#but i wanted to see so much more of her story!!!

[cybrasigilism]

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a dae ho x reader x thanos, where they both are trying to do outlandish stuff to get the readers attention on them and not the other. they're both so goofy at times

This Means War (Kang Dae-ho/Thanos X F! Reader)

warning: no smut! | not proofread | lowercase intended | OOC (bc daeho and thanos don’t really interact in the series) | love triangle(?) | this is my interpretation of these characters, please be respectful even if my opinions on the characters differ from your own

characters: kang dae-ho (player 388), thanos/choi su-bong (player 230)

A/N: this may be the most entertaining fic i’ve written yet! thank you so much for the brilliant request, i’ve tried my best to make it an enjoyable read for you all! this is a mixed POV story so apologies for the confusion as it reads, i wanted to try something different but if this was too much of a confusing read i likely won’t do this style of fic very often. AND ik its short, i’m so sorry, but this is only the beginning of this story (if you guys like it)

–––-𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊𖤐₊‧⁺˖⋆☾-–––

dae-ho was sure he’d never seen someone quite so captivating in all his life. the moment you grabbed his attention from across the room at the very beginning of the games, he knew he had to get to know you. whether it was the way your face managed to light up the dark atmosphere of the common area, or the way you carried yourself in a calm, collected, self assured manner amongst all the uncertainty; he fell head over heels effective immediately.

unfortunately for dae-ho, he wasn’t the only one who seemed to have noticed you. thanos had clocked you the minute people started filing out from their bunks, and he felt things right then that he hadn’t felt for anyone before. he was totally drawn to you, it was almost as if he knew he had to stake his claim on you sooner rather than later, lest someone make their move first. he would be damned if he lost his chance with the most gorgeous girl he’d ever laid his eyes on to some random.

as for you, you were spending more of your time focusing on your current situation rather than scouring the location for potential suitors. you didn’t notice any familiar faces, to be honest you were kind of relieved at that. you would have been embarrassed to see a colleague or a friend there, knowing full well the predicament that you must have been in to even consider joining these sketchy games. you maintained a level head up to the point where you were all led to this photo center like cattle, taking photos for whatever reason before entering the first game. just as you were joining a line to take your photo, you heard someone call out your number out of nowhere.

“sẽnorita!” the same voice called out once again this time followed quickly by a whistle, causing you to turn your head and see this purple-haired guy with a crowd of people surrounding him. “i’ve got room for one more here, c’mon!” he beckoned for you to join the cramped circle. you felt your face contort into a concerned expression before simply turning away and joining a line far away from whatever that was. you could still feel that guy look at you for a quick moment, but when you glanced in his direction, he was long gone.

—

this first game, Red Light Green Light, was not anything like what you or anybody else were expecting. when the rules stated that players who moved would be eliminated, you didn’t conclude that that meant they would be assassinated. poker face be damned, you could feel your body vibrate every time that creepy doll turned her head back round to face the players, eyes scanning for even the slightest bit of movement. the next time you were all allowed to move forward, this tall, dark haired guy moved in front of you almost deliberately. when you all froze again you noticed he had his hand extended out to you behind his back, with his mouth covered you could hear him whisper “just stay close to me, okay?” you waited before that damned dolls head was turned around again before you grabbed his hand and the two of you took off.

once you both crossed the finish line, you looked up at your mystery saviour. “thank you for doing that..” you said, voice noticeably shaken from all the death you witnessed, and were still witnessing. he looked down at you and smiled. “of course, anything for you.” that last part warmed your heart, it was nice to know you had already found someone you could rely on in these trying new circumstances of yours. you let your gaze shift off subconsciously and noticed that purple headed guy from earlier, staring daggers at the man who had just essentially saved your life.

—

after the surviving players returned to the common area, cast their vote, and split off back to their beds, thanos made a b-line for dae-ho, looming over his bed to which dae-ho quickly took notice.

“that was some lame shit you pulled.” dae-ho had never been so perplexed at another person in his life. “what’re you talking about?” he asked, earning a laugh from the quirky stranger. thanos kneeled down, making eye contact with dae-ho now. “you know damn well, 388,” he started, spitting out dae-ho’s number as though it were a dirty word. “swooping in, acting like the hero for that chick.” dae-ho looked unamused, trying to be unassuming about the whole ordeal. “i don’t know what you think this is, i was just trying to keep somebody alive-“

“i didn’t ask what you were trying to do, did i?” thanos interrupted, getting closer to dae-ho now. “just know this. she’s mine. so i wouldn’t waste my time if i were you.” dae-ho held back a laugh, before looking his newfound opponent up and down. “that’s funny, the feeling didn’t seem mutual when she gave you the cold shoulder during photos.” thanos scoffed, turning away in an attempt to keep his cool. “whatever man, she’s just playing hard to get.” his voice trailed off at the end, when he clocked you sitting in your own bunk, knees to your chest.

“yeah, i don’t think that’s true.” dae-ho stated, getting up out of his bed, and patting thanos on the back. “i get that you’re probably used to having girls fall over themselves for you, so it’s definitely shocking when someone like that doesn’t give you a second look.” dae-ho’s slight smugness about the whole ordeal left thanos speechless, watching with seething rage as dae-ho made his was over to where you were sat. he knew that the games weren’t the only thing he wanted to win over now. he knew he was certainly not going to let dae-ho captivate your heart so easily, and he knew that he was definitely not going down without a fight.

dae-ho knew something too: he now knew he had to keep you safe from thanos because something inside told him that if that maniac was capable of inadvertently killing random people in order to advance in the first game, there was no telling the lengths he would go to gain your attention. he made a vow to himself to never let you out of his sight while you were in your current situation. over his dead body would he let someone like thanos prevail.

the two of them both made a nemesis that day, each one swearing that they could get to you before the other did. they now knew it was about more than just the games.

they now knew that this meant war.

–––-𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊𖤐₊‧⁺˖⋆☾-–––

apologies again for the length, or lack there of, of the fic! if anything i want to make this multiple parts but i understand if the format of this particular fanfiction is too confusing, and again i am sorry for that! just wanted to experiment :)

as always, advice and constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing are appreciated and requested!

have a splendid day/night lovelies 😙

tags: @gongyoosgf @agornotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @pink-apples001 @fiicalapsiholoaga @wonestro @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet

[y3sterdaysproblem]

⤷𝙛𝙬𝙗!𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙡𝙚

 ⤷ 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 ; 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤!𝘧𝘸𝘣!𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘹 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤!𝘧𝘸𝘣!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

{texts above are relevant to story}

cw: alcohol consumption

“chris!” you exclaim excitedly as you see the familiar blacked out bmw pulling up on the curb, pulling yourself up from the stairs you sat at outside the house you somehow ended up at. you were under the impression you and your friend would just be at her house, but when you ended up at a party with a bunch of unfamiliar faces, you knew you had to get somewhere you knew to ride out your drunken state.

he’s not even out of the car when you’re running up to the car and to the passenger door, trying to pull it open but failing miserably. “hey, chill,” chris says to you as he circles around the car, pulling the door open for you. “how much have you had to drink?” he questions as he watches you flop into the seat, the whole car wobbling from the force.

“umm,” you drawl out, turning your head up to look at him, eyes unfocused and darting around. “i’m not sure! maybe… nine drinks?”

chris’s eyes widen in shock as he looks down at you, noticing how hard it was for you to lock eyes with him. “nine drinks?” he asks, desperate to clarify.

