fool sarah unshakable.

meanwhile, the room carried on as if nothing was happening. your parents barely spared you a glance, too engrossed in their conversations. it was clear they were used to your bickering—it was just background noise to them at this point.

but sarah wasn’t as quick to dismiss it. she paused mid-step, her eyes flicking between the two of you as she set the dish down on the table. her brows furrowed slightly, and you could feel her studying you, trying to piece something together.

you didn’t miss a beat. “you always have to make everything about you, don’t you?” you said, stepping aside just enough to let him pass but not without bumping his arm in the process.

rafe moved into the space you’d left, pulling out a chair with an exaggerated huff. “you always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

i love you.

your gaze narrowed, and a small, knowing smile tugged at your lips. “only because you never know when to stop talking,” you replied, your tone quieter now but no less pointed.

i love you back.

the corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk, but he didn’t respond. instead, he sank into his seat, leaning back with an air of triumph.

you moved to the opposite side of the table, pulling out the chair directly across from him. sarah, still watching, shot rafe a glare. “you’re such a jerk,” she muttered under her breath before disappearing back into the kitchen.

the second she was gone, your eyes flicked back to rafe. he was already looking at you, his smirk softening into something more playful. he winked, the gesture quick and subtle, and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling.

you and rafe had navigated the evening like it was your own secret game, your relationship hidden in plain sight.

now, just a year later at the same christmas dinner, the only thing hidden is the sharp ache that settles in your chest whenever you catch sight of him.

the breakup isn’t totally fresh—weeks and weeks have passed, long enough for the initial sting to fade into something duller, quieter. still, the weight of it lingers, like the ghost of a bruise. you tell yourself you’re over it, over him, that whatever you’d felt has burned out long before the end. but being here, in the same room, breathing the same air, makes it harder to convince yourself of that.

you sit through dinner with practiced ease, smiling at the right moments, laughing when it feels appropriate. rafe, seated across the table, seems to be doing the same. his face is unreadable, his attention focused on his plate or the conversations around him, but you can feel his presence like a steady hum beneath your skin.

after the plates are cleared and the wine glasses refilled, you slip outside. you sit on the front step of the porch, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, and you stare out into the quiet, your thoughts drifting aimlessly.

the sound of the door creaking open breaks the silence. you don’t turn, but you know it’s him before he even steps outside.

rafe lingers in the doorway for a moment. he looks down at the drink in his hand, his thumb brushing idly against the rim of the glass. then, without a word, he walks over and sits down beside you. the step creaks faintly under his weight as he sets his drink down beside him.

for a while, he doesn’t say anything. neither of you do. the silence isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t unbearable either—it’s just . . . there.

you keep your gaze fixed on the horizon, the faint outline of trees against the dark sky. rafe sits with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, his shoulders hunched slightly forward. the space between you feels like miles, even though he’s close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of him against the cold night air.

rafe breaks the quiet. his voice is low, almost tentative. “sorry about the, uh . . .” he gestures vaguely to his shirt, where the faintest stain from earlier is barely visible in the dim light.

it takes you a second to catch on, but then you remember: during dinner, his drink had tipped—his fault entirely—and splashed across the front of your sweater and slightly his own. there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“don’t worry,” you say lightly, turning your gaze back to the houses across the lots. “you saved me from wearing that thing ever again. it was time to let it go.”

he huffs out a small laugh, looking down at his hands. “yeah, well. still.”

for a moment, it feels like the edges of the past have softened, like you’ve both stepped into some neutral ground where the weight of everything isn’t crushing you. but the moment doesn’t last. something itches at the back of your mind, a question you’ve thought about too many times to count but never dared to ask.

you turn your head slightly, just enough to face his direction, though your eyes stay fixed on the porch railing. your voice is quieter now, more careful. “why did you . . . ?”

you don’t finish the question. maybe you don’t know how to, or maybe you’re afraid of the answer. but rafe knows. he always does.

he exhales slowly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “why did i what?”

“you know,” you murmur.

he’s quiet for a moment, and when he finally speaks, there’s a weariness in his voice that mirrors your own. “i guess, i didn’t know what else to do. after everything, i just—” he stops himself, shaking his head. “i thought maybe if i kept moving, kept doing . . . something, it’d feel less like everything was falling apart.”

you nod slowly. because you’d noticed, of course, the way he threw himself into everything—work, parties, anything to fill the spaces you used to occupy. you’d wondered if it was his way of coping or if it was just his way of running.

“and did it?” you ask, finally glancing at him.

he looks over at you, his blue eyes shadowed in the dim light. “did it what?”

“feel less like everything was falling apart.”

his lips press into a thin line, and he looks away, his gaze falling to the ground. “no,” he admits, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

you nod again, your fingers picking idly at the hem of your new sweater. “me neither,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

he looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s trying to read the things you’re not saying. but you don’t meet his gaze, keeping your focus on the dark horizon instead.

“i didn’t think you’d leave,” he says after a moment, his voice rough around the edges.

the words hit harder than you expect, even though you’ve thought about this moment a thousand times. “i didn’t think i would either,” you confess.

and there it is, the unspoken story between you—the weight of everything you’ve been through, the cracks and fractures that finally gave way. you don’t say any more, and neither does he.

so your hand moves before you even think about it, reaching across the space between you. his hand is resting on his thigh, fingers loosely curled, and you gently wrap your own fingers around the back of it, curling into his palm. you don’t say anything—there’s nothing to say, not really—but you squeeze once, firm enough to tell him without words that you’re here, that you’re still here, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.

he doesn’t look at you. his eyes stay fixed on the grass in the front yard. for a second, you think maybe he won’t respond, maybe he won’t let you in. but then his hand twitches beneath yours, his fingers shifting to squeeze back, just once. it’s a quiet thank you, a wordless acceptance of something neither of you can name.

you feel a lump rising in your throat, the vulnerability in his silence cutting through you in a way nothing else could. you know he doesn’t want to talk about it, so you say the first thing that comes to mind, something stupid, something that might make him laugh.

“i just, you know, didn’t think you’d ever play basketball with topper again,” you say, your voice light, almost teasing. “i mean, didn’t he break your nose last time?”

you glance at him, hoping for a smile, for something to break the tension. and for a second, you think it works. his lips twitch, the corner of his mouth lifting into a bitter smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. he just stares at the grass, his fingers tightening slightly around yours before letting go.

the silence stretches again, thicker this time, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost a whisper. “you always have to get the last word, don’t you?”

your chest tightens, the words hitting harder than they should. it’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it. your expression hardens, the realization sinking in like a stone. he’s not talking about the joke. he’s talking about you. about this. about the way it all ended, the way you ended it.

the code you made up a year ago flashes in your mind, unbidden. you always have to get the last word. it was supposed to be a joke after that, a way to tease each other when you argued over stupid things, but now it feels like something else entirely. something sharp and unforgiving.

i love you.

you don’t say anything at first, the guilt settling heavy in your chest. you know he’s right. you know what he’s trying to say, even if he won’t come out and say it. but what can you do? what can you possibly say that will make any of this better?

finally, after what feels like forever, you whisper, “i know.”

you can’t bring yourself to look at him, but out of the corner of your eye, you see the way his jaw clenches, the way his head dips lower. the dim porch light catches on his face, and you realize his eyes are glossed over, though he doesn’t let a single tear fall.

he doesn’t look at you, and you don’t blame him. you can’t bring yourself to look at him either. you just sit there, side by side, the space between you feeling wider than ever.

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woso-dreamzzz · 8 months ago

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Menor's Halloween

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: The second of my Halloween-centric fics

Alexia grins as she looks at herself in the mirror, straightening out her skirt and putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

The family Halloween party has been a staple ever since her childhood, bringing the family back together every year without question.

It was basically a rule at this point, something no one could get out of and chosen to take place on a day when no one has an excuse to be elsewhere.

"Are you ready yet?"

It's Olga's first time at the party, unable to make it the past few years. She's gone fairly conservative with her outfit, a generic Halloween costume of a zombie cheerleader.

Alexia can forgive her though because originally Olga hadn't been able to come until her meeting in Madrid was cancelled last minute so she had to buy the unpopular costume from the store.

Alexia, on the other hand, has had her costume planned out for months with everything ironed to perfection.

"Ready!" Alexia calls out," I just need to find-"

"The bag is on the table where you left it last night."

Alexia grabs the bag from the table, swinging it over her shoulder before slipping into the driver's seat of the car.

Family events like this one normally end up with a lot of drinking and, while she wouldn't usually partake, Alexia's already planned to allow herself a few more drinks than normal.

Olga's decided to take up the driving home duty to let Alexia drink however much she wants.

"I'm nervous," Olga says, straightening out her cheer skirt and rubbing at her face - though she grows a little annoyed when the face paint rubs off onto her fingers.

"Don't be nervous," Alexia says," You've met everyone before."

"I know but...Halloween party seems more official."

"They'll probably already be drunk," She replies," And try to ply your with pizza. Or paella. Depending on if my aunt cooked or my uncle convinced her to order in."

"Sounds delightful."

"That's the spirit!"

Alexia knocks on the door, greeted by the slightly tipsy face of her cousin when it opens.

He giggles a little, a sure-fire sign he's been drinking. "I-I thought you were already here." He bursts into more hysterical laughter after that and Alexia gets the feeling that she's not in on the joke.

"And you've brought the wonderful Olga! Come in! Come in! Can I interest you in some pizza?"

"So Tio convinced her?"

"No. Mama cooked. Papa just ordered in anyway! Off you go now, Ale. I want to talk to your girlfriend!"

He pulls Olga away without another word and Alexia rolls her eyes.

"Gee, I love you too. Typical."

Alexia rolls her eyes fondly, easily losing her cousin and girlfriend in the crowd of family members either halfway to drunk or already firmly there.

A giggling hiccup has Alexia turning to see another one of her cousins by the fridge.

"I could have sworn you were already here," She says, giggling and Alexia sighs.

"Alright, what am I missing here? You're the second person to tell me that."

Her cousin giggles again, downing another vodka shot and shooting Alexia a drunken smile. "Just that I could have sworn you came with Tia Eli today. Though...you did seem a little shorter."

She giggles off before stumbling away but she's already given Alexia all the information that she needs.

She picks her way through her family members, stopping briefly to say hello to the aunt and uncle who are hosting and then her mother before finally seeing who she's been looking for.

"Is that my shirt?!" She demands," And my armband?!"

You turn around, eyes wide. An answer is on the tip of your tongue before you take in what she's wearing.

"Is that my skirt?! Are those my rackets?!"

"Don't change the subject!" Alexia says," You've dressed as me for Halloween?!"

"You dressed as me!"

"That's different."

"How?"

"It-It just is!"

Alexia takes you in as she steps back. You've got your hair done up in her usual ponytail rather than your regular braids. You've got her full Barcelona kit on along with the armband and her boots. You've even brought a football with you just in case people didn't realise who you were meant to be.

Alexia, on the other hand, had gone out of her way to dress like you. She's wearing one of your tennis skirts and your Nike shirt. She's got her hair in your usual braid with your Barcelona cap and even the gold shoes Nike gave you for your Olympic run. She's got a racket bag over her shoulder, full of the old rackets you'd left at home before your move abroad.

You seem to be taking Alexia in just like she's taking you in before nodding.

"Those are the replica shoes, right?" You check.

"Yeah. They cost a lot though. You're quite the superstar. That isn't one of my hattrick balls is it?"

"No, just one of the ones you leave lying around at Mami's."

Alexia nods. "Good. You look good though."

"Thanks, I practiced your haughty look a lot."

Alexia rolls her eyes. "I don't have a haughty look."

"You so do all 'I'm Alexia Putellas, captain of Barcelona, the best team in the world'."

"But I am Alexia Putellas and I am captain of Barcelona which is the best team in the world. I won the Ballon D'or twice, you know."

"Yeah, well I won all the Grand Slams. And the Olympics."

"Now, now," Alexia says," This isn't a bragging match. Because if it was, I'd win." She reaches for you, trapping you in a headlock and rubbing her knuckles against your head. "Which one of us has more awards?"

"Only because you're an old woman now. By the time I'm your age, I'm going to be the greatest tennis player in the world."

"Yeah," Alexia teases," Aim high."

You grin at her, shoving her away before trying to tackle her to the floor. She doesn't move an inch but you had been expecting that.

"I guarantee I can score more goals on you than sets you can win against me."

Alexia laughs.

"The garden's free. Want to test that theory?"

You grin. "Well, don't start crying when you lose."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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iinterstellaarr · 13 days ago

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even frat!satoru understands when something isnt right.