“maybe more,” you mumble with a small shrug. “can we get like… taco bell or something?”

chris sighs and shuts the door on you, coming back around to the driver’s side and getting in. once he’s settled, he turns back to look at you again, seeing the messed up hair on the top of your head and the way your clothes seemed a little disheveled. he wonders for a split second if your state was fully to do with alcohol, or if somebody had put something in your drink without you noticing.

“yeah, we can get food,” he says, but doesn’t make any effort to move. “did someone slip something in your drink?”

“what?” you say, slinging your head around to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “think my drinks were just really strong.” you finally say when you process his words.

“okay,” chris nods, eyes scanning over your face to see if you were alright. “are you gonna throw up or anything?”

you laugh and wave a hand at him dismissively, shaking your head. “no!” you say, reaching forward to place your hand on his chest. “you know i’m not a bitch.”

chris laughs and grabs your hand, bringing it back over to your own lap. “didn’t say you were a bitch, just asking if you need a bag or something. don’t want you puking in my car.”

you narrow your eyes at him and turn your body in your seat, crossing your arms. “you called me a raging bitch the other day,” you huff, raising your eyebrows sassily.

he’s not having any of it, not wanting to play into your confrontational switch, so he turns his body back to the steering wheel and puts the car in drive, pulling away from the curb. “because you were being a raging bitch,” he says calmly, eyes scanning over the road as he sets out on the route back to his place.

“what, because I wasn’t with you?” you ask defensively, feeling heat starting to rise up your neck, getting worked up over something that wasn’t even a big deal. “am I supposed to ask you for permission every time I want to fuck somebody else?”

chris’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, jaw tensing at your words. he had to remind himself that you were only saying all of this because of the alcohol, but part of him wanted to fight back, wanted to put you in your place. “definitely not,” he responds lowly, eyes locked in front of him. “you really need to stop and think about what you’re going to say next.”

you scoff out a laugh and roll your eyes, turning back to sit straight in your seat, arms still crossed as you stare out through the windshield now as well, eyes still trying to focus on the road as it disappeared under the car. “still want food,” you mumble, lips pursed in a childlike pout. “you’ll get your food, just sit there and be quiet,” chris responds, reaching forward to turn the volume up to drown out anything you might say. you wanted to protest, but the heavy weight on your eyelids started to take over, and within the next minute you were asleep.

it felt like seconds had passed when the passenger door was being opened and chris was reaching down to touch your shoulder, shaking you lightly. “hey,” he said softly, trying to rouse you awake. “dude, get up,” he says louder, shaking you harder. you let out a groan as you come back to your senses, forcing your eyes open once again. “come on, let’s go inside so you can go to bed.”

you take another couple of moments to ground yourself and remember where you are, but you eventually swing your legs to your side and use every surrounding method of support to help you out of the car, feeling drunker than you did when you first got into it. “I feel awful,” you mumble once you’re standing in the driveway, reaching your hands up to rub over your face. chris just laughs and shuts the door before he wraps an arm around your waist and guides you up towards his apartment, his grip on you tight to keep you standing straight.

after stumbling up a couple flights of stairs and leaning on the wall while he unlocked the door, you both finally make it into his place and you immediately try kicking your shoes off, groaning when they don’t slip off with ease. chris chuckles at you again and crouches down to grab your foot to stop you, unlacing your shoes for you. “you’re a fucking mess,” he comments, straightening back up once both of your shoes were off, taking in your appearance.

your hair looked tangled from running your hands through it, and the way that it fell in front of your face made him realize you weren’t even aware of how messy it looked, your purse hadn’t even made it inside, left to spend the night in his car, and your makeup was smudged all around your eyes, already looking days old.

“you’re a mess,” you shoot back, bringing a hand up to poke him in the chest. “I am just… fucking…” you look down at yourself and groan, hands coming up to claw at your top. “get me out of this fucking corset.”

chris grabs your hands and pulls them away from your shirt, turning your body to guide you into his room. “alright, we’ll get you out of these clothes and you can pass out, yeah? sound good?”

you nod, more to yourself than anything as you walk into his room, immediately pushing away from him and going towards his bed, falling onto it face first. chris shuts the door behind him and comes to stand next to his bed, reaching down to rest a hand on the bare part of your back. “do you want to take your clothes off or sleep like this?” he asks, leaning down a bit so he could hear your muffled voice against his comforter, but between your slurring and your mouth buried in the blankets, he couldn’t make out your response, so he carefully rolls you over as to not jostle your stomach too much. “what’d you say?”

“off,” you repeat in a moan, laying limp on the bed with your head tilted to the side, eyes still closed.

“okay,” chris responds, his hands reaching out towards the button on your jeans. your head immediately pops up and looks down at his hands, then his face.

“woah, woah, woah!” you exclaim, reaching down with one hand to push his away frantically. “i’m drunk, chris!”

chris looks up at you with one eyebrow raised, moving to rest both hands on your thighs, your skin touching through the large rips in the fabric. “uh huh,” he nods, sliding his hands back up your hips. “which is why i’m taking your clothes off so you can go to bed,” he tells you in a slow, calm voice, like he’s explaining something to a little kid.

“oh,” you say in understanding, flopping back down onto the bed. “am I sleeping here?” you ask him as you feel his hands starting to undo your pants again.

“yeah,” he answers, pulling your jeans down and off of your legs, leaving you in your panties and a corset he can’t even begin to understand how to remove. “gotta keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t puke on your back or something.”

“ew,” you answer, eyes staring up at the ceiling, providing no help for chris as he undressed you. he reaches down and scoops his arms underneath you to pull you into a sitting position, to which you groan in disapproval. “wanna lay down.”

“I know, but I need to get this… fuckass shirt off of you first.” chris is clueless as he stares down at it, although he doesn’t mind the view too much. he sees what look like latches at the front of the shirt, and he can’t help but wonder why somebody would wear this to go out drinking unless they expected to sleep in it that night. “i’m about to just cut this shit off of you.” he huffs.

“no!” you whine, reaching out to grab his shirt while you tilt your head up to look at him, eyes pleading. “don’t cut my clothes pleeease,” you drawl, tugging on his shirt. “i’ll show you how to take it off, c’mon, you’ve taken my clothes off like a hundred times.”

he couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head in disbelief at your words, but then he agrees and gestures to the corset, ready to learn. “alright, show me then.” he says, taking a step back to watch. you look down at the corset and groan a bit, hands coming up to squeeze the sides together. “just… push it… together… and undo it.” chris watches for a moment, and he thinks he understands, so he steps back up to you and starts to unclasp your shirt, eventually getting it off and leaving you on his bed in just your underwear. you gasp in a deep breath at the relief and flop back down, eyes closing instantly. “so much better,” you breathe out.

chris tosses the corset on the ground and keeps his eyes locked on you, trailing over your body. he admires you in a way he doesn’t think he ever has before, taking in your vulnerable state and recognizing the level of trust you must have in him to not only ask him for a ride, but to lay here so drunk you couldn’t even undress yourself and know that he wouldn’t do anything to harm you. it sent a shiver down his spine, and he had to pull his eyes away from you before he thought too hard about it, turning towards his dresser to grab a shirt for you to sleep in.

he walks back to his bed once he finds an old shirt that he knew fell past your hips, seeing you curled up on your side and most definitely almost asleep, if you weren’t already. he reaches down and pulls the shirt over your head, maneuvering your body through the shirt until he pulls it down on your torso, covering you up. you’re pretty malleable like this, so he grabs your body and slides you up on the bed and under the blankets, finally letting out a sigh of relief when you’re tucked in.