[remember, partying is fun when you're safe! please be aware of your drinks and who you trust holding them, nearly a million people are spiked every year. its not fun or cute. stay safe! <3]

the house shook with the bass of the music. the door could hardly contain the sheer amount of people squeezed into one place, and a small part of you wondered how much of a fire hazard this was. your friend had stupidly requested that you come with her to the halloween party that Delta Mu Beta hosts every year. you were certain that some frat boy had followed her on instagram and requested to see her there, which she takes as a romantic gesture, but you see it for what it is, a quick hookup.

frat parties always irked you. its not like you were one to pass up a good party, but a frat party is not a good party.

sticky floors, loud EDM remixes, a suspiciously pungent punch bowl, and a concerning amount of bud lights littering the floor.

you adjusted your costume. well, if you could call a black dress, some dramatic eyeliner, and the fake fangs you bought from spirit halloween a costume, and glanced around for your friend. she had already disappeared into the crowd, no doubt trying to spot whichever backwards-hat wearing guy had sent her a “u comin tn? 👀” DM.

you sighed and stepped past the third couple making out in the most convenient of locations, like door frames and awkwardly small hallways. you subtly wondered how long you would have to linger before it would be social acceptable to ditch. two drinks? one awkward convo?

you creeped into the kitchen, grabbing a drink from a classmate and thanking him as he walked off.

"are you lost?" the voice reverberated in your skull with a baritone edge. well, that's one way to describe the voice that cant seem to focus on you tutoring him.

"you always seem to find me just when I don't want you to." gojo smiled and shrugged his broad shoulders.

"maybe I'm just always looking for you."

your relationship with gojo was... complicated. not quite friends, not quite strangers. more like orbiting satellites, always crossing paths in just the right moments. you tutor him once every weekend, showing up with a lazy grin and half-hearted jokes that somehow lingered longer than they should. he was infuriatingly charming, always toeing the line between playful pest and something gentler, something almost real. and despite yourself, you never entirely pushed him away.

you gave him a flat stare over your cup. “that’s not charming. that’s stalker behavior.”

he grinned wider. “then I guess I’m your favorite stalker.”

you rolled your eyes and turned away, scanning the crowd. you still hadn’t seen your friend in a while, and your drink was starting to taste... off. too sweet. or maybe too bitter? something about it just didn’t sit right. your head swam for a second, but you blinked it off.

gojo noticed. “you good?”

“yeah,” you said. “just dizzy from how insufferable you are.”

he grinned, leaning on the wall beside you. “then I’m doing my job right.”

he kept talking. some joke about how you dressed as a vampire but didn’t even need a costume because you already sucked the life out of people. you rolled your eyes again, but this time it felt like your brain lagged behind. you brushed it off.

you took another sip of your drink, mostly out of habit.

it felt like your feet weren't connected to your body. even though you were stood still, and firmly leaning against the wall behind you, you could still feel your head spinning. maybe you should've accepted that lunch invitation from your friend this morning.

still, you smiled through it. “do you ever shut up?”

“never,” he said proudly. “but for you, I'd consider taking a vow of silence.”

“that desperate for my attention, huh?”

this time, it was his turn to roll his eyes and shove you slightly.

that got a small laugh from you, but it came out breathless. something was wrong.

your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. the warmth in the room had turned sticky, like it was pressing against your skin. your vision didn’t blur all at once. it tilted. like your eyes couldn’t focus on one thing at a time. you were looking at the world through glass warped by heat.

you reached out, meaning to steady yourself on the wall but instead grabbing gojo's bicep.

“okay,” he said, and now his voice was serious. still soft, still gojo, but no teasing. “something’s not right.”

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, but the word felt wrong as it slipped past your lips

“no, you’re not.” his hand grabbed your shoulder, balancing you as you swayed. the room felt like it was closing in, and the only thing you could focus on was the blue eyes looking down at you.

you swallowed. it took effort. “its just… a lot of people.”

he seemed to frown while looking down at you. "what'd you drink?"

"I'm not sure, someone just handed me a drink." that's where you mentally kicked yourself. seriously? taking a random drink from a stranger? or... was it a stranger...? you could've sworn you remembered him from a class. or was that the guy you rejected?

"was it bitter?" his voice had a lace of worry wrapped around it. it was scaring you.

"kinda? i dont remember."

gojo exhaled sharply through his nose, something flickering behind his eyes. anger, you thought, but not directed at you. he looked over his shoulder like he wanted to find someone. like he wanted to hurt someone.

instead, he turned back to you.

“i’m getting you out of here.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. you were aware of your own heartbeat now. too fast. uneven. your limbs weren’t working right, like you were halfway underwater.

"my friend... she's somewhere around here. need too.. find her." your own voice was betraying you as you spoke. like it never wanted to open when you wanted it too.

gojo's arm wrapped firmly around your waist, hauling you towards the stairs. you mentally gagged at the thought of keeping your mind together enough to even climb up 4 steps.

gojo’s arm stayed firm around your waist as he helped you up the stairs, away from the noise, the sweat and the pounding bass. the hallway spun a little as he guided you into a room with a couch and dim lighting, keeping the door open as to help calm some of your nerves.

“here, sit,” he said, lowering you gently onto the cushions. his sunglasses were tucked into his shirt now, and his expression had turned unreadable.

you slumped back against the couch, head swimming. gojo crouched in front of you, scanning your face like he was looking for answers written in your skin.

“i’m gonna get you some water,” he said, already on his feet, already moving. when he returned, he pressed a cold bottle into your hands and helped guide it to your mouth.

“i should’ve noticed sooner,” gojo said, voice low. “i saw you swaying. i thought it was just the alcohol."

you shook your head, eyes fluttering closed. “not your fault.”

“still.” a pause. "i hate that this even happened.”

something about the way he said it. like the guilt was personal, like he should’ve been able to prevent it, made you open your eyes again.

“i’ll find your friend,” he said. “you shouldn’t be alone tonight. you okay if i leave you for, like, two minutes?”

you nodded. “i’m okay.”

“atta girl.” he said, softer.

he was gone and back faster than you expected, your friend trailing behind him, her eyes wide with worry. she rushed to your side, clutching your hand, asking you what happened. you explained as best you could, the words coming slow but steadier now. she nodded, her jaw tight, anger flashing in her expression.

“I’m taking you home,” she said.

Gojo stood back near the doorway, hands in his pockets now. He watched you, unreadable again, but softer than before. His usual cocky ease had melted into something quieter. Something real.

your friend helped you up, draping your arm over her shoulder. gojo moved in, ready to help if she needed it, but she had you.

at the door, you turned your head toward him. your vision was still a little hazy, but you met his eyes.

“thanks,” you said. “for… everything.”

gojo gave you a small, lopsided smile. “don’t mention it. just promise me one thing.”

“what?”

he leaned against the doorframe, gaze steady. “next time you come to one of these things… don’t take a drink from a stranger. and maybe let me keep an eye on you a little earlier.”

you smiled, weak but real. “you just want an excuse to bother me.”

he shrugged. “maybe. but I think you secretly like it.”

you rolled your eyes again. he grinned like he’d won something.

then your friend led you down the hall and away, leaving gojo standing there in the half-lit doorway, sunglasses hanging from his shirt and a furrow between his brows.

-----------------------

the next morning was fuzzy. you opened your phone, immediately regretting the decision as the brightness assaulted your eyes.

however, you did see one unread message.

[dont reply – 10:40 AM]

you alive or should i start planning the memorial i already have a speech prepared, it’s very moving

you stared at the screen for a second before smiling, just a little. your friend had stayed over, made sure you got into bed, even left you water and a note in the kitchen about breakfast.

your thumbs moved slowly.

[you – 10:44 AM]

very disappointing you didn’t check in last night. i expected bedside flowers i lived, thanks for asking

he replied almost immediately.

[dont reply – 10:45 AM]

oh i did check in just from the hallway like a proper gentleman your friend looked like she’d kill me if i got any closer

you laughed softly and let your head fall back against your pillow. it took a moment before you responded.

[you – 10:47 AM]

thanks for staying i don’t remember everything, but i remember that.

a beat.

[dont reply – 10:49 AM]

yeah you were kinda scaring me for a sec ngl but you’re welcome. anytime. (like actually anytime. i know i joke a lot but yeah.)

your heartbeat kicked up a little. you stared at the last message, trying to decide what to say. you could play it off. tease him. keep the banter going.

but you didn’t really want to. not right now.

[you – 10:52 AM]

maybe next time you can just annoy me before the near-death experience keep things fresh

[domt reply – 10:52 AM]

deal

you smiled, phone warm in your hand, the headache already somehow fading.

#oneshot #jjk #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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aeralux · 24 days ago

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"undressed" - Rhaneyra Targaryen

𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧!𝐀𝐔 (𝐲𝐨��𝐧𝐠)𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: She was the sun. And the sun sets when she wants. But you were the moon. Some nights, you lit up the whole sky. Other nights, you disappeared without warning—left the world to figure itself out in the dark.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: slight angst; fluff; WLW yearning; eating out (both are absolute munches); soft fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5k

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: No description of the reader, no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume. This made me horny af writing it 🤭.

𐔌 . ⋮ 𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒶 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Loving Rhaenyra was easy. Too easy.

Loving Rhaenyra was like being kissed by a salty breeze near the ocean, cooling your skin on a burning summer day.

Like savouring a chilled beer while laughter flowed freely among friends, the world faded away in that perfect moment.

Her kisses tasted of her mint chapstick, because she hated the sweet berry flavours everyone else seemed to love. You could still taste the remnants of her last cigarette on her tongue as she leaned close and whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

You really couldn't imagine loving anyone else. Ever.

Rhaenyra was the type of girl who wore obscure band tees but blasted 2000s top hits and danced with you like no one was watching. She would wrap her arms around you from behind, holding you close as if she feared you'd vanish like smoke if she let go.

She scribbled poetry in her worn notebooks, filled with half-finished thoughts and feelings, but she always crossed out the lines before you could read them. When you pout in frustration, she'd lean in with a mischievous grin, planting a peck on your nose.

Why would you ever love another?

But loving Rhaenyra wasn’t always warm sun and lazy Sunday mornings.

Some days, it felt like drowning in glitter—beautiful, but suffocating all the same.

She had a way of disappearing mid-conversation, eyes drifting to somewhere you couldn’t follow. Of changing the song halfway through, just because the vibe felt off. Of smiling like she knew something you never would.

You once caught her crying on the fire escape at 3 a.m., mascara smudged like bruises under her eyes, cigarette ash falling onto her thigh. She laughed when she saw you and said something flippant about the moon being too close and too big tonight.

She never explained what that meant. You didn’t ask.

Loving Rhaenyra was easy.

But keeping her? Keeping her was like trying to hold light in your hands.

She was the sun.

Rhaenyra brightened the room with her warm smiles and sparkling eyes. She could lift your spirits and make even the gloomiest days feel better.

But when the clouds came, that’s when the trouble started.

Ignoring your questions and sad eyes.

Vanishing for hours, sometimes days, with no explanation. How she’d come to you barefoot, cheeks flushed from the night air, smelling like her Virginia Slims and cold wind. She wouldn’t lie, exactly—she wouldn’t answer.

You knew she couldn't be tamed. She was the sun.

And the sun sets when she wants.

You were her moon.

With your big, pretty eyes—the ones she said she loved the first time she saw you. You’d caught her attention just by sitting there, quiet and still at some stranger’s party, playing with the host’s black cat.

She felt drawn to you. Over and over again, her eyes found you.

Not loud. Not reckless. Just… patient. The kind of girl who knew how to wait someone out without ever chasing.

She was the sun, golden, loud, eyes burning when looking at her too long.

But you were the moon.

Slower, quieter. But no less unpredictable.

Some nights, you lit up the whole sky.

Other nights, you disappeared in your own mind without warning—left the world to figure itself out in the dark.

And sometimes, you pulled away too hard. Said the wrong thing with a voice too calm, too cold.

Left her waiting at a café with two untouched coffees, not answering your phone, not because you didn’t care, but because caring too much made your hands shake.

You hurt her without meaning to. The way people do when they don’t know how to be held.

And she—bright, burning Rhaenyra—took every silence like a storm.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she whispered. “The most intriguing girl at the party, not even saying a word.”

You didn’t answer then. Just smiled, soft and slow. Because you knew she’d come back. Not because she had to.

But because she wanted to.

But it wasn’t that simple.

There were weeks between then and now. Weeks of "coincidences", of seeing her across crosswalks and pretending not to notice when she doubled back.

Catching her eye in the corner store while picking up oat milk and trying not to stare when she smiled.

You saw her again outside the animal food shop on Main. She had a bag of cat treats under one arm and was arguing with the cashier about whether or not cats could be pescatarian.

You almost laughed. You didn’t.

But later, at home, you looked up the answer. Just in case she asked.

Another time, you passed her in the park. She was walking someone else's dog—big, unruly, leash looped twice around her wrist. You didn’t stop, didn’t say a word.