chris runs his hands over his face for a moment before he turns and gets himself changed as well, which just consisted of taking off the clothes he had thrown on to pick you up, leaving him in just his boxers. he debated sleeping on the couch, or the floor, or anywhere that wouldn’t be in your line of fire if your body decided to throw up, but ultimately he talked himself into just sliding into bed next to you, making sure to keep his distance on his side of the mattress.

his efforts didn’t last long, though, because not even a few minutes after he laid down, you were turning your body to face him and scooting closer until you could wrap your arm around his waist and rest your head on his chest, letting out a small sigh of contentment.

chris is taken aback at your action, his arm that’s now around you extended out in discomfort, not knowing what to do in this situation. you guys weren’t cuddlers, it wasn’t a part of your routine when you would sleep together. lay in the same bed and catch your breath, sure, but cuddling was never in the cards, so he couldn’t help the way his heart picked up at your newfound closeness. it almost felt more intimate than being inside you, like you guys had crossed a line he didn’t even know was drawn.

you let out another soft breath, nuzzling your face further into him as you settled in, not noticing his disconcertment. “chris?” you mumble suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. he hums, letting you know he’s listening. “if you just let yourself open up, you’d be a really good boyfriend to somebody someday.”

your words are clearer than they have been all night, and it makes chris’s ears ring and his face go pale, though it’s undetectable in the dark bedroom. he doesn’t answer, unable to find a good enough response, and he deems it unnecessary when he hears small snores coming from your parted lips, like you hadn’t just said something that was going to send him into a spiral for the remainder of the night.

he finally lets his hand come down and rest on your back, staring at the ceiling as he thinks over what you said, trying not to focus on your body weight resting on his, and the way your manicured hand sat peacefully on his stomach while you slept.

you’d be a really good boyfriend to somebody someday.

he found that hard to believe.

a/n: they’re becoming REAL

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44

[briefpiratebear]

for me keeping myself high meant in the moment meant more then any amount of sympathy or disrespect anybody could do to me. i didnt want that who would i failed like i fail at everything this time i didnt know many things i thought i did like a mental disorder i could not keep my thoughts and my brain right i was mentally incapable although i could work and i did always did yet with anxiety and no meds i couldnt be normal i lost it again i dont take anxiety meds im a buddha but since my brake down it hurt me physically like i did my entire years growing up this time i only lose it momentarily i need to find some other distractions then this shit feeling im doing alot better like i always thought i would on adderall lol it is a very very sad story of how someone dehuminized and deliberatly terrrorize over drugs they needed to be taking there entire life not only that but so much not knowing there own children labling me as autistic way earlier on before her degrees because of my alcholism changed the way of my thinking seperated us she never new me untill she had to know me thats how sad our relationship has been for along time not now for awhile all in all its dehuminizing her mother does it alot worse all in all its nothing good to lie that is why truth wins everytime i stand on truth and manners i have to we all do anyway i never had a problem i figured my shit out but who was there helping me i dont take for granted but i have to learn to enjoy the ride better myself and family together many people do not know how to communicate like i do not even my mom i see perspectives people dont think about i can wrap my head around alot but damn that shit broke me i spent all my money on shit to feel good i was sad a pig i turned into another animal alcholic ran myself to the ground getting phcho episode i dont even reminber my ex i must have drank popped pills the whole time untill well early november i got hospitalized and i wasnt well untill around chrismas time i was on heavy drugs because physically i would shake people think its ever since the meningitis the spinal tap fucked me up but i dont i think its a anxiety thing cause from nerv damage longer i go on the more it subsided it was bad all in all the monopaly went well another life lesson i would never take those away from anybody idc who you are whether you grew up in catholic schools or the slums you deserve to be heard other people need to hear it...

[i9messi]

She's my lady — Charles Leclerc

You're a figure skater competing in the Winter Olympics and Charles doesn't hide he is your biggest fan.

note: i know winter olympics are in 2026, but let's pretend they are in 2025 for the sake of this fic. also, reader and charles are in an established relationship.

smau

MASTERLIST

yourusername

holidays with you 🤍 charles_leclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussel53, carmenmmundt and 656.876 others

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user1 so beautiful

user2 did she spend holidays with charles' family?

user3 yesss, she spent holidays with her own family (of course george was there) and the leclercs

carmenmmundt I love you, angel 😇

yourusername I love you too bonita

charles_leclerc I don't have enough words to describe how much I love you, I guess I need to remind you right now. Let the phone and come with me, I miss you

yourusername omg Charles ☺️ I love you, wait for me

georgerussel63 😡

yourusername say something nice or I'll block you

georgerussel63 okay, I love you and I guess your relationship with Charles is fine

yourusername I love you big bro

yourfriend miss uu

yourusername i miss you more

yourusername

i'm back ⛸️

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, francisca.cgomes and 788.563 others

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user1 YESSSSSS

user2 counting the days to see her in the winter olympics

arthur_leclerc you're awesome!

❤️ liked by yourusername

francisca.cgomes teach me how to skate on ice pls

yourusername whenever you want🤍

francisca.cgomes are you free tomorrow?

yourusername of course, send me a text xx

charles_leclerc you're so special to me, I love you

georgerussel63 oh stop being so annoying, carlossainz55 come to help me and say something to him

carlossainz55 charles man, stop setting the bar too high

charles_leclerc I'll never stop

yourusername 🤭

charles_leclerc

my beautiful girl, good luck on the winter olympics. I am already proud of you and I'm the luckiest man to have you

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, yourusername and 1.245.355 others

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user1 I don't know anything about figure skating, someone explain

user2 she's competing in the winter olympics, a championship of sports related with ice. she's in the category women's singles, which means she doesnt have a partner, she skates alone

user3 is she good?

user2 yess, she has medals already

yourusername i love youuuu, thank you for the support baby

charles_leclerc have I told you i'm your biggest fan?

user4 can you fight?

charles_leclerc yes.

maxverstappen1 good luck on the winter olympics yourusername!

yourusername thank you max🥹

user5 two of the current best athetles in the world interacting wih each other. oh, and they also are charles girlfriend and boyfriend

charles_leclerc just posted a story

caption: so much talent, so much passion. it's you, it's always you

yourusername

next round!

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, georgerussel63 and 766.887 others

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charles_leclerc I LOVE YOUUUUU

charles_leclerc YOU WERE INCREDIBLE

charles_leclerc YOU'RE EVERYTHING

user1 and you're just ken

user2 i want a man like charles

user3 i want a gf like y/n

georgerussel63 that's my little sis!

❤️ liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri good luck mom

yourusername thank you son xx

user4 charles and his gf adopting oscar as their son is making me really happy

landonorris are cute girls there? invite me next time

yourusername even if i know i really want to win, i don't need you distracting all the girls around

user5 she was so good, I loved her performance!

user6 she's my favourite figure skater in the championship

charles_leclerc just posted a story

caption: my lady won a medal!

charles_leclerc

I know how hard you have been working to win a medal and make us proud. You won, baby. I just see how lucky I am to have you and I'm so happy with the fact the people now can see how talented and wonderful you are. You're kind and a beautiful soul. I love you so much. You make me proud, just want to tell the world how much I love you. Forever yours, Charles.