But her eyes met yours for half a second too long. And that half-second lasted the rest of your afternoon.

It was like that for a while.

Small moments. Half-glances. Tension that felt like an unfinished sentence between you.

She was the kind of girl who lit cigarettes she never finished. You were the kind who brought extra lighters just in case.

Eventually, it added up to something.

Something like a look across a party, a quiet smile.

And then—

She crawled into bed beside you, notebook in hand. “Don’t laugh,” she said, passing it over. “This one’s about you.”

You try to bite back a smile, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Is it the first one?" You asked quietly, not wanting to be too hopeful.

She hesitates, eyes flickering to the ceiling like the answer might be up there.

“No... But it’s the first one I didn’t cross out.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. Just take the notebook from her fingers and hold it gently, like it might burn if you’re not careful.

Rhaenyra watched as you carefully opened the notebook, her eyes following your fingers as they gently turned the pages. She had a habit of chewing on her bottom lip when she was nervous or anxious, and right now, that lip was caughtbetween her teeth.

As you read the words she had written, Rhaenyra's heart raced. She had never shown anyone her poetry before, not like this. It was a part of her soul, a piece of her that she kept hidden away from the world. But for some reason, she wanted to share it with you.

I’ve wondered why, the sun and the moon never meet only for such a fleeting moment do they hold each other

was it fate or was it a mistake when my eyes found yours the others looking away an eclipse

You looked up at her, your eyes meeting hers. In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the poem a palpable symbol of the connection between you.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice soft and sincere. "For sharing this with me."

Rhaenyra smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her eyes. "Don't make me regret it," she teased, but there was no real bite to her words.

"It's beautiful," you murmured, your voice low and soft. "You're beautiful."

Rhaenyra felt a warmth spread through her chest at your words, a gentle heat that had nothing to do with the beer she'd been sipping earlier. She leaned in closer, her minty breath ghosting over your cheek as she whispered back,

"Beautiful... I wouldn't go that far," she murmured, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Rhaenyra," you said, feeling a lump in your throat as you gazed up at her, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light around her. "This is... this is beautiful. I-... no one has ever," you breathed, struggling to find the right words, your heart racing with emotion, unable to finish your sentence.

Rhaenyra didn't say anything as her heart skipped a beat at seeing the glimmer of unshed tears in your pretty eyes.

Slowly, giving you time to pull back if you wanted to, she cupped your cheek, her palm warm and soft against your skin. Her thumb brushed away the tear that escaped, and she leaned closer until her forehead rested against yours.

"I don't want to make you cry."

She held you like that for a long moment, just breathing you in, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against hers. Then, with a soft sigh, she pulled back just enough to look you in the eye.

She paused, searching your face, trying to gauge your reaction. Then she shrugged, a little self-consciously.

"But I wanted you to see this one. I wanted you to know..."

She trailed off, biting her lip again to find the right words. Finally, she just shook her head and laughed softly.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful... Sometimes I wonder if you're too good to be true."

With that, she closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and want and something that felt dangerously like love. A kiss that made your heart race and your toes curl.

You kissed her back fiercely, your fingers tangling in her hair, holding her face close to yours. You couldn't let her pull away, not now, not when you needed her so desperately. You craved the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the way her heartbeat raced against your own.

She kissed you back just as fiercely, her fingers gripping the hem of your shirt, anchoring herself to you. She poured all of her longing, all of her want, into that kiss. She wanted to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of her.

"So pretty," you whispered against her mouth, a giddy laugh escaping your lips between kisses. Tears streamed down your cheeks, the saltiness mixing with the fresh taste of her minty lip balm. "I can't... I won't let you go... not tonight"

Your words were a breathless plea, a selfish demand. For once in your life, you wanted to be greedy. You wanted to keep her, to hold her, to make her yours. The world could wait, the future could fade away. In that moment, there was only her and you, lost in a tangle of limbs and racing hearts.

When you pulled back to whisper against her lips, your words sending shivers down her spine, Rhaenyra felt a fierce surge of emotion. She couldn't let you go either, not tonight. She refused to let this moment end.

"Then don't," she breathed, her voice low and rough with desire. "Keep me. Hold me."

Rhaenyra pushed you down onto the bed, hovering over you, her hair falling around you both like a curtain. She looked down at you with eyes that blazed with intensity, a fierce, almost feral look on her face.

"Tell me what you want," she demanded, her voice a low, breathless rasp. "Tell me how you want me, and I'll give it to you."

"I want you," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, the words spilling from your mouth like a secret longing you had held inside for too long.

The blushing glances and fleeting touches had been lovely, each one igniting a warmth in your chest. But now, as you lay there, you craved more.

"I want you," you repeated, this time with a confidence that surprised even you. "Here. With me. Every night." Your voice shook slightly, a mix of hope and fear churning within you, ready for the possibility of rejection. The quiet space between you felt charged.

Rhaenyra's breath caught in her throat at your words, a fierce surge of emotion welling up inside her. She searched your face, her eyes roaming over your features as if trying to memorise every detail.

"Every night," she repeated softly, a hint of wonder in her voice. "You want me... here... with you."

She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her lips just a hair's breadth away from your own. You could feel the heat of her breath, the racing of her heart.

"I want that too," she whispered, her voice raw and honest. "I want to wake up next to you, to fall asleep with you in my arms. I want to fight and make up with you and everything in between."

You chuckled softly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as you gazed up at Rhaenyra, your eyes sparkling.

"Good," you whispered, your voice breathless and light. "I don't wanna get undressed for a new person all over again."

You reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek.

"I don't wanna kiss someone else's neck and have to pretend it's yours..."

Your thumb brushed over her lower lip, tracing the soft, plump flesh, as you held her gaze captive with your own.

Rhaenyra shivered at your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as your thumb brushed over her lip. When she opened them again, her gaze was intense, filled with a hunger that made your heart race.

"Then don't," she breathed, her voice low and rough. "Don't pretend with anyone else. I don't want to share you."

She leaned into your touch, her cheek soft and warm against your palm. Then, suddenly, she straddled your hips, pinning you beneath her.

"I want to be the only one who gets to see you like this," she murmured, her hands sliding up your sides, pushing your shirt up and off. "The only one who gets to touch you, to taste you."

She leaned down, her breasts pressing against yours as she nipped at your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. "I want to be the only one who gets to hear you moan my name in the dark, who gets to feel you shake in my arms."

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your heart pounding in your chest as you slid your hands slowly up the sides of her body, relishing the feel of her soft, warm skin beneath your fingertips. With a gentle tug, you pulled her white tank top off, exposing the smooth, toned curves of her torso.

Your hands eagerly sought out the soft, supple mounds of her breasts, kneading and caressing the delicate flesh. You could feel her nipples hardening beneath your fingertips as you teased and circled the sensitive peaks, drawing breathy gasps from Rhaenyra's lips.

"You are the only one," you whispered, assuring her.

"Good," she breathed, her voice ragged with need. "You're the only one I want to touch me like this."

She rocked her hips against yours, the heat of her core searing through the fabric of her thin lace panties. Her hands slid down your sides, over your stomach.

"Lift your hips," she commanded, her voice low and demanding. As you complied, she pulled your panties off in one swift motion, leaving you bare and exposed beneath her.

She took a moment to drink in the sight of you, her eyes darkening with lust. Then, with a wicked grin, she shimmied out of her panties until she was just as bare as you.

"Now, let me show you how much I want you," she purred, before trailing kisses down your body, pausing to pay attention to your breasts, before moving lower, lower, until she was nestled between your thighs.

She looked up at you, her eyes glinting with mischief and desire. "I'm going to make you scream my name until you forget every other girl's name but mine," she promised, before diving in and putting her mouth on you.

"Oh god, Rhaenyra...!" you gasped, your back arching off the bed as her tongue delved between your slick folds.

Your fingers tangled desperately in her messy hair, gripping tight as jolts of electric pleasure coursed through your veins. You could feel your hole clenching around nothing as she teased your puffy clit.

"Gods, yesss, please don't stop...!" you begged shamelessly, too lost in sensation to care how desperate you sounded. Your eyelids fluttered shut, eyes rolling back as you surrendered to the intense, building ecstasy.

Rhaenyra growled against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. She spread your lower lips wide open with her thumbs, exposing your most intimate parts to her greedy mouth. Her tongue delved deep, fucking into your tight channel with long, hard strokes. She lapped up your dripping arousal, moaning at the taste of your essence on her tongue.

"Fuck, you taste so good," she panted against your sex, her breath hot and heavy. "I could eat this pretty pussy for hours." To prove her point, she sealed her lips around your clit and sucked hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of her tongue. Two fingers plunged knuckle-deep into your clenching hole, pumping in and out, curling to stroke that special spot inside that made your toes curl.

Rhaenyra was relentless, her tongue and fingers working in tandem to drive you to the brink of ecstasy. She could feel your walls fluttering around her invading digits, your arousal dripping down her chin as she feasted on your cunt like a woman starved.

"Mmm, you're so fucking wet," she purred, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your soaked, throbbing sex. "I love how needy you are for me, how much your pretty little pussy is dripping."

She plunged back in, sucking your clit hard as she fucked you with three fingers now, curling them just right to hit that spongey spot inside that made you see stars. Her other hand slid up your body to pinch and roll your nipple between her fingers, sending sparks of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

"That's it, baby," she encouraged, her voice muffled against your sex.

"Holyfuckingshiitt," you whined desperately, your back arching sharply off the bed as her tongue delved deep into your dripping, aching core.

The obscene noises of her feasting on your pussy filled the room, mingling with your loud moans and gasps. She could feel your arousal dripping down her chin, coating her fingers as they pumped mercilessly in and out of your clenching, greedy hole.

Rhaenyra could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around her fingers, your body tensing as your climax approached. She doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she fucked you with three fingers now, her thumb rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"So pretty, baby," she urged, her voice a low, rough growl against your sex. "Come on my tongue."

She could feel your body trembling, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She knew you were close. With a final, hard suck on your clit, she pushed you over the edge.

Your pussy clenched down hard on her fingers as your orgasm crashed over you, your juices gushing out to coat her hand and drip down her wrist. Rhaenyra moaned against your flesh, the sound vibrating through you as she worked you through your high, her fingers pumping slowly as your walls spasmed and fluttered around them.

Finally, as the aftershocks started to subside, she pulled back, her face glistening with your arousal. She licked her lips, savouring the taste of your release.

"Fuck, that was so hot," she panted, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on her tongue, making your head spin.

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath after the intense orgasm she'd just given you. Your faces were both glistening with the evidence of your arousal.

"Rhaenyra," you breathed out, your voice hoarse and shaky. You reached up, gently cupping her cheek, your thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip, smearing the slickness there. "How can I possibly repay the favour?" You giggled breathlessly, smirking as you bit your lip.

Your eyes shone with devotion and desire as you looked up at her, a soft blush colouring your cheeks.

Rhaenyra smirked at your words, a wicked gleam in her eye. She nipped at your thumb, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

"Oh, I can think of a few ways," she purred, her voice low and full of promise.

She swung a leg over to straddle your face, her dripping pussy hovering just inches above your mouth. With one hand, she gripped the headboard for support, while the other slid down to spread her lower lips open, exposing her needy hole to you.

"Go on, baby," she breathed, her voice heavy with desire. "Put that pretty mouth of yours to work. I want to feel your tongue inside me, worshipping my cunt."

She rocked her hips, rubbing her slick folds against your lips, coating them with her arousal. The scent of her desire filled your nostrils, musky and intoxicating.

"Fuck," you breathed out, youe voice already rough with want. "Such a pretty pink pussy."

You leaned in, your tongue darting out to take a long, slow lick up her dripping slit. You moaned at the first taste of her, the flavour exploding on your tongue - tangy and sweet. You licked again, more firmly this time, your tongue parting her lower lips to delve inside, to lap up the slickness gathered there.

"Yes, just like that," Rhaenyra gasped, her grip on the headboard tightening. "Don't be shy, pretty girl."

You could only moan in response, the sound vibrating against her sensitive flesh as you obeyed her command. You licked and sucked, your tongue swirling around her clit before dipping back inside her hot, tight channel. You could feel her arousal dripping down your chin, coating your neck, and you loved every second of it. You wanted to be covered in her essence.

Your hands gripped her ass, pulling her harder against you, encouraging her to grind on your face, to take her pleasure from you. You wanted to feel her come undone above you, to hear your name falling from her lips like a prayer and a plea.

So you licked and sucked and worshipped her pussy with everything you had, your arousal building with each of her breathy moans and gasps.

Rhaenyra threw her head back, a low moan tearing from her throat as she ground her dripping cunt harder against your eager mouth. Her hips rolled in a sensual rhythm, smearing her slick arousal all over your lips and chin, your cheeks and nose, marking you with her essence.