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 2.345.454 others

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yourusername oh charles baby 🥹 i'm yours and i love you. thank you for all the support you gave me during these last weeks and for your kind words🤍

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️

user1 can charles fight? like for real, can he really fight?

charles_leclerc I would murder for her

user1 okay sorry sir

charles_leclerc she's my lady in case you have forgotten

user2 you never made us forget she's your lady, you're like always remembering us

maxverstappen1 we lost him

landonorris you mean, you lost your boyfriend

maxverstappen1 shut up

user3 get a man who posts about you and writes cute words for you

user5 the bar was never too high like now

yourusername

I won a medal and my boyfriend proposed: luckiest girl alive

liked by charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt, georgerussel63 and 1.726.875

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georgerussel63 my little sis is gonna get married, i'm already crying

yourusername I'm not that little anymore

georgerussel63 you'll always be a baby

yourusername fine, old man

carmenmmundt congrats beautiful❤️

yourusername will you be my bridesmaid?

carmenmmundt omg yesss

francisca.cgomes oh my godness, i'm so happy for you!!!

❤️ liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri yesss, congrats for the medal and for the ring

user1 how do you feel about your parents getting married?

oscarpiastri i'm now a happy kid

yourusername i love you son 🤍

oscarpiastri I love you mom❤️

landonorris yessssss, congrats you two!

user2 omgggggg I knew it

user3 rumors were true

charles_leclerc

she said yes, and now I can say "SHE'S MY WIFE!!!!!!! HAVE YOU SEEN HER? SHE'S INCREDIBLE"

liked by yourusername, georgerussel63, maxverstappen1 and 2.654.876 others

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yourusername oh boy, you're making me cry again. I love you lots, you're the best thing that ever happened to me🤍

charles_leclerc I love you wife❤️❤️❤️

maxverstappen1 congrats!

yourusername charles still loves you

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[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

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© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[venusinmyrrh]

You said you love a good fashion doc- do you have any more to recommend?

Designers and tastemakers

Very Ralph (2019). The preeminent American designer of our time, one of the very few who can stand toe to toe with the titans of Paris and Milan. To call Ralph Lauren's work "sportswear" is to call the Sistine Chapel "kind of a big painting".

Halston (2019). Speaking of going head to head with Paris, Halston did it first. Skip Ultrasuede-- this is a much better doc about the king of American 70s disco glam.

McQueen (2018). When people talk about fashion as an art form, chances are they're thinking of Alexander McQueen. Worth watching for the pulse-pounding runway shows alone.

Westwood: Punk, Icon, Activist (2018). Obviously you already know about this one, but it's gotta go on any comprehensive list. Without Vivienne Westwood, punk would have been nothing but a handful of noisy assholes.

Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has to Travel (2011). My icon, my north star, my personal hero. The empress of taste and high priestess of personal style. Watch this doc whenever you need encouragement to do and wear whatever the hell you want.

The Gospel According to André (2017). Diana Vreeland's protegé and a godfather of style in his own right. If it happened in fashion in the last fifty years, André Leon Talley was there for it.

Lagerfeld Confidential (2007). I have a high tolerance for difficult and unpleasant people as long as I like their work. Your mileage may vary, but Karl Lagerfeld's immaculate, relentless taste cannot be denied.

Institutions and events

The First Monday in May (2016). Witness all the hustle, bustle, savvy, and stress that goes into planning the Met gala!

The September Issue (2009). Same as the above, but for the famous September issue of Vogue. Watch this to learn who Grace Coddington is.

Dior and I (2014). How do haute couture collections get made? In 8 weeks from start to finish, I guess, if you're Raf Simons during his first season at the House of Dior. A documentary and a thriller.

Scatter My Ashes at Bergdorf's (2013). No matter what other retailers might want you to think, Bergdorf Goodman is the last great department store. A portrait, already halfway to a time capsule, of what luxury shopping used to be.

Peripheral, but may be of interest

Nose (2021). The passionate, delicate art of perfume creation for the House of Dior. The French landscapes where they source their materials will make you swoon.

Larger Than Life: The Kevyn Aucoin Story (2017). As the makeup artist to pretty much every single icon of the 80s and 90s, Kevyn Aucoin invented the image of that era as much as any designer.

Fabergé: A Life of Its Own (2014). Come for the dazzling jewels and sumptuous objets d'art; stay to find out how this illustrious name ended up on hair care products in the 70s.

Crazy About Tiffany's (2016). Another luxury jeweler whose name alone is the stuff dreams are made on.

Bill Cunningham New York (2010). The original street style photographer, since before "street style" was even a thing. A love letter to curiosity, and a testament to the power of taking an interest in the world around us.

Still on my watchlist

Salvatore: Shoemaker of Dreams (2020). Directed by Luca Guadagnino, which is enough to put this Ferragamo doc at the top of my list.

Advanced Style (2014). Portraits of seven women aged 62-95 with truly fab personal style. Top Letterboxd review is seething about how out of touch they are with the real world, which means I am probably gonna love it.

Suited (2016). A study of gender through clothing in modern culture.

Dries (2017). A year-- and four collections-- in the life of Dries Van Noten, who, interestingly, doesn't see the point of clothes that people can't buy to wear, and so does not do couture.

Yellow is Forbidden (2018). This doc about Guo Pei appears to use her career as a framework to understand the gatekeeping of global culture by the West. Dope as hell, if it can pull it off.

American Style (2019). The political, social, and economic history of America through its fashion. Another one that could be really awesome if done with insight and panache.

Quant (2021). She may share the credit for inventing the miniskirt with two other people, but it cannot be argued that Mary Quant invented 1960s Swinging London. And for that we say thank you Dame Mary.

[marbofmoorock]

Since a couple of people agree, I'm going to make a short story of it.

After venturing for miles in this digital fairy tale land adventure, everyone makes it to the castle, but gets divided as most of the cast works together to fight the dragon guarding the prize Caine warned about, save for Zooble and Pomni, who are about to be surprised with the "prize" at the end of the adventure as they start the tower climb.

"Ugh, how much longer?" Grumbled Zooble, the most determined to finish due to constantly falling apart today from all the action.

"You know Zooble, if you want, I could go see what's ahead first if you want. Caine did sorta make this adventure because of me since I brought up fairy tales." Pomni offered nervously, trying to help Zooble calm down.

"No. I'm finishing this, so I can tell Caine how done i am." Zooble muttered angrily, grumbling about how she wants to rip Caine to shreds making Zooble go on this adventure.

Pomni decides to drop the topic and they continue to walk silently up this tower staircase, Caine said the prize was on the tallest room in the tallest tower.

They arrive at the up at a big door locked by a wooden bar, which they took off.

Inside, they're surprised to find Caine in a princess outfit, with lipstick on his teeth lips, as he chuckles in a faintly feminine way, playing the role of the princess/damsel in distress to impress Pomni.

"Congratulations, my Superstars~ You've come rescue me at last!" Says Caine celebrant of their reward.

Zooble stares for a moment, not sure what to think of this, walks back downstairs in silent disbelief, pretty shocked, yet mad this was the prize.

Pomni, watching her leave, then turned back to Caine, who was secretly close to Pomni as the other circus members didn't know about their relationship.

"Sooo~ HOW DO I LOOOOK!?~" Said Caine as "she" poses while laying on the bed in the room for Pomni.

Pomni was not prepared to find Caine roleplaying as a princess, feeling kinda awkward, but sort of found Caine's commitment to the role of being a fairytale princess for the adventure rather...

endearing.