"Yes, fuck yes, just like that," she panted, her voice ragged and desperate. "Lick my pussy, baby. Suck on my clit. Make me come all over your pretty face."

She reached down, tangling her fingers in your hair, holding you in place as she rutted against you. Her grip tightened, bordering on painful, as her pleasure increased. She could feel her climax building, the coil of heat in her belly winding tighter and tighter.

"That's it, don't stop," she urged, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I'm gonna... fuck... I'm gonna come!"

With a final, hard grind of her hips, she came undone. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, gushing her release all over your face and into your mouth. She cried out your name, a ragged scream of ecstasy, as her orgasm crashed over her in intense waves.

You gazed up at Rhaenyra, your vision blurred by the tears of effort stinging your eyes and the slickness of her release coating your face. Strands of your hair clung to your skin, damp with sweat beads. You blinked rapidly, trying to keep your eyes on her.

You couldn't form any coherent words, too lost in the haze of lust and desire. All you could manage was a low, guttural moan against her sensitive flesh, the sound vibrating through her as you desperately licked and lapped up every drop of her sweet nectar. You couldn't get enough of her taste, her scent, the feel of her trembling body above you.

Your fingers dug into the firm globes of her ass, pulling her harder against your mouth, holding her in place as you worshipped her with your tongue. You wanted to be smothered by her, consumed by her pleasure, a willing sacrifice to the princess above you.

As her shudders began to subside, you looked up at her with hazy, half-lidded eyes, a drunk expression on your face. You opened your mouth to speak, but all that came out was a breathless, incoherent babble.

"Mmm... Rhaenyra... you... taste... so... good..." you managed to stammer out, your voice rough and wrecked.

With a low, almost feral growl, you sealed my lips around her clit once more, sucking gently as you slipped two fingers back inside her fluttering channel. Helping her ride out the final waves of her intense orgasm.

Rhaenyra collapsed against the headboard, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She looked down at you with hooded, satisfied eyes, a lazy smirk playing on her kiss-swollen lips.

"Fuck, that was good," she panted, her voice hoarse from screaming your name. She reached down, gently cupping your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lower lip. You could feel the sticky evidence of her release smeared across your skin, and the taste of her arousal still lingered on your tongue.

She lifted her body off you, her hair a wild mess of damp blonde strands around her face. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, the blue irises nearly swallowed up by the black of her pupils. She had a fucked-out, blissed-out look on her face, and you knew you were the cause.

Rhaenyra leaned in closer, until her forehead rested against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath.

"Look at you," she murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, her fingers trailing over your cheek. "You're a fucking mess, and it's all because of me."

She leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tasting herself on your mouth.

Pulling you with her so that you were tangled together, your limbs entwined, your bodies pressed close. She wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight against her as if she never wanted to let you go.

You giggled breathlessly as Rhaenyra pulled you on top of her, instinctively wrapping your leg around her waist. Nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck, you inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of her perfume mixed with the musky aroma of your lovemaking. A contented hum escaped your lips as you breathed in her comforting, familiar fragrance.

"Mmhh," you hummed, your voice still rough from the passionate cries that had spilt from your mouth moments before. You pressed soft, lingering kisses along the column of her throat, tasting the salt on her skin. Your fingers traced idle patterns on the smooth expanse of her back.

You could feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest, the rise and fall of her lungs as she caught her breath. In that moment, wrapped up in her arms, you felt a sense of contentment and belonging. As if you were exactly where you were meant to be, with the person you were always meant to be with.

Rhaenyra held you close, stroking your hair as you nuzzled into her neck. She could feel the soft, even breaths you took, the gentle kisses you pressed against her skin. A sense of peace and rightness settled over her, a feeling of coming home.

"You're so fucking pretty," she murmured, tilting your chin up to look at her. Her eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I don't ever want to let you go."

"I won't go anywhere... not this time," you murmured, intertwining your fingers with hers. You gazed into her intense blue eyes, your own reflecting the same depth of feeling.

A small, shy smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you whispered, "I'll stay. If you do the same..."

You sealed your promise with a soft, lingering kiss, pouring all your devotion into it. "Just don't ever ask me to leave... because I won't."

Rhaenyra's heart clenched at your words, a fierce surge of emotion welling up inside her. She knew in that moment that she would move heaven and earth to keep you by her side. No matter what it took, she would make this work.

No more late nights spent outside without a word, leaving you in the dark. No more dead phone batteries, your concerned calls going unanswered.

"I won't," she vowed, her voice low and fierce. "You're mine now, and I don't share what's mine."

Rhaenyra returned your smile, her eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness. She squeezed your hand, reinforcing the promise you'd just made. She held you close, your naked bodies pressed skin to skin, heart to heart.

"Stay with me," she breathed against your mouth.

"I'll stay," you breathed out against her lips and smiled.

You won’t hold back anymore. You’ve made up your mind to stay, even when your feelings get too strong and when she shines so brightly that it feels like you might get hurt. Maybe there’s something good about being warm, about enjoying her attention, even if it makes you feel a little scared.

Rhaenyra smiled softly, her heart swelling with a warmth she had never known before. She pulled you closer, your naked bodies moulding together like two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place.

"Good," she murmured, nuzzling into your hair. "Because I don't think I could let you go, even if I wanted to."

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pollkien · 24 days ago

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CELEBRIMBOR PROPAGANDA:

Curufin’s special little son!

Have you seen his Shadow of Mordor elven model. He’s SO cute.

Dwarf friend like his dad <3 I’m sure he and Narvi were getting it on…

He made the three rings. I mean. Even Sauron thought he was hot let’s be honest. So hot he got Celebrimbannered. Unfortunate

His story is literally such a tragedy and if you think that’s hot he is The guy ever

Tyelpërinquar is such a cute name also

Disowned his dad. He doesn’t deal with toxicity. Fuck yeah Brimbor

A craftsman so great he was second only to Fëanor himself. Sorry Curufin.

Established Eregion.

Got tortured to death. Very hot.

He had so many different backstories there was one where he was from Gondolin. Also another one where he was a Teler I think? Or a Sinda, I don't remember. And then Tolkien wanted him to be related to Fëanor so he had no choice but to make Celebrimbor Curufin's son

Arm thick from smithing...

He is just so sad and wet and filled with immense trauma. Did I mention he disowned his dad. Actually Celebrimbor could've very well met Curufin again in Doriath, because the survivors of Nargothrond went to Doriath, so maybe Celebrimbor as also permitted to enter... and then the kinslaying >:)

Not racist <3

MAEDHROS PROPAGANDA:

Feen’s first son. Probably very hot given how hot his dad was

Actually tried to be a decent guy in Beleriand unlike most of his brothers

Tall and ginger

Named Fingon the valiant and did not forget his friendship even when the ships were burned :’( and he “alone stood to the side”!!

Unfortunately got gotted by Morgoth. Hung from his wrist for like 20 years.

“for the fire of life was hot within him, and his strength was of the ancient world, such as those possessed who were nurtured in Valinor. His body recovered from his torment and became hale, but the shadow of his pain was in his heart; and he lived to wield his sword with left hand more deadly than his right had been.” Cute

Tragic! So tragic!

nvented Active Elf Suicide by jumping into a volcano. Yay.

“Maedhros did deeds of surpassing valour, and the Orcs fled before his face; for since his torment upon Thangorodrim his spirit burned like a white fire within, and he was as one that returns from the dead” slaydhros!

Moved his bros out of Hithlum so they wouldn’t bitch

March of Maedhros, Union of Maedhros, all named after him

He just seems like a big purring cat :)

Himring alone stood among the Dagor Bragollach! In fact Tol Himring is still around in the third age!

Searched for Eluréd and Elurín after the second kinslaying :(

Stole the two remaining Silmarils with Maglor

“But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfilment of their oath; for they would have given battle for the Silmarils, were they withheld, even against the victorious host of Valinor, even though they stood alone against all the world.” This is so hot

I guess he also is hot because he died in a fiery chasm.

Was noted for his bodily comeliness and was named Maitimo for it ;)

Shared Beren’s epesse

#silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien #tolkien polls #maedhros #celebrimbor #poll tournament #silm sexyman tournament

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lunammoon · 2 months ago

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Imagine, if you will, if we reversed a key part of Lucanis and Spite's dynamic.

Maybe Spite's a slightly older spirit. Maybe the Lighthouse feels different enough for him to pick up on, maybe Rook has a very specific vibe to them. The POINT is that Spite knows that they're out and free.

Lucanis however, Lucanis doesn't think that anything that any of this is real. Not finding an opening, not diving down and effortlessly killing the Venatori, not meeting Rook, not them telling him Caterina sent them, not Rook agreeing to destroy his blood and help him kill Calivan, not escaping the Ossuary none of that.

Lucanis thinks that he's still trapped in the cell. He thinks that this is either a spell he's under (although to what end, he's unsure) or his brain has given up and is firing off neutrons or maybe it's not his brain, it's Spite.

Spite keeps telling him it's real and he's out but Lucanis doesn't believe him.

Lucanis is reluctant to go to sleep because he's afraid that when he wakes up he'll be back in his cell. He knows it's going to happen sooner or later, but this is a Nice Dream and he would like to stay in it a little bit longer if he can. If this is the work of Zara it's her best trick yet. Caterina knowing he's dead and sending someone to help him, them succeeding and him eventually killing Zara himself is JUST as absurd as Elven Gods and floating estates in the fade.

He's going to die in the Ossuary, so he might as well enjoy this while he can.

Meanwhile Spite is doing what's the Demon equivalent of a threat display is to keep the many many Despair demons he's attracting at bay (Lucanis is stupid but he is also HIS). He tries to tell Lucanis that it's real and they're out but Lucanis is stupid. He tries to explain to Rook that "Lucanis. Is. Still. Trapped" but Rook thinks Spite is talking about the pantry and how Spite would rather his host have a room where he can look out into the fade.

#datv #lucanis dellamorte #spite dellamorte #spite dragon age

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 4 months ago

Text

Feasting on You

The sequel to part one: Afternoon Appointments

WARNING: SMUT. THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF THE SMUT FEST I AM PUTTING MYSELF THROUGH. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY YOU LOVELY PEOPLE. MINORS DNI.

Fluff, declarations of love, Beron Vanserra being the absolute worst person alive, unprotected sex with the hope of pregnancy (male and female receiving). Breeding? Again, they're trying to have an heir so I guess? Jealousy, infidelity/sex-work. Mentions of infertility and the struggle to get pregnant, vaginal penetration with fingers and penis, fingering, it's a menu, pick what you want.

Word Count: 6,022 - Hard to believe I work full time.

Since all y'all wonderful people seemed to enjoy the last smut-post I made I figured I'd continue, especially on the day of love. It's not going to be too much longer, maybe one or two more parts but again, it's my palette cleanser from my agonizing slow burn of myself.

Summary: Eris, your mate joins you for dinner after a rather disheartening conversation with his council over your combined failure to produce an heir to the court. After denial of his father's suggestion, Eris hopes to remind you just how devoted he is to you, and only you.

SMUT BELOW THIS LINE. BE AWARE.

Long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, you finally made your way into the grand dining room for dinner. The table stretched before you, a lavish display nearly overflowing with an abundance of meats, vegetables, and freshly baked breads. It seemed as if the kitchen perpetually prepared as though they were feeding a family of ten, never quite adjusting to cater solely to you and Eris. Dinner was a sacred time reserved just for the two of you, a cherished ritual unless you were hosting guests. As long as no visitors graced your halls, or neither of you was summoned away on a diplomatic venture, you always reunited for dinner—a time to recap the day's events, reconnect with each other, and recenter your spirits.

As you entered the room, the fae-light chandelier cast a gentle glow above, its flickering light dancing across the walls. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting long shadows. Yet, you found yourself alone. Evidently, your mate had not yet managed to extricate himself from his own pressing duties. You eased into a seat at the magnificently carved table, pouring yourself a glass of rich, ruby-red wine. Settling back into the large, high-backed chair, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe in the enveloping silence.

Life before the mating bond had certainly never been dull. As the daughter of a prominent merchant residing near the border of the Autumn Court, your days were a whirlwind of activity—entertaining guests, immersing yourself in study, assisting with the intricacies of business dealings, and attending court. Yet now, it seemed you rarely found a moment to draw a breath, as the demands of your new life swept you along in their relentless current.

The sharp, rhythmic clatter of boots echoed down the hallway, each step growing louder until Eris' familiar scent—a mix of pine and something musky—filled the air before he even appeared. You turned your head eagerly to welcome him, but as he stepped through the gracefully arched doorway, it was impossible to miss the storm cloud hovering over his expression. His forehead was knitted in a deep frown, and his hair was tousled, evidence of the restless fingers that had clearly raked through it more than once. His shoulders were rigid, like a bow drawn taut, ready to release. Most telling of all was his failure to flash that usual bright smile upon seeing you.