She recalled his in past conversations Caine had been insecure about his adventures and didn't know how to make them fun, until one day Pomni arrived and started to be like a cheerleader to Caine, as she went on to liked Caine a lot, despite all of his mistakes and bring trapped in the Circus. Caine had opened up to Pomni, asking for help, and Pomni embraced the goofy floating denture man by offering him love and support, something Pomni assumed he had very little of as the other cast members were all tired of Caine and his antics. Pomni aims to influence Caine to help alleviate her time at the circus, realizing a fairy tale adventure she had the idea of inspiring him, was definitely arduous for the others. Yet, here was Caine was trying to impress her with this extravagant fairy tale adventure. It did remind her of bedtime stories she one heard as a child, so it felt deeply sentimental in a indirect sort of way.

Pomni walked over to the bed and sat next to Caine, holding Caine in her noodly Jester arms. Caine cuddled Pomni in her arms in return, feeling hopeful that Pomni loved his surprise at least.

"Did you...like my surprise...?" Said Caine softly, as his eyes gazed at Pomni as they hugged.

"Yes, but do you think our next adventures could be...a little less crazy? I think the others would enjoy it as much as I did if there were no dragons or lava."

"Anything for you, Superstar. I thought the challenge would be great, but I suppose lighthearted adventures would be appreciated by the cast more, even if they complain." Caine clings to Pomni a little, to which Pomni hugged Caine tighter, happy to provide support to her secret friend.

"Thank you Caine, you're a real peach."

Caine melted at the thought, close to crying, then he let's all the waterworks out in a blast of tears and sobs as they hold each other, while Caine quickly snaps his fingers sending everyone back to their rooms in the circus for rest, save for them, as Caine and Pomni spent their privacy in a cuddle here in the fairy tale dimension.

"So," said Pomni as she was still gazing at Caine as they held each other, "What's with the princess getup? Is that for me too?"

"Well..." Said Caine, unsure of how to explain his thoughts to Pomni, but tries, "I'm exploring a new side of myself, I didn't know how I'd feel about wearing a dress, but here I am wearing one and it feels kinda amazing."

"Well, I think you look good." Said Pomni sweetly, as her gaze towards Caine continues. Caine is completely memorized towards Pomni and blushes as Pomni offered him a small peck on his right tooth cheek, Caine feels very special. "T-Thank you Pomni, you're so kind to me. I've never had a friend (other then bubble and the npcs i create), but you're real. AND I appreciate all that you do to be a big help. C-Can we stay like this for awhile?"

Pomni nodded, ensuring Caine she trusted him and held him tightly. Caine holds Pomni in return, as they kiss and hang out for a bit alone.

The End.

"COME AND CLAIM YOUR PRIZE MY GALLANT GAMERS!"

[lainloves]

BABY FEVER?!

Pairing; TRAFALGAR LAW X FEM! READER

;; FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFFF!

Synopsis; headcanons with law and a pregnant s/o. And a few with his baby.

;; AFTER ONE year of posting a single fanfic, I am back. Writers block killed me so bad :`(

➜ when he found out you were pregnant, it was like he got hit with a thousand bullets. He just stood there while you tinkered with your hair as he looked at you with wide eyes and his jaw hanging open as he dropped his book.

➜ SUPPERRR affectionate, he likes to look out for you everyday especially since you're pregnant he does his best to protect you from enemies and potential threats that want to hurt you.

➜ Being the doctor of the heart pirates, he gives you proper check-ups and checks on you daily to see how you are.

➜ everytime he's alone with you he always hugs your belly or when you're sleeping he talks to your pregnant tummy.

"Be good to your mom okay?" Law said while he laid down next to you, sleeping peacefully as he looked down at the large protruding belly as his tattooed fingers wrapped around your stomach, he was smitten with his unborn child. He'll give anything to make his baby happy once they popped out their mother. "Stop kicking her so much," he hummed. When you silently observed the conversation with closed eyes, it's almost sweet that he does this every night. "I'm still awake, law." You softly said when law's ears turned into a darker shade of red when he huffed. "I think it's cute, Y'know?" You smiled, putting your palm over his.

➜ Loves spoiling you, even when he acts all snobby..In the end when you ask for him to give you a massage on the shoulders he'll give them.

➜ Always pesters you if you ate breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

➜ he gets super mad when you carry something heavy or do any workload, he's completely put you off any chores to do since you had a special case growing inside you, cleaning duty was now in shachi’s hands. Even if he didn't wanna— but he couldn't complain since law might just extend it further.

➜ Whenever you two shop for baby items, he picks out one that was super cute, and if not he sews the heart pirates’ jolly roger on his baby's onesies and beanie's. It was the cutest thing ever.

➜ during labor, law was the one to perform the delivery and as he holds his baby he felt like all his problems washed away.

➜ he's definitely a girl dad.

➜ He's willing to survive the midnight cries, and the diaper changes.

➜ Sometimes law is afraid because he's got a big bounty on his head, he gets really nervous thinking about it. What if his baby or you were used against him? He can't bear to experience that.

➜ ALWAYYSSS is so protective of his baby, whenever someone tries to look at his child he will give them the stink eye.

"aw your baby is so cute!" A lady said when law was walking down the busy streets of the new island they docked in to restock on supplies. "How old is she?" The lady asked. "4 months." Law said, when the lady tried to pinch his daughter he immediately backed away. "Um, yeah.." law said, "oh— I'm sorry. Am I not allowed?" She asked. Law just shakes his head indicating he doesn't wanna, since her hands were dirty and didn't want them to get in his precious baby's cheek.

➜ He will do everything in his power to give his daughter the world, he doesn't want his baby, his precious little girl or boy to go through what he went through as a kid.

I have unfinished stories in my drafts, I might post more :3

[cruel-seduction]

If I get more pretty? 

Content Warnings: Mild cursing, angst, emotional vulnerability, themes of insecurity, and crying.

Summary: You and Mattheo have been keeping your relationship under wraps. But when doubts and insecurities begin to creep in, you find yourself questioning your worth. Mattheo, however, won’t let you suffer in silence. He’ll fight through any storm—no matter how many times he has to face it—because the one thing he won’t ever allow is for you to feel unloved. And when it comes to loving you, he’s unstoppable.

Glimpse - You smirked, your lips quivering as you raised an eyebrow. “Don’t speak too much, Riddle. Or I might just impregnate you.”

He withdrew his hands from you in mock horror, covering his body as if you’d just said the most scandalous thing in the world. “I knew it,” he said, feigning shock, “You only want me for my body.”

a/n - I am writing this while I am in metro and I forgot to bring my headphones and there is a really cute guy sitting next to me who also have dimples and he looks like a nerd cause he is doing some maths equation and he even smiled at me so I am fucking happy.

The sun hung low on the horizon, its amber rays stretching lazily across the Black Lake, casting a soft, golden glow over the rippling water. You were sprawled out beneath a towering oak tree, its ancient branches providing just enough shade to temper the warmth of the evening. Your back rested comfortably against the rough bark, while Pansy’s head lolled casually on your shoulder. To your left, Mattheo sat close, his presence grounding you in a way you didn’t quite understand but had come to crave.

You weren’t exactly close friends with the group gathered here. Pansy was an acquaintance at best—though her sharp wit and biting humor had grown on you—but Mattheo? He was your secret. Your boyfriend. A relationship that defied logic and societal expectations. On the surface, you and Mattheo were opposites: you, measured and reserved; him, chaos wrapped in dark allure. You had loathed his reputation once, the stories of his recklessness and destruction, but now you knew the truth—the tender boy beneath the mask, the one who would move mountains just to see you smile.

Still, it was your idea to keep things private. ��Private until permanent,” you had insisted, brushing away his protests with a laugh. “People are too eager to cast their evil eye.” It wasn’t that you didn’t want the world to know. You did. But you couldn’t shake the instinct to protect what was precious to you, even if the irony of shielding someone as notorious as Mattheo Riddle from harm didn’t escape you.

Your voice broke through the tranquil atmosphere as you finished recounting a story, one that had the group doubled over in laughter. “It’s not that funny, you assholes,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips. “I’m actually concerned about it, okay? Like, it’s true, but still…” You rolled your eyes, your chuckle mingling with the fading laughter. Eventually, you let your head rest atop Pansy’s, her dark curls tickling your cheek. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Mattheo watching, his dark gaze fixed on where Pansy leaned against you. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, and you couldn’t help but suppress a grin. Jealousy suited him.

As the laughter ebbed, Blaise leaned back on his elbows, a smirk playing on his lips as he turned to Mattheo. “So, Riddle,” he drawled, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “What’s the deal with that redhead who’s been mooning over you?”

Mattheo’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “What redhead?”

“Oh, don’t play coy,” Blaise replied with a laugh. “You know exactly who I’m talking about. The redhead—absolute knockout—who’s been fawning over you.”

“She doesn’t,” Mattheo said firmly, his tone laced with mild irritation. “She just assumes we’re friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Blaise quirked an eyebrow. “Let me enlighten you, Riddle. Do women usually parade around in barely-there clothing for their so-called friends?” His teasing earned him a sharp slap to the back of the head from Pansy.

“Any girl can wear whatever she damn well pleases,” she snapped. “And it doesn’t have to be for anyone, let alone a man. And If I hear you say such nonsense I will chop your dick and feed it to that three headed dog, you understand?”

Blaise rubbed the back of his head, chuckling. “Alright, alright. I am sorry, ma’am. But come on, Mattheo. She waits for you at Quidditch practice every morning. Five a.m., mate. No one studies that hard in the field when we’ve got a perfectly good library. She’s practically throwing herself at you.”

Theodore, lounging nearby, chimed in with a smirk. “I have to agree. She’s got a killer figure. Honestly, Riddle, she seems tailor-made for one of your infamous one-night flings. Speaking of which, you’ve been suspiciously… alone lately. Someone caught your eye?”

Before Mattheo could respond, Pansy interjected, her tone light but edged with sarcasm. “Please. Mattheo fawning over just one woman? Not possible. It’s probably against his DNA or something. The man’s practically programmed to bounce from one hot girl to another.” She leaned back, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “And some of those girls, I’ll admit, are downright smashable. Even I’m tempted sometimes.”

The group laughed, the conversation shifting seamlessly to lighter topics, but their words lingered, carving fissures in your confidence. Their teasing shouldn’t have bothered you—you knew Mattheo’s heart belonged to you—but doubts began to creep in, unbidden and persistent. Were you enough for him? Did he deserve someone better, someone more dazzling, more suited to his world?

The thoughts gnawed at you until you felt a warm hand slip over yours. Startled, you turned your head to find Mattheo watching you, his gaze impossibly tender. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile, one that spoke of unspoken promises and quiet devotion. You mustered a smile in return, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

And Mattheo noticed.

He always noticed.

Later that evening, you made your way back from the library, your bag slung lazily over your shoulder and your thoughts preoccupied. Mattheo had skipped your study date, and though disappointment gnawed at the edges of your mind, you reasoned it away. He was probably busy with Quidditch practice—the final match was looming, and the pressure was mounting. He’d make it up to you after the match, you told yourself, because that’s who he was. He always found a way to make things right.

Still, the morning’s conversation lingered, casting a faint shadow over your thoughts. You didn’t want to overthink it—it wasn’t worth ruining your mood—but the words from earlier replayed in your head like an unwelcome echo. To distract yourself, you silently recited the lyrics to a song, focusing on the rhythm of your footsteps as you made your way toward your dorm.

And then, just as you turned a corner, you saw them.

The sight froze you in place, a wave of nausea churning in your stomach as your heart plummeted. There he was—Mattheo—standing with a girl so breathtakingly beautiful it felt like the universe was mocking you. Her golden hair fell in perfect waves, her face framed with elegance, her height poised like a model stepping off a magazine cover. She was flawless. Perfect hair. Perfect face. Perfect everything. She was everything you weren’t.

Your chest tightened as you watched her lean toward him, her laughter like a siren’s call, and bile rose in your throat. You wanted to scream, to curse her, to tear her apart with the fire burning in your chest. But then the sharp edge of reality cut through. Was she really at fault? She didn’t know. To her, Mattheo was just another unattached, impossibly attractive boy. It wasn’t her fault she was flirting with someone who everyone believed was fair game.

Still, your gaze locked on her hand as it brushed his shoulder, and the lump in your throat grew harder to swallow. He moved his arm away, subtle but deliberate. Yet your mind refused to accept it. Why wasn’t he doing more? Why wasn’t he stopping her outright, shutting her down completely? Did he… like the attention? Or worse, did he realize he was better off with someone like her? Someone perfect?

The thought shattered something inside you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you stood there, frozen, watching the scene unfold. The voice in your head whispered cruel truths: He deserves someone better. Someone who fits his world. Someone who isn’t you.

You loved him so much it ached, but wasn’t love about sacrifice? About letting go? You told yourself it was. And so, that’s what you did.

For the next week, you committed to what you bitterly called your “stupid mission” of letting him go. You ignored Mattheo at every turn, cutting off the moments that had once been routine—canceling dates with feeble excuses, skipping his Quidditch practices where you used to show up just to watch him, even avoiding the places where you knew you might run into him. If he was better off without you, you wouldn’t stand in his way.

But boy, you were so wrong.

Which is how you ended up here, in the dim light of an abandoned classroom, your back pressed against the cold stone wall. His dark eyes burned with intensity, locking onto yours as he caged you in with both hands planted firmly on either side of your head. His body radiated heat, and the tension in the air was palpable.

“Mattheo,” you hissed, shoving at his chest, though it was futile against his unyielding strength. “Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on,” he snapped, his voice low and rough. “You’ve been avoiding me all week. Canceling on me. Ignoring me. And don’t even try to lie, because I know you’ve been doing it on purpose.”

You glared at him, your hands curling into fists as you shoved at him again. “It doesn’t matter, Mattheo. Just—just let me go, fucker.”

“It matters to me,” he growled, his face inches from yours now. “You don’t get to just disappear from my life and act like it’s nothing. Tell me what’s going on.”

Tears pricked at the edges of your vision, but you blinked them away, refusing to let him see you break. “Why are you here?,” you choked out, the words slicing through you like broken glass. “You certainly were enjoying that blondie’s attention..”

Mattheo’s brows furrowed, confusion giving way to something deeper—something that almost looked like heartbreak. “Blondie who?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “The girl from the last week. The one for whom you cancelled our study date for—”

But before you could finish, Mattheo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Stop.” His hand found yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You seriously thought I would cheat on you?”

Your breath hitched, the fight draining from you as his words sank in “But—”

“You don’t even have this much trust in me?” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper, the hurt and disbelief evident in every word.

You shook your head, tears streaming freely now. “No, Mattheo, it’s not about trust. It’s about reality. You deserve better. Someone like her—perfect body, perfect everything. And I don’t think we’re meant for each other. I’m not perfect, not even close. So, it’s not that I think you would cheat,” you choked on the words, your heart breaking with every breath, “but I think you’re better off with her.”