Eris approached the table with a slowing gait, just enough to lean forward. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder and gave you a kiss, yet it lacked its usual fervor, missing the lingering, breath-stealing passion that typically marked his arrival.

When he broke from the kiss, he settled into the seat across from you and immediately reached for the bottle to pour himself a glass. You watched him closely, studying the lines of his face. "Everything okay?" you asked.

Eris looked up from pouring, set the bottle down, and took a long gulp from his glass before answering. "I'm fine," he replied, though his tone didn't quite convince.

"You don't seem fine, my love," you said.

Eris placed his glass back on the table, adjusting in his seat as he exhaled deeply. "It's nothing," he insisted.

“Well, it sure seems like something,” you pressed further. “What happened between now and earlier today?”

Besides his habit of running his hands through his ginger hair when anxious, his constantly shaking leg was another dead giveaway. Something had definitely happened; you just couldn’t pinpoint out what.

You mentally sorted through a list of potential issues. The Autumn Court was currently thriving, and nothing urgent came to mind that could have dampened his mood, especially when he had been so lively earlier.

Eris had averted his eyes to the table, trying to keep his gaze from meeting yours. Normally, when he was hiding something from you, he would avoid looking at you at all. The second your eyes would meet his the entire facade he had been wearing would erode—something that served you well, but at times tormented him.

“Eris—” you urged softly, your voice low and laced with affection and also a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored. “Tell me what’s happening, my love.”

After a tense, lingering silence, he finally lifted his gaze. His tongue licked over his teeth—a nervous, winding gesture—as he weighed the right words for whatever was on his mind. “I don’t want to upset you,” he murmured.

Tilting your head ever so slightly, you replied with the same calm insistence, “Well, now that I know it’s about me, I think it’s even more important that I know what’s going on.”

With a resigned sigh, Eris leaned forward over the table. “Before I say anything, I need you to understand that I in no way endorse what was said, nor will I act on any of it,” he declared.

A frown creased your brow, the confusion and creeping anxiety twisting deeper like thorns in your stomach.

He hesitated, eyes darting from yours to the table and back in a silent plea of understanding or perhaps more time to cushion the blow. “My father—”

You arched your head back and released a low, sour growl, the sound echoing the bitter disappointment that bubbled within you. “Oh, so it’s your father,” you retorted.

Your loathing for Beron Vanserra was as fierce as Eris’s own—its roots tangled in a history spanning decades. Beron had all but attempted to murder Eris once he’d been almost forced to abdicated the High Lordship, on the strict condition that he remain at Eris’s side as part of the council. Beyond his controlling tyranny and his cruel, abusive past with both his wife and sons, Beron harbored a deep hatred for you. To him, you were the shadow behind Eris’s newfound courage to challenge his rule, the unseen poison that had emboldened his favorite son against him. In your defense, you had spoken little of any ambition concerning Eris’s potential ascension. You had maintained that the choice should be solely his, offering nothing but unwavering support in the swells of his decision making. Yet when Beron was receiving Eris’s propostion, you were standing just outside the council chamber as he hurled ignoble slurs—”whore and “power-hungry bitch”—in your direction. In that moment, Eris had come perilously close to severing his father’s head in retribution. Ever since, the mere whisper of Beron’s name left a bitter, acrid taste in your mouth.

Casting a dagger-like glance toward your mate—a look darkened by resentment. “And what, prey tell, does my remarkably kind father-in-law have to say about me now?” you challenged.

Eris’s gaze dropped back to the table as he deftly twirled one of the silver forks between his fingers, the metal glinting under the soft light. “He made it abundantly clear that he believes we’re taking too long to produce an heir,” he said, his voice laced with frustration.

You rolled your eyes, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh that seemed to echo through the room. “And what does he expect us to do about it? It’s not as if we haven’t been trying,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

Eris nodded, his warm hand reaching across to rest reassuringly over yours. “He knows that,” he reassured, his touch grounding. “Everyone on the council is aware of that.”

In any other realm, the notion of ten elderly council members being privy to your and your mate’s rather passionate and frequent attempts to conceive would send a shiver down your spine. Yet, the matter of an heir was of paramount importance to the court, with significant interest vested in ensuring the High Lord had a successor.

“So what now?” you questioned, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “What does he suggest I do? Since he’s clearly an expert in fertility healing,” you added, the words dripping with irony.

Eris’s father had once suggested that unless his son exercised “complete and total control” over you, preventing you from “running wild around the court making a spectacle of yourself,” you would never produce an heir. He had deemed you “too loose” and “brazen,” criticizing the way you carried yourself with confidence and poise.

That choice of words had almost driven you to seize one of Eris’s swords, your mind briefly entertaining the thought of storming into his father’s chambers to slit his throat. But Eris had physically restrained you, even while you kicked back at him with the strength of a donkey.

Eris took a deep breath, his eyes focused intently on the spot where his fingers traced gentle, rhythmic circles on the back of your hand. "He had suggested that if we didn't conceive within the next year, I should consider taking on a mistress."

The word "mistress" struck you like a physical blow, and your vision blurred as shock settled over you. The mere thought of your mate entwined with another female sent a surge of fiery indignation through you, making you want to storm out of the dining room and stab your fork right into Beron's eye. "I see," you replied, your voice strained as you clenched your napkin in your lap so tightly that you feared your nails might splinter and snap under the pressure.

Eris squeezed your hand reassuringly, his voice soft and earnest. "You know I would never do that."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your words laced with an intensity that surprised even you. "Did you tell him that?"

Eris momentarily looked taken aback by the sharpness in your tone, his brow furrowing slightly. "Of course I did, my love."

Your lower lip trembled with anger, and you blinked rapidly to keep the hot tears from spilling over, even as they threatened to escape. You shook your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep your emotions in check. "Just because your mother was the most fertile female to have ever been born doesn't mean that I am too."

"I know that," Eris reassured, his voice steady and calm.

"What?!" you exclaimed, your exasperation giving way to anger. "Does he think I'm just toxic? Does he think I'm willing myself to be sterile?"

Eris exhaled softly, a hint of weariness in his sigh. "I don't know what he thinks, but ultimately it doesn't matter."

“What did the other council members say?” You asked, your voice quivering as though it might shatter.

Eris hesitated, and the silence felt like a lead weight sinking your stomach.

“They’re eager for an heir, sooner rather than later.”

A wave of nausea surged through you, and you stared blankly at the table, gnawing at your cheek.

Eris’s hand enveloped yours, a gentle anchor trying to pull you back to the present. “It’s going to be alright,” he whispered.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Would you do it?” You asked quietly, each word laden with fear.

Eris’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you take on a mistress if I couldn’t give you an heir?” You pressed.

His mouth fell open, disbelief etched in his features. He leaned closer, the golden glimmer of his eyes shimmering as he gazed at you, unwavering. “Of course not, my love. I would never do that to you.”

“Yes, but if I couldn’t—“ You stammered, words tumbling out in a rush, “couldn’t give you a child, for the good of the court, would you?”

Eris paused, and for a moment, the room seemed to echo with the sound of your heart, shattering.

“No—no,” he shook his head vehemently, as if dismissing the thought itself. “I would never, ever, do that to you.”

“What if I gave my blessing?” You whispered, a tear tracing down your cheek in a long, wet line.

“Why would you even suggest such a thing?” He asked, his continued bewilderment turning almost into fear.

You shrugged, tears now readily overflowing. “It’s vital that you continue your line. That you pass on your gifts to a successor.” A pause, a deep breath to muster courage. “If it came down tot he continuation of the court and my happiness, it would be selfish—treasonous of me to stand in the way.”

Eris rose from his seat, only to descend to his knees before you, clasping your hands in his own trembling grasp. His eyes, filled with an ocean of sorrow, met yours, as if the sheer weight of your tears was enough to fracture his soul. “My love,” he began, his voice soft, unwavering. “The Mother bestowed upon me the blessing of finding my mate, my missing half. The other fragment of my soul that I once despaired for ever knowing.” His thumbs caressed the backs of your hands. “She wove our paths together, for in every essence—mind, body, and soul—we are destined to intertwine. To share the tapestry of our lives side by side. No world exists where I could desire—crave—anyone but you. You are as entwined within me as I am within myself, and to bear a child with another would desecrate the sacred blessing the Mother bestowed upon me in the form of you.” He looked down, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. “In truth, I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else again. You have unraveled me and rebuilt me in your essence.” He paused, his gaze locking on yours with fiery intensity. “If it came to that, I would rather throw away my title than be with any other. And I mean that with every fiber of my being.”

“Eris—“ you began, trying to cut him off. The notion was outrageous, a fantasy. For him to renounce his title, the very thing he had dedicated his entire life to achieving, just because you might not produce an heir was beyond all comprehension. But before your voice could protest, he interrupted you with a fierce determination.

“My love, there is no universe where I could cherish any child as I would cherish ours. We have all the time in the world to try, and if fate decides otherwise, then we will embrace the truth that our destiny is to spend eternity together. And for me, that is more than enough.”

Your heart swelled and you leaned forwards out of your chair into Eris’s waiting arms. He wrapped himself around you, one arm pulling your waist, the other gently cradling the back of your head, his fingers massaging into your hair, you let out sobs, each one a release of the pent-up feelings of anger and intense sadness, mingling with the loving devotion of your mate. He pressed kiss after gentle kiss into your temple, his lips warm and reassuring, as he rocked you back and forth until you could find your balance once more. You leaned back, feeling the heat of your flushed face, tendrils of hair sticking to your skin, dampened by your tears. A soft laugh escaped you as you wiped your face with trembling hands. “I’m sorry—I look like a mess.”

Eris gently pulled your hands away, cupping your cheeks with a tenderness that you melted into. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. He leaned forwards, kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent deeply, a mixture of smoke and spice that grounded you. Your mate. Your devoted, love-sick mate who would willingly burn his entire life to the ground if it meant securing your happiness.

Looking down at you, he chuckled softly. “Though,” he began, “I‘d by lying if I said that I am not more than a little happy that I can continue to fuck you senseless.” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “For the good of the court, of course.”

You laughed in a response, a small hiccup escaping you. “Of course,” you drawled, wiping at your face. “We couldn’t so easily forget our duties.”

He threw a quick glance at the table, still laden with untouched food before he turned his smoldering eyes back to you. “Are you hungry?” He asked, a rather teasing edge in his voice.

Your response was a gentle shake of your head. “No, unfortunately. Not so much anymore.”

A sinful grin slowly spread across Eris’ face, causing a heated shiver to travel down your spine. “Well then, my love, let’s use this precious time for more…intimate responsibilities,” he suggested.

His body left yours as he stood, gazing up at him. “Perhaps I should remind you just how deep my devotion to you truly runs.”

His devilish grin widened as he waited for your response. “And how would you do that, my lord?” You asked, your voice lilting just slightly.

Eris wasted no time as he swept the table clean with one strong arm; plates and platters crashed to the floor in a a rush of chaos that had you jumping back slightly from where he stood. His attention returned to you instantly, bending down to grip your hips firmly and hoisting you onto the now clear table.

Hunger evident in his eyes, he gently parted your thighs and leaned closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he pushed your hair aside. The sensation of his lips and teeth exploring the sensitive skin beneath left you breathless.

“You made a mess,” you managed to moan out rather than complain.

A low growl vibrated against your chest as he nipped at your ear. “I’ll take care of it later.”

Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, gripping them in a fervor, your nails sinking into the firm muscle hidden beneath his shirt. He yanked you closer, his powerful hands anchored securely on the swell of your hips, grinding into you with carnal intent. “Fuck, you‘re divine,” he groaned against your ear, his voice like whiskey and smoke.

You learned your head back, offering him the full expanse of your neck and chest like a sacrificial alter. “You’re my whole universe,” he murmured, his heat-soaked world painting an intoxicating image of obsession. “You’re the reason I wake in the mornings, why I draw breath.”

His roving hands ventured away from your hips, hiking up the hem of your gown until it rode high on your thighs. His fingers fanned out along the softness of your flesh, kneading and caressing as he pressed his body into yours.

He claimed your mouth in a heated kiss, his lips parting in tandem with yours to allow for a passionate exploration, his tongue danced with yours in a sweet torment that had you gasping for air. Your fingers tangled into his wild hair, pulling and yanking at the strands as you sought something solid to anchor yourself.

The blistering heat simmering between your thighs danced enticingly against the bulge of his throbbing arousal, igniting a wire fire that shot through every nerve ending in your body.

Eris, with a low growl, bit onto your lip, his teeth marking you before he withdrew, leaving a pang of emptiness behind. His gaze fell down on his tan trousers, now stained with the evidence of your own rampant desire. “Eager little minx,” he purred, a lascivious grin on his face as he released himself from the constraints of his clothing, his trousers still sitting low on his chiseled hips.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him, stroking his thick, inviting shaft with an insatiable hunger glistening in his eyes that made you feel like the most desirable female in existence.

Discarding your own demureness, you hiked up your skirts, revealing your drenched panties acting as the final barrier to the ecstasy that Eris was promising.

Pushing them aside, Eris’ eyes darkened even more��if possible—as he watched them snag and stretch against your slick, glistening skin.

Your arousal was so peak high that the mere touch of the fabric skimming over you had you gasping out moans that sounded like sweet melodies in his ears.

As he pleasured himself, your eyes locked onto him. His rhythm hastened at the sight of your unveiled desire. You widened the inviting gap of your thighs, keeping your eyes focused on him as he seemed to lean back into his hips, arching his back, letting out a load, audible groan.

You traced your fingers up your satin-like inner thighs, teasing the edges of your exposed core. Your head feel back in anticipation, caught up in the erotic symphony of Eris’s hand colliding against and again with his hard length mixed with the intoxicating sounds of his small moans.

Your hands ventured further down, your fingers exploring the trail of your desire. As you pulled your fingers apart a shining residue of your arousal was left glistening on each one of them. You tantalizingly brought them to your lips, tasting your own sweetness.

“Fuck—“ Eris growled out as you opened your sultry eyes, casting him a heavy look of need. “What I’d do for you,” he groaned.

You traced your hand down the length of your body. “And what would you do for me, my lord?” You purred back as your hand returned to your core. You used two fingers to spread yourself to reveal the jewel of pleasure that Eris craved so passionately.

At the display, he released a trembling groan and swallowed hard against what you thought might be a trembling climax that he was already at the edge of. “I’d burn whole realms for you,” he growled fiercely. You slid a finger down through the center of your split core. “I’d tear apart anyone who laid claim to you.” As you circled your clit, a shaking moan that escaped from you. “I’d pull the gods from their thrones and place you atop them. I’d surrender my entire life for yours.” You gently slipped a finger into the welcoming heat, then another one followed rhythmically, driving the poor male into a frenzy as he tugged at himself. His cock now a deep crimson, almost throbbing with intense longing.

Your mind raced, suddenly conjuring up the unwanted vivid to a tableau of Eris, entwined passionately with another female. His resonant moans, those heady sounds you had so effortlessly drawn from him, now being elicited by her as he drove into her. His chiseled muscular back flexing as he rutted, sending trails of desire coursing through his veins as her unknown throat moaned out his name as he explored her curves like a playground.

Your brows furrowed, a challenge flashed in your eyes towards him as you amplified the rhythm of your own gratification. Your fingers danced over your clit, the pulsating caresses in synchrony with the fervent plunge and withdrawal of your other fingers into your heated depth. You pleasured yourself to this haunting image, a wildfire of rage and competitive desire fueling your passion forwards.

Eris seemed utterly captivated by the sight, he senses consuming him. He allowed himself to surrender into the intoxicating allure, his body responding to your own pace and matching the rhythm with his hand as his hips worked in tandem to work himself over.

You hadn’t wanted this imagery to clutter your thoughts. But everything spun into an uncontrollable whirl of erotic images and scenes, each successive the previous with more intense encounters between your mate and this unseen female.

Eris released a fragile whimper, his hand faltering ever so slightly, breaking the rhythm as though he was in a struggle to restrain himself. “I need to be deep inside of you,” his voice was raspy, almost a groan. “Let me feel the tight warmth of you clasping around me, my love.”

Barely thinking, your hands continued to move with skilled precision over your own body, each encounter with your skin sending tingles through you. You shot back at him, “Fuck me like it’s your last breath, with the desperation of a male starved for pleasure.“ You moaned lightly. “Like this might be your last taste of ecstasy.”

Eris seemed to flinch for a moment, his piercing eyes slightly unhinged by your phrasing. But when you increased the rhythm of your self-pleasure, your chest heaving in rapid succession of anticipation and tantalizing pleasure, he seemed to figure out that if he didn’t act quickly, you would reach that peak with or without him.

Eris moved closer, positioning his hard length at your inviting entrance as you held yourself open to him. He gripped his arousal at the base and carefully guided the throbbing head through the tightness, pushing all the way to the hilt. His breathing staggering hitched in his throat as the delicious warmth of you encasing him was overwhelmingly intoxicating.

He lingered for a slow, burning moment as he steadied himself. His eyes were shut tightly as he whimpered, like he was holding himself back.

Tenderly, your hands rose up to cup his face as he gazed down upon you. With your legs wrapped snugly around him, you whispered a sweet dare into the air. “Take me as if our existence depends on it.”

With one hand strategically positioned behind you for balance, Eris’s low growl echoed in the room as he forcefully gripped your hip, placing his other flexed hand on the table while driving powerfully into you. His thrusts were so ferocious that you slid back on the table, teetering on the edge of losing your positioning until Eris assertively yanked you back to the precipice. The air seemed charged with the tensed desire, both yours and his, magnifying by the desperation wrought by your circumstances. It was all raw, carnal passion—need.

His relentless pace did nothing to soothe his growing frustration towards how much you shifted with each stroke. Pulling back, his sculpted chest rose and fell rapidly with his labored breaths; he rasped out a simple command: “Bend over.”

You willingly complied, abandoning your perch on the table to present your torso over it’s smooth surface.

Eris traced a firm hand along your arching back, as he hitched your skirt back up revealing your bare essence to him once again. After teasing himself briefly, he repositioned himself and began again.

Your body sank beneath his touch as you leaned on your forearms and pressing into your toes to give him easier access. As he reclaimed his place within you, it felt like uncharted territory, a new depth that sent waves of pleasure through you—a heavy pressure that made your lower abdomen ache deliciously.

Your body responded without your conscious choice as you arched upwards, muscles straining as you supported yourself on shaking arms. Each thrust from Eris elicited short, desperate moans from your lips. His own grunts were beginning to take on a raw, primal edge as he drove into you relentlessly, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. His hand roamed from the small of your back to your shoulders, fingers digging in if trying to pull you even closer with each powerful pump. His muscled torso smashed against your soft curves in perfect rhythm, your bodies creating a symphony of harmonious moans and the slick clapping of skin against skin.

“Harder,” you panted out, your own fingers digging into the linen tablecloth.

His only response was a deeper, more powerful thrust, his hard cock filling every inch of you, deep enough to feel him in your stomach. You began to mirror his rhythm, arching your hips against his thighs. Each time he withdrew only to plunge back into you with heightened force that brought forth gasps of pleasure from both of you.

Eris’s strong hand found its way to your ass, gripping it with such intensity that you were certain to find a constellation of blue-purple reminders tomorrow. Your head fell forward languidly between your outstretched arms as he continued his relentless pounding. His fingers abandoned the tender flesh to circle the inner curve of your thigh, his muscled torso pressing into your trembling back as he leaned down onto you. His fingers danced down the length of your thigh before stopping at the apex of your core, drawing circles over the most tantalizing spot.

The sensation was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure so intense that your screams were muffled only by the table beneath you as he drove into you. His ragged moaning accompanying each thrust echoed in your ears. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Take it. Good girl, take every fucking inch of me.” His thrusts escalated in power, pushing your body against the sturdy table before releasing you over and over while his fingers continued to work your clit that throbbed with anticipation.

“Fuck, Eris—” You wheezed out in a sharp exhale.

“Say it, my love. Say my name.” He replied.

You recited his name like a confession until he started echoing yours with equal fervor.

Your toes tightened in your heels and a divine tingle of your climax started forming at the base of your skull.

In between stifled moans, you managed to utter out a warning, “Fuck, I’m on the edge, don’t stop!” It sounded more like a plea than a command.

Eris complied with no hesitation, his motions continuing as he pinched, circled and tugged at your clit which sent a jolt of pleasure through making you squirm beneath him.

As the delightful tingle began snaking down your spin, you felt the intense clenching sensation in your core, occurring in waves. It was the release you had been so intensely waiting for—burning a trail down your body like a wave of heat. It was as though your body pulsed around him, rhythmic waves, grasping and attempting to pull Eris over with you.

He was right on your heels. His thrusts persisted, driving you through the contractions of your orgasm until he could hold off no longer. You felt him give in to his lustful release deep within you, warm and more profound than any time you had been intimate before. He bent over you, his hands clutching at your hips as though they were his lifeline. You could practically feel the heat from his body as he moaned, a sharp intake of breath between gritted teeth accompanying each pulse as he spilled deep into you.

Finally, he descended from the euphoric peak, seeming to float back down to earth. His chest remained taut and panting as he eased off you, your face still resting on its side,

remnants of pleasure still coursing through you. He tenderly brushed strands of hair from your flushed face, his fingers ghostly against your skin as he planted a soft kiss on your cheek. “Are you alright?” His question was sincere, his other hand tracing comforting circles on your dampened back.

“Mm,” you responded, eyes still veiled by heavy lids.

Eris gradually separated himself from you, an audible moan escaping him at the final pull out, as if the sensation had sent shockwaves through his every nerve. His fingers leisurely explored your backside; even with your eyes closed, you could tell he was admiring his handiwork.

A low grunt slipped from him as his fingers traced up your slickened crevasse, painted in a cocktail of your combined arousal. “Fuck—” he muttered so quietly, that you knew it had been unintended. Suddenly and without warning, he plunged two fingers deep into you causing a breathy whimper to leap from your lips.

“There,” he whispered huskily, “None of it goes to waste.”

His fingers continued their dance inside you, lightly twisting and kneading your tender walls painted with his essence. Your response was a soft symphony of moans.

"Do you want more, my love?" He queried, his voice dipped in honeyed seduction. "Do you need more?"

You whimpered out an eager confirmation and as if on cue, Eris pulled away from you leaving a void that consumed you.

The harsh grating sound of a chair scraping against the floor reached your ears before his commanding voice followed with "Come here, my love.”

Turning your head slightly towards the sound, there he was—an arousing silhouette seated by the glow of the flickering firelight; his arousal rigid and glistening in its golden glow.

“Come,” he beckoned again, “I'll satisfy your craving.”

Rising off the table, your dress cascaded down around you and warm trails of your shared climax trickled down your trembling thighs.

As you approached him, wide-legged and inviting, he instructed, “Take off your dress.” His cock twitched in anticipation against his chiseled torso of his opened shirt.

Stopping before him, you slipped your heels off and made quick work of the ties securing your gown—it pooled at your feet.

Eris surveyed you with a savage, primal hunger, his lips moistening in undisguised desire. "Gods-damn gorgeous," he breathed out, voice husky as he stretched one hand towards you. You took it, and he drew you back into his sphere of heat and lust, turning you so your back pressed was to him, mere inches from his body. His hands rested on your ribs, fingertips tracing a tantalizing path along the curve of your sides down to the swell of your hips. His gentle tug guided you downwards onto his lap, onto his semi-hard cock that demanded attention. It entered you slowly, inch by agonizingly delicious inch, setting off a crescendo of moans from deep within you.

Eris allowed you to adjust to the exquisite intrusion, your ass settling on the curve of his thrusting hips that eagerly came forward to cradle you. You reclined languidly against his defined chest, your head nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder while his fingers danced along your thighs, guiding them open. The flickering fire provided a welcoming warmth against the sensual slickness that was still weeping out from within you, rolling down Eris' arousal and staining both pants and chair alike.

"That's it," he purred, "Spread your legs for me for me, love."

With him buried so deep within you moving seemed near impossible as waves of satisfaction washed over you. Yet he nudged them apart persistently, draping them over the chair's arms so that you were fully exposed and ripe for his enjoyment; completely naked in the heart of the dining room with Eris' rock-hard cock nestled snugly within you.

He kissed at your neck and shoulders, rocking his hips slowly, nothing like the punishing pace of splayed on the table, but just enough to continue to churn the orgasmic fluids that rested deep inside of you. At the same time, his fingers returned to your core, teasing over your clit with the pads of his fingertips in slow circles.

His other hand made it’s way to your breast, toying lightly at the pebbled nipple, twisting it in his fingers and light flicking it. His world revolved around you, and your soft, staggering moans were music to his ears.

Your body was still ablaze from the aftershocks of your previous peak, hypersensitive and yearning amidst the haze of pleasure. As he drove into you with languid yet powerful strokes from below, complementing it with the rhythmic play on your clit; it was all too much. You let out a delicate whimper before your body started convulsing again. “Surrender to me, love,” He urged. “I want to feel you fall apart again.”

Obediently, your body rippled against him as a fresh wave of euphoria crashed over you. Your skin sprouted goosebumps under his touch, and a loud moan escaped you as ecstasy took control once again.