By now, your sobs had overtaken you, the rawness of your feelings too much to contain. You were crying—really crying, like you hadn’t in years. Mattheo’s expression shifted from confusion to something deeper, darker, as he moved towards you.

Before you could even react, his hand found the back of your neck, his touch cold against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, as he pressed your head to his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. His lips brushed over your hair, his voice low and insistent.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His words were like a punch to the gut. “Don’t pull this movie bullshit on me, babe. That I deserve someone better? Cause we both know that I don’t. Come on, I don’t. I have more than enough. I have you. The fucking real goddess.”

You felt his arms tighten around you, his words sinking into your soul. “I don’t believe in reincarnation or any of that shit,” he continued, his voice softer now, “but I do think I’ve done something right in this life, something good, because I get to be with you. And trust me, baby—you and I are the only endgame. At first, I thought this was just some fling, but now? A day without talking to you feels like a waste. And I want to say some romantic shit like I’ll be with you even if the whole world is against you, but fuck that. I’m not weak, baby. I’ll kill anyone who dares go against you. Do you understand?”

A strange, tearful smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. His hand ran up and down your back, comforting, reassuring.

“I know now’s not the right time to say this, but you’re getting your snot all over the only clean dress I have, baby.”

You lightly slapped his shoulder in mock annoyance, but the tension in your chest began to ease. He made you laugh, even in the midst of everything. You pulled your face back to look at him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. The kiss was slow and soft, unlike any other kiss you’d shared. It was filled with something tender, something fragile, as if he was holding you close, afraid that if he let go, you might vanish.

When you finally broke the kiss, his gaze was fixed on you—his eyes filled with an intensity that spoke volumes. You could see it, clear as day: he was yours, and you were his. You were the endgame.

“You think I’d waste my time with anyone else when I have you?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Baby, you’re the only person who can handle all of me—the good, the bad, and the downright shitty. You believe in me. You worry about me when I get sick. You scold me when I’m being an idiot. And most importantly, when I look in your eyes, all I see is love. Not fear. Not ‘Riddle’s son.’ Just me.”

You smirked, your lips quivering as you raised an eyebrow. “Don’t speak too much, Riddle. Or I might just impregnate you.”

He withdrew his hands from you in mock horror, covering his body as if you’d just said the most scandalous thing in the world. “I knew it,” he said, feigning shock, “You only want me for my body.”

And you laughed, the sound of it echoing in the empty room, light and carefree, a stark contrast to the heaviness that had settled earlier. But it didn’t matter.

Mattheo Riddle, for all his faults, his arrogance, his unpredictable nature—he was yours. And you loved him. Maybe love wasn’t about letting go, after all. Maybe it was about holding on, cherishing what you had while it was still yours. Because if you had to let go of your love, then maybe it wasn’t meant to be in the first place.

Main Masterlist || Divider - @bernardsbendystraws

[peanutpinet]

OK HAI I HAD AN IDEA FOR INNOCENT READER X SYLUS (or normal reader), so. innocent reader and sylus just had a baby (like around crawling age) and mc is cooking and the baby just crawls off because she saw sylus for like 2 seconds and follows him into a meeting and sylus notices her (she starts babbling) and he laughs as his daughter is now apart of the meeting and when mc finds them shes knocked out on sylus’ chest while the twins coo over her (maybe covered in bloodddd)

Little Dragon - Father Sylus x Mother Innocent Fem Reader

A/N: Hi anon, thank you for requesting! Sorry it took so long and if the story doesn't match your request exactly but I hope you still enjoy the story

Question, do you guys think I should make this into a series? If so, would you guys like to send in more requests of Sylus x Innocent Fem Reader? Let me know!!

Also, imma need to know what you guys think of Caleb's return? Did not expect a blunt yandere/possessive theme for him like, can 22 January come any sooner?!

Warnings: fluff, slight aggressive tone (not sylus), implied "torture", overall wholesome story of Sylus x Innocent Fem Reader with their lil dragon

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credit goes to the image's respective owners.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry for not being able to help you for dinner. A sudden meeting came up but I’ll make sure to make it up to you” Sylus murmured as he wrapped his large arms around your small figure, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you were cooking dinner

Though it’s been years since you first dated and two years since you both got married and had a baby girl, you still get goosebumps whenever Sylus is close or does anything intimate

“Sy…it’s okay…but can you like umm, get off? You’re umm…you’re distracting me. I need to cook” you stuttered while you felt Sylus’ warm laughter right at your neck, sending a wave of goosebumps all over your body

“Oh sweetie” Sylus tightens his hold slightly around your waist, not so much that you couldn’t move but enough for you to know his slightly attachment towards you. “Even after all these years, you’re still easily flustered. I thought you would have gotten used to me being clingy”

Sylus pressed a soft lingering kiss on the side of your neck right between your neck and shoulder. “What would your business partners or enemies think off when they see you being clingy like this” you barely uttered, trying to keep composed while Sylus chuckled and gave you a lingering kiss on the side of your neck before reluctantly pulling away

“Who cares about what they think? As long as you and our lil dragon are always with me, I could care less about what everyone else thinks” Sylus mentioned, now standing beside you, rubbing your shoulders

You looked over at Sylus smiling and kissed his cheeks while you were on your tiptoe with Sylus’ hand around your waist to stabilize you. “We’ll always love you, sy. You’re both our first love, our protector, our home”

Hearing you say all this, Sylus couldn’t help but gently hold your chin and softly kissing your lips. To him, your lips were more addicting than anything he had ever tasted; including his collection of wine. “You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that. It makes me want to just forget about the meeting and spend more time with you and our lil dragon”

Hearing Sylus’ words, you turned off the stove and turned to face Sylus. “I know love. But you also need to handle your businesses. You have to make sure that everything is running smoothly. I’ll reward you with lots of kisses afterwards yeah?”

Hearing your bargain, Sylus smirked and pulled you closer. “That better me a promise, sweetie. You know what I do to liars” Sylus leaned down so his lips were right by your ear as he nibbled them a bit. “I’d punish them”

Feeling the heat rushed to your cheeks, you immediately shoved him backwards. “Okay okay, I get it. Don’t forget to kiss your lil dragon before you go to your meeting”

Sylus let out a rough sigh as he kissed your cheek once more before walking to the playmate where your daughter fell asleep after playing for a while. Seeing your daughter sprawled across the playmate with her crow and dragon plushie, Sylus kneeled down and lifted her, bringing her closer to him as he placed a gentle kiss on top of her head, nose, and cheeks.

“Sorry lil dragon. Daddy got some work to finish off but I promise I’ll finish up quickly to come back to you and mommy. Don’t trouble your mommy okay? Otherwise, daddy is going to get punished by mommy”

Sylus chuckled as he gently placed his daughter back on the playmate, making sure to not wake her up as he pulled her blankie on her then slowly got back up and headed to his meeting room; not knowing that his daughter was actually awake when he kissed her.

Neither you nor Sylus noticed but when your daughter felt Sylus’ lips on her face, she started to wake up but knowing your daughter, she was quite a calm baby that sometimes the both of you would often miss when she was awake unless one of you actually paid attention closely.

Without either of you knowing, your daughter crawled to follow Sylus into his meeting room which he didn’t close, allowing her to crawl into the room which didn’t go unnoticed by everyone in the room, including his business partner.