Your body melted against him, utterly exhausted and breathless, as you lay cradled in his embrace, the aftermath of passion leaving you completely spent. With tender care, he swept your hair away from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. He carefully lifted your body, handling you with the delicate touch one might use with fragile glass, before settling you back down on his chest, where his now relaxed member rested lightly against your back. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he whispered in your ear, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you to bed, my sweet angel.”

My spay appointment is tomorrow at 8:00 AM. My mom can drop me off if yours can pick us up.

Part Three: Yearning

#eris x y/n #eris x you #eris x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris and reader #eris and you #eris vanserra smut #eris smut #acotar smut #acotar fanfiction smut #smut #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #eris fic

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dreamingkitsunewrites · 6 months ago

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A "The Picture of Dorian Gray"!- inspired Nanami fic in two acts (From my Jjk Penny Dreadful Series-here)

*°࿐ Synopsis: After a harrowing escape from the hell of Shibuya, Nanami Kento finds a dark, twisted method to conceal the deep wounds forever etched on his flesh and spirit. He relocates to Malaysia, shedding his former identity in search of s fresh start, driven by the allure of an hedonistic lifestyle. He quickly resigns himself to a solitary existence, prioritising secrecy above all else's -that is, until one evening at the theatre, when your paths fatefully cross. What will happen next in this unfolding tale of tragedy and rebirth?

*°࿐Tags: Act 2- Nsfw + dark content (Katoptronophilia- mirror kink, softdom!nanami, fem! masturbation, pinv, breeding kink, graphic description of scar and injuries)

This work is part of the SPOOKINKY 2024 event hosted by @tsukimefuku 🖤

"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic (...)Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." -Oscar Wilde

࿐✧˖*° Fic Moodboard here✧˖*°࿐

Beneath the dim, flickering glow of the bakery where you work everyday, you move like a shadow, wiping the counter where the day’s sweet offerings linger—croissants, chocolate éclairs—fragrant remnants of a life half-lived. The scent clings to you, comforting yet oppressive, as you linger on the past. A year has passed since you fled into this quiet corner of Malaysia, seeking escape, yearning for the hum of the ocean outside your window. Here, in the solitude of this bakery, you’ve become a ghost—part of the background, invisible to all but the clock and the empty tables.

Yet tonight, something stirs deep within you. At the end of your shift, you return to your cozy apartment, heading to your bedroom to let your fingers graze the golden ticket on your nightstand, a silent promise of a dream that has been lingering in your personal space for weeks: The Tempest. Tonight, the magic of Shakespeare’s world will finally become your own. You slip into the emerald night dress you bought for this occasion, catching a fleeting glimpse of a brand new woman reborn in the mirror, staring back with a defiant gaze.

…

The air of the theater hums with electricity as you step inside, your dress shimmering like a forest at dusk. Eyes turn, glances linger. The crowd falls into a hush, a soft murmur ripples through the room. You feel their gaze—a strange, unknown sensation, both exhilarating and disquieting- you’re definitely not used to being the focus of the attention around you. As you navigate the rows to your seat, eager to find yours and hide among the crowd of faces, a chill runs down your spine. There, across the balcony, a familiar figure watches you—a tall, elegant man, poised in a timeless black tuxedo.The tailored jacket hugs his athletic frame, the deep midnight black fabric contrasting strikingly with his fair complexion. A white pocket square elegantly peeks out from the breast pocket, while a finely knotted bow tie adds a sophisticated touch. His reserved nature, shadowed by a hint of intrigue, seems to enchant every woman in the auditorium, inviting curiosity from all who cross his path. With an air of mystery that surrounds him, he garners attention effortlessly, embodying both charm and enigma in every subtle movement.

It’s him—Mr. Nanami, the enigmatic man who has haunted the bakery for months. Always at his corner table, always with a book in hand, always distant, as though carved from some distant age. His gaze is now fixed on you, unblinking, his caramel eyes drinking in every movement you make. Even among the crowd, he is a statue, an artifact of mystery, his blonde hair gleaming under the theater’s lights, his presence too immense to ignore.

«If by your Art, my dearest father, you have

put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,

Dashes the fire out.»

The character of Miranda finally speaks, signalling the start of the play. Lights go off, the world fading into darkness around you, but his gaze never wavers. It pulses between you, an electric current that thrums in your chest. Even as the actors bring the stage to life, Nanami’s attention is all on you. His eyes trace the delicate curve of your neck, they notice the way the silk of your dress clings to your feminine figure—every movement, every breath amplified. In the silence between the scenes, memories of brief encounters in the bakery flood both of your minds—small gestures, the fleeting brush of hands as you served his command. Every mundane act now seems to acquire a deeper meaning, hinting at the long buried electricity now resurfacing in all of its power.

The actors' words echo in your mind, their tale of rediscovery mirroring your own. You feel the thread between you and Nanami tighten with each passing scene. Your heartrate is accelerates inexplicably, his hands itch imperceptibly. By the play's end, the applause is drowned by the weight of his gaze, a fleeting glance that feels like an unspoken invitation. The crowd fades, and you are lost in the depths of his eyes—amber pools that seem to hold unspeakable secrets. What darkness lingers behind them? What truths lie hidden beneath his composed exterior?

In that moment, you are both spectator and part of the story, caught between the stage and the gaze of the man who watches you from the shadows, as if you are both part of the same forgotten tale.

The applause swells, a rising tide of sound that drowns everything around you. The faces blur, the claps echo like thunder, and your senses are swept into the frenzy. Yet, goosebumps rise along your exposed back, a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. In the midst of chaos, your consciousness fails to identify the tall figure slipping quietly behind you, a shadow stretching long across your seat. But your body doesn't: every fiber of your being tenses in alert, time stretching as if waiting for something to happen at any moment.

Nanami’s hand lingers for a heartbeat before resting on your shoulder, a firm, yet gentle touch. The unexpected pressure makes you gasp, the sound barely a whisper.

"Mr. Nanami... What a surprise," you murmur, turning to face him, your voice trembling like a prayer as you feign surprise. His name spills from your lips, the remnants of the performance still thick in the air.

"Good evening, Mrs... I apologize for the intrusion," he says, his tone softer than you expected. "I saw you in the crowd and... I couldn't resist."

His apology is followed by a smile—small, sincere, and unlike the elusive stranger you’ve come to know. You blink in disbelief, caught off guard by this sudden warmth.

"Good evening," you reply, your words stammered. "No need to apologize. I’m glad you noticed me." Beneath the surface, you are deeply surprised by the fact that he did really recognize you, a simple waitress, a face everyone easily forgets.

He chuckles softly, eyes flickering with interest as he watches you. "The actors were amazing tonight, weren't they?" he continues, easing into the conversation. " Yes, indeed” you answer “I've always been fond of drama... the way music, scenery, poetry, and dance all blend into one living thing."

He catches the spark igniting your eyes as you speak, lost in your own enthusiasm. "Yes, I think it's the perfect kind of art... a fusion of all forms. A single experience woven from many threads."

He watches you, entranced by your remarkable passion for arts. Nanami always secretly thought you looked beautiful, admiring your kind nature from afar while you served tables at the bakey. But tonight he can't help feeling drawn to your every movement, noticing every detail of you, the most attractive woman he has ever laid eyes on in a while. Suddenly a low chuckle escapes him, catching you by surprise: "A real aesthete, aren’t you? I think I’ve finally found a worthy companion for my abstract musings." He muses.

You smile back, amused by the compliment. "So…you are... an ‘aesthete’ too?" you ask playfully.

"Ah... I prefer the term hedonist. There's a difference. An aesthete merely appreciates beauty for its own sake. A hedonist seeks to immerse themselves in it, to live for the pleasure it brings. Do you understand?" He smiles wryly.

You nod, half-missing the full meaning. "It makes sense to me... though 'hedonism' isn't a word you hear much these days."

At your remark, something flickers in his eyes—a momentary hesitation. His gaze drifts away, as though lost in a distant thought. Then he snaps back,as shaken from a dream.

"I have a question for you," he says, his voice now heavier. "Since you’re so drawn to this kind of topic... what do you think? Does life imitate art, or is it art that imitates life?"

You blink, caught off guard. His question is as profound as it is unsettling. Sensing your confusion, he continues, voice tightening with a quiet vulnerability.

"I know it sounds tautological... contradictory, even. But these thoughts are born from years of reflection, of trying to make sense of life."

He pauses, and for a moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken tension. The weight of his words settles around you, and you sense his inner battle—fear of revealing too much.

"Life is indeed the most intricate of masterpieces," you say softly, your voice soothing the strain in his words. "But I believe we create it. We choose the colors, the shapes, the shadows of our existence."

His eyes soften, a long, silent moment passing between you. Then, as though the walls around him have cracked, he sighs, and his words spill out.

"I’ve always had a special sensitivity... but my past... it hardened me, consumed me. I spent years hiding from it, burying my feelings beneath logic and calculation. And when I finally faced those demons, I realized..." He trails off, the confession hanging between you.

You wait, breath held, as he collects his thoughts. "I thought the pleasures of art and literature were gone forever. I thought I had lost them. But then..." He falters again, lost in the depths of his own emotions.

You try to simplify his cryptic confession. "So... you retired early and moved to Malaysia, didn't you? It's not something to be ashamed of, it's common practice here, Malaysia is such a dreamy place. I myself have left everything behind and fled here…" You try to make him feel at ease, failing to notice the deeper meaning behind his words.

His lips curled up in a faint smile, a touch of sadness in his eyes. How could such a pure soul like yours grasp the horrors hidden behind his elegant appearance? "Yes... escaping a life I didn’t recognize anymore seemed the only choice I had a year ago."

You smile back, unaware of the weight of his past, yet moved by his vulnerability. "It seems like we both needed to escape something,then" you say gently.

He watches you intensely, and for a moment, the shadows of his past flicker in his gaze, along if something else- quiet admiration for your spontaneous genuineness. Then, without warning, he clears his throat, inviting you to continue your discussion elsewhere:

"I hope you won’t misunderstand," he says, his voice low and hesitant. "But...would you join me for a drink tonight? I’d love to continue this conversation... and perhaps share a book with you. If you'd allow me."

You accept without hesitation, the thrill of the unknown surging through you. Walking side by side along the moonlit shore, your steps are light, the air thick with possibility. The evening unfolds before you, a path leading to an unseen discovery, your heart fluttering, unaware of the darkness that lurks just beyond the light of the moon, reflected inside his golden irises.

The ebony door creaks open, a haunting sound that reverberates through the dimly lit corridor as Nanami, with an air of quiet dignity, unlocks the entrance to his home, his quiet sanctuary. Leaning forward, he flicks the light switch, and with a courteous gesture, steps aside, allowing you to cross the threshold. Click. A warm, golden light floods the space, spilling like liquid amber into the darkness, inviting you into the treasure trove that is Nanami's home.

As you step inside, the musty scent of aged books mingles with a faint undertone of turpentine, whisking you away to a distant realm where art and literature reign supreme. The air is thick with stories untold, whispers of creativity echoing off the walls. Each available inch of wall space is claimed by an eclectic mix of paintings, their colors vibrant against the deep shadows. Books of every genre crowd every angle of the refined, tastefully furnished open space that stretches before you. Your eyes widen, your jaw drops; you are mesmerized, trying to absorb every intricate detail of this artistic sanctuary.

"I hope this is to your liking," Nanami's amused chuckle pulls you from your reverie, his voice like a gentle breeze stirring the still air.

"This... all of this... is yours? The paintings, the books, the antiques? How...?" You stammer, incredulous, as you survey the vast collection that feels both intimate and monumental.

"Yes," he replies, a contemplative smile gracing his lips as he leans against the doorframe, the shadows dancing across his features. "This collection is my legacy, the thing I’m most proud of..." His voice trails off, and as you admire his possessions, you fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, filled with a blend of longing and admiration. In his mind, your figure blurs with the contours of the most graceful of Aphrodites, the missing piece of his collection, the first soul to step into his sanctuary after a long, lonely stretch of time. He watches you spin around his living room, a vision of grace in a flowing dress that clings to your curves like a delicate drapery on a marble statue.

He could grow accustomed to this sight, to you... And in that fateful moment, he lowers his guard, granting you access to the most secluded part of his soul, a realm he has shielded jealously over the years. "Why don’t you take a tour of the house while I pour us a drink? What do you prefer: Cabernet or Whiskey?" he asks, his genuine smile like a rare gem in the dim light.

"Thank you, I’d like to explore your collection further… as for the drink… you choose, surprise me," you reply chuckling mischievously, a thrilling tension crackling in the air as your eyes lock with his, an electric connection that sends shivers down your spine.

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you venture deeper into the labyrinthine layout, navigating narrow corridors flanked by towering shelves that groan under the weight of Nanami's extensive collection. Each step draws you further into his world, a place where dreams and memories intertwine.

As you explore, you ascend the stairs to the first floor, stumbling upon a cozy library. A plush, crimson armchair beckons you, piled high with dog-eared paperbacks and a precarious tower of art monographs. The adjacent bookshelf stands as a shrine to literary giants—Austen, Dickens, Joyce—their timeless works nestled alongside a first edition of Hemingway's "The Old Man and the Sea."

You are about to descend when something catches your eye: A door at the end of the corridor is slightly ajar, challenges you, invites your curiosity. A thrill courses through you, an all-consuming desire to uncover the mystery hidden within. Drawn by an unseen force, you approach, your heart racing as your trembling hand hovers over the doorknob. With a gentle push, you swing the door open, and a sudden burst of light slices through the darkness, momentarily blinding you. As your vision clears, you find yourself staring at your own reflection, an astonished figure in a green dress, caught in the web of shadows.

Stepping further into the room, you realize you’ve entered Nanami's peculiar bedroom. A quilted round bed dominates the space, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors that create a dizzying effect, reflecting your image endlessly in the dim light. Your gaze travels, and you find a portrait hanging on the wall—a blond man who looks strikingly like Nanami, but marred by burn scars that crisscross his body like a roadmap of pain, telling a story of flames that once ravaged his skin. His eyes, a deep, piercing gold, seem to harbor the weight of those infernos, a flicker of fire still smoldering within.

“Is this... Nanami?” you whisper to yourself, disbelief coursing through you.

"So you found out..." a faint, emotionless voice emerges from the shadows, and you immediately turn: Nanami stands on the threshold, his attractive features marred by a mask of suffering and resignation. He holds a single book in his hands: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

"Nanami... I didn’t mean to intrude. The door was slightly open, and I..." you stammer, searching for an excuse. " But…What is this? Who is the man in the portrait?" you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling with confusion.

His gaze drops to the floor, a deep sadness enveloping him. "I wanted to lend you this book…maybe it would have helped you better comprehend this situation of mine. I’ve always related to Wilde’s work…and its Preface holds everything I’ve painfully learnt about life” his words ring hollow in your ears, emptied of any meaning. “This portrait... It represents the state of my soul. This... is what I really look like." His voice is heavy with truth, and the weight of his words hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

A storm of questions swirls in your mind, casting you into a sea of panic, while your gaze flashes between him and the man of the picture "This... it can't be real. Nanami, what really happened? What is this story about?"

"Please, listen to me..." he interrupts, his tone now urgent, demanding your full attention. "Over a year ago, I was involved in an accident in Shibuya,on the night of Halloween and got severely injured. I barely managed to survive, but half of my body was burned, damaged irreparably..."

He takes a step closer, his expression lost as he struggles to share his truth. "When I woke up in a hospital bed, I took a look in the mirror, and realized I would have never been the same man I was.” He pauses, trying to steady his accelerated breath “ seeing my condition, an old friend of mine decided to set off, travelling the world for weeks in search of a way to restore my appearance. And I thought he had returned victorious at first, when he proposed to me an ancient curse allowing me to channel all of my pain and ugliness into that portrait. So I ended up switching places with the man now hanging above my bed. My friend helped me escape to start anew in this secluded place of Earth, but the truth is that this was never meant to be a blessing…with time I fell prey of the illusion of my appearance, trapping myself in a cage of mirrors, constantly afraid to see my real aspect resurfacing…I’ve been such a fool to forget the real nature of this expedient: a curse will always be always a curse"

He retreats, hiding behind a wall of shame and guilt. "I don’t expect you to understand. You know nothing of the world of sorcery from which I came... and...I wouldn't blame you if you turned your back at me now, pointing at me like a devil…"

As he fights to suppress the lump in his throat, you stand in front of him, your knees threatening to give in at every word spilling from his mouth. But it's in this moment that you see his true nature for the first time—a broken man, whose defenses are now crumbling under the weight of his long-buried secrets. "I’ve missed my chance with you, I cannot hide from the monster I’ve become," he whispers, his voice cracking with guilt and regret.

Without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you. Nanami's breath hitches as your hesitant hand cups his chiseled jaw, grounding him in the moment. It is high time to free him from the demons of his past. "Destroy the picture, Nanami... don’t let that portrait weigh down your soul any longer."

Your words provoke an earthquake into Nanami's world: his eyes widen, meeting the compassionate determination in your gaze. "And this doesn't change anything, I’m not leaving…You don’t have to hide anymore, not from me," you say softly, knowing in your heart that this moment could be the key to unlocking the darkness that has held him captive for far too long.

…

His resolve wavers as he gazes upon your lips, mere inches away from his, a tantalizing promise lingering in the air. The last thread of self-control snaps when you pull him closer, pressing your curves against his sculpted form. In that intoxicating moment, he crashes his mouth to yours, a desperate kiss that spills forth your insecurities in a breathless plea for understanding. Lips collide, and the world fades, leaving just the two of you suspended in a cocoon of time and space.

Fingers roam restlessly, exploring, dancing over each other’s bodies in a fervent embrace, like lightning illuminating a starless sky with passion's raw energy. The kiss deepens, heats, igniting flames of longing as he pins you against the cool surface of the mirror, your bare back shivering at the sudden chill. He looms over you, strong and commanding, tension rippling through his broad shoulders before he seizes the lower edge of a golden-framed picture, throwing it to the ground with a shattering crash.

The echo reverberates through the room, breaking the spell that held you. As the cursed image lies in shards, you blink to find the real Nanami before you, a man sculpted by both fire and fate, his scars merely facets of a twisted charm. He holds his breath, waiting for your response, his vulnerability laid bare in the depths of his eyes.

You stay silent at first. Your trembling fingers deftly start to unbutton his shirt, tracing a path from fine fabric to the rough, fibrous tissue of his burned skin. “You look even more handsome in my eyes now,Nanami... ripped at every edge but still holding your original charm, like the finest masterpiece” you finally speak, voice thick with emotion “you’re strong, you can heal. Let me help you, please... let me…” The weight of your invitation hangs in the air, a siren's call that stirs something deep within him. He hesitantly captures your wandering hand, “Are you sure?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, a silent confession of both uncertainty and deep care.

In answer, you push his shirt off his shoulders, your hands gliding over the contours of his biceps, igniting a wildfire in his chest long thought extinguished. You offer him compassion and heartfelt affection, and in that moment, he feels worthy of love again. “I am sure, Nanami… give me all of you without restraints tonight…show me you’re willing to start anew”

“Fuck,” he gasps, his hands gripping your waist, spinning you around to face the mirror. “See how stunning you look? You are too much for me now,do you understand it?” He desperately spits out through gritted teeth “but if you choose to give yourself to me tonight, know that there will be no turning back. I won’t accept being left alone tomorrow...” His breath tickles your neck as he nibbles at your soft skin, pulling back to meet your gaze with a gravity that sends shivers down your spine. “What do you say? Do you accept my condition?”

“Yes,” you simply breathe out, eyes locked on the reflection before you, feeling small yet cherished in his powerful embrace. “I guess I am the luckiest of men, then…” His warm breath cascades over the delicate flesh behind your ear, a relieved smile curling against your skin as you tremble between his arms.

“I could hold you like this forever…” he whispers, tracing the line of your spine with his index finger. His hands find the thin straps of your dress, gently coaxing them down your shoulders. The silky fabric slips away, pooling at your feet, revealing you in all your glory. “You are a masterpiece here, the most exquisite work of art I have ever seen.”

His gaze drifts to the mirror, breathless as he drinks in the sight of your curves, fingers exploring the valley between your breasts, brushing against your hardened nipples with a soft touch that ignites a deep groan from his throat. “Look at you; I’m going to worship every inch of your delicious body tonight, just like a painter brushing the pure canvas in front of him, I will paint your body with pleasure and reverence” With a confident caress, his hand glides down, cupping your sex, igniting a spark of longing that makes your breath hitch.

“Nanami,” your voice is a prayer, each syllable infused with need as he parts your folds, cool air colliding with your now exposed clit. His experienced fingers start to explore your womanhood and a shiver dances along your spine “So soft,so wet for me already… keep those beautiful eyes open for me,I want you to watch as we create a work of art of pleasure tonight.” his other hand cups your chin, preventing you from looking away from your entwined image.

He moves with purpose, fingers drawing delicate circles on your sensitive nub, escalating your breaths into gasps. “You know, I’ve always believed that sex is a form of art—the highest, perhaps. The sensations it creates, the way bodies merge in a symphony of unbridled passion…” His rhythm quickens, pressure mounting until you scream his name, your body arching as waves of pleasure crash over you.

“Let it happen, just like that, give in to it, feel the way your body yearns for mine” he encourages you, guiding you throughout your climax with his confident ministrations. “Look at you now,” he cups your jaw, tilting your head to see the beauty of your flushed cheeks and wild hair. “You are alive… the essence of beauty.” His kisses scatter across your skin, igniting every nerve, his hardness pressing against your plush curves, a testament to his hunger.

His veiny hands unfasten his belt, pulling down his elegant pants to reveal himself to you: a glorious display of manhood, standing proud and ready in the mirror facing you. The base is girthy, the long shaft crossed by a single bluish vein up to the swollen tip, already for glistening with precum “look what your beauty does to me” his hips jacks forward instinctively as he notices the hunger in your eyes “Ready?” he asks once more, searching your gaze for any hint of doubt before entering you slowly from behind, his eyes locked on yours in the reflective surface, watching as pleasure and pain intertwine on your face.

He’s barely halfway in but you already feel him everywhere, a melding of flesh and desire driving you mad as he fills you completely. A strangled groan escapes him. “fuck, you're too tight… "His eyes flutter shut as he revels in the sensation of your snug channel stretching apart for him, sweaty pearls coaxes his forehead, brows furrowed in concentration “you were made for me.” He buries his face in your hair, inhaling your intoxicating scent as he stills for a moment, savoring the connection of your entwined bodies.

When his hips begin to move, there is no gentleness—only a primal need. He slams against you, each thrust sending you gasping against the mirror, fingers clutching the golden frame for support. Your body turned into a canvas painted with pleasure: head tilted back, throat exposed, breasts heaving with each fervent thrust, trembling legs on the brink of surrender. The smacking sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberates, a wild melody echoing in the room as you surrender to the rhythm of ecstasy, bodies swaying in perfect synchronicity.

Together, you reach the precipice of bliss. The mirror captures the art of your union, an abstract painting of two entwined souls—calling out each other’s names, your bodies slick and sticky, pressed together in a tender embrace. In that moment, you know that this is more than just a union of bodies; it is a celebration of art, love, and the unyielding spirit of desire.

Nanami’s eyes roll back as he feels you envelop him in a fierce grip, but he forces his gaze open, eager to witness the masterpiece unfolding before him. “I'm almost there…” He announces, grunting in your ear as he surrenders to your magic. Warm spurts of his very essence paint your walls white, making you his in the most primal of ways. He groans in pride and delight when the glass reflects the lewd sight of his overflowing seed dripping down your leg. Turning to face him, a loving smile dances upon both of your lips, the calm after a storm. “That was incredible, my diamond… thank you for sharing this masterpiece with me,” he murmurs, placing gentle kisses upon your closed eyelids, the warmth of his damp hair brushing against your forehead. “You’ve shown me that with you, I can finally find my way back to beauty.” He nuzzles your noses together, laughter bubbling forth as he regards you with a playful glint in his eye. “But I fear I need more from you tonight… are you ready for another round?”

You nod, a spark reigniting within you, a shared yearning to delve deeper into the connection that has blossomed between you in the stillness of the night. Without warning, he lifts you off the ground, effortlessly cradling you in his arms, bridal-style, and carries you toward his round bed, laying you down upon the luxurious velvet sheets. The sensation takes your breath away, and you gaze up at him, wide-eyed with wonder.

He kneels at your feet, crawling onto the bed, leaving a trail of kisses along your calves, thighs, and stomach, until he reaches your lips. For a moment, he pauses, studying your moonlit features, before pushing himself into your inviting warmth once more. This time, there is no urgency; instead, he makes love to you with a tenderness that transcends flesh, his thrusts slow and deep, punctuated by soft kisses and feather-light caresses. You gaze upward at the mirror hanging from the ceiling, capturing your supine figure beneath his muscled torso, tensing with every intimate movement.

In that sacred moment of Epiphany, the truth unfurls before you: together, you and Nanami create a beauty that has always eluded you both, a beauty that defies the boundaries of time and space, a masterpiece beyond convention. You were each other’s missing piece. Each creak of the bed beneath you resonates with magic, a spell binding you to this moment of bliss and rebirth, witnessed by every mirror surrounding you.

“We are art,” you lean in and whisper into his ear, your voice filled with newfound conviction, as the night wraps around you like a cloak, and the shadows dance in celebration of your fateful union.

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