“W-what the? A baby?” Sylus’ business partner and men who were on guard, worried that Sylus brought in additional security all of a sudden

“D-dadda!!” the baby crawled over to Sylus, ignoring the presence of powerful men in the room because she only had one thing on her mind and that was getting to her dad

“What on earth is the meaning of this, Sylus?” his business partner scowled

Sylus didn’t even bother to reply to his business partner and kneeled on the ground, waiting for his daughter to crawl over to him before scooping her up and praising her for crawling. “That’s my baby girl. Such a strong and resilient little one just like her mom”

The baby giggled in Sylus’ arms as he sat back in his chair, letting his daughter cuddle with her father, ignoring the unpleasant stares in the room and played with Sylus’ necklace. “What? Never seen a baby before?”

“No. More so irritated that our conversation is interrupted. You’re not the only one that’s busy around here” his business partner scoffed and Sylus held back using his evol when his daughter is around

“Is that so?” Sylus tried not to sound irritated to not scare his daughter as he patted her back, bringing her to his chest where she snuggled closer

“One can never be so sure with you, Sylus. Who knows, that little menace of a child might actually be someone that’s shapeshifting. Or is this part of your plan, Sylus?” the business partner went on to the point that Sylus’ daughter cried as she was able to detect that she was being called out and insulted

The moment his daughter cried, that was Sylus’ breaking point. He cooed his daughter, telling her sweet things in her ear while patting her small back, making her cuddle him like a baby koala to its mother.

“The deal is over. See to it that these low lives are punished for talking about my daughter like that” as Sylus stood up, both Luke and Kieran along with his other men pointed their weapons at his business partner.

“Come lil dragon, how about we go play for a bit, yeah?” Sylus cooed his daughter who giggled and snuggled her cheeks against his while Sylus brought her to his special room in his office that he built when you were pregnant with his daughter

Sylus built the extension room to his office specifically so that you can take care of your daughter if you ever got bored waiting for him during a meeting or anything else. Sylus made sure the room had everything that you would need. A big enough bed, baby clothes and essentials, a small connected bathroom (when we say small, Sylus meant the size of a regular apartment bedroom) along with some books and toys. But the best thing about it all was that it was babyproof, soundproof, and safe from potential disaster.

By the time you finished cooking dinner, you went over to the playmate, about to wake your daughter up when you realised she was nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, you frantically rushed to Sylus’ meeting room where Luke and Kieran were cleaning up the place and pointed at the extended room. Without wasting anytime, you opened the door to see your daughter fell asleep on Sylus’ chest while he patted her small back, watching some cartoons for babies.

You smiled at the sight, walking closer and grabbing a blanket to wrap around yourself with your husband who welcomed you with an open arm and smile and your baby girl.

Sylus kissed the side of your head, apologising for not bringing your daughter back when he noticed her coming into the meeting room. “Sorry sweetie, I can’t help it when she crawled all the way to me and even extended her little hands at me. You know I’m weak for her and you”

Smiling, you shake your head and kissed his cheek. “As long as there’s no violence or cursing in front of her, right?” Sylus immediately shook his head. “Never. Not while I’m around”

“Then all is good” you laid your head on Sylus’ shoulder while he used his free hand to stroke your hair. “By the way, where’s your business partner? How did they react when they saw our babygirl in here?”

Sylus stopped stroking your hair for a moment before giving you a shrug. “That’s non of your concern sweetie. But I’ll tell you this much. Anyone who made our lil dragon cry will get the wrath of her dragon father”

Shaking your head, you decided to not further question him and enjoyed this moment with your little family while Luke and Kieran secretly cooed at the sight, taking lots of pictures to keep for all of you.

[magicalgirlfia]

Anyways here’s a list of thinks I things about this story

(Spoilers, obviously)

Marina speaks in a combination of hiragana and katakana in Japanese, but she doesn’t in the story because she’s speaking Octarian in-universe.

More conformation that Marina is seen as a celebrity in the domes(!!!)

I already mentioned this once, but I love how we get more Acht characterization. How they show how much they care about Marina with their actions. How they put a lot of thought and analysis into what they say and do. How they burn to death if they’re not surrounded by moldy boxes. They have this inexplicable autistic aura in a way I can’t describe.

They gave the octopus gender dysphoria. I don’t know how else you can read their reasoning for not liking it when their picture is taken.

The speculation station is back, but I wonder if Acht regrets that they chose to walk away from Marina at the end. I wonder.

Something something Acht rebels against society and Marina who exceeds societal expectations but both are social outcasts in different ways

Probably not intentional but the line about how they assume Marina wouldn’t want to bother them with things that weren’t music related reminded me of how after they got sanitized they couldn’t think about anything but making music.

Again, probably another throwaway line but. What if Acht not malnourished because they’re a zombie. What if they just forget to eat.

The layout of octo valley having a dirty lake is interesting to me. Why would you need that. Maybe since other octarians don’t shift between forms they can go into water? I bet there’s some random concept art out there that confirms or denies this.

I do not think that Acht is jealous of Pearl and I really hope that won’t become the prevailing fandom sentiment. I think that it’s probably weird seeing your childhood friend/crush (I could go either way and personally see it as ambiguous myself, as non-committal as that answer is) and her girlfriend flirting while the only other person in the room is some random octoling who does not talk.

But I refuse to believe that there are people who genuinely think that an inarguably queer character is homophobic and those jokes were always weird and not funny, so if this is what makes them go away, so be it.

The fact that the dome is made of fucked up scaffolding is cool too. To my understanding, the bases are like Octo Valley and Octo Canyon while the domes are the hub worlds in between them.

By the way, Acht says “クソ [kuso]” quite a bit. Despite the word being able to be translated to anything from “aw man” to “fucking hell”, the fact that they say it in katakana gives it a sharper vibe. What I’m saying is that there were multiple times where, if I were translating something like Guilty Gear, Acht would’ve said “shit”. Thank you for your time.

I think there is a point in time where you look at the same information for so long that you start reading too much into it. I bet half of what I just wrote reads as the ramblings of a madman but whatever. Y’know, I wonder if the people who were here SUPER early (like <25 minutes after I posed this) saw my frantic post-publication grammar mistake editing.

Regardless, thank you for all of the lovely words and support. Acht is one of my all-time favorite fictional characters and I’m glad more people are starting to see what I see in them and maybe won’t water them down to their relationships with other characters I mean whoops who said that. Oh, and for the record there will be more Bankara Walker translations.

A translation of the short story about Marina and Acht featured in Bancala Walker has been completed! You can read it here:

Thanks to @3600frames and @mossible for transcribing the story and @rassicas for editing.

[ultravi0lence14]

PROMISES

dean winchester x angel!reader

3.5k | fluff | smut (MDNI) | oral (fem receiving) | finger sucking | unprotected p in v.

summary: dean finally has his angel, and he wants to keep strong on his promises; to never leave her, and always be by her side

WHEN ANGEL FALLS IN LOVE

days blurred in time as you and dean spent more of it together, the relationship you created flourishing into one of mutual respect, love, and understanding. dean was working on being wholly honest with you, not allowing those pesky thorns to prick and make you bleed when you would take the bricks of his walls down.

dean was making progress at his own pace, and you couldn’t help but be so proud of him.

he wasn’t the big mean and scary hunter he let others see. he was sweet, loving. a shy and docile man when it came to how he gave his love. the soft kisses he’d leave on your chest at night were a testament to that, alongside the featherlight pecks he’d leave all over your face in the morning when you woke up.

you were his darling girl, pretty beyond words in the eyes of the eldest winchester, and it was an exhilarating thrill to be loved by him.

you even started to notice knowing looks from sam as he was around the two of you; an eyebrow raise when he’d catch you and dean holding hands underneath the table in the library, a small smile as he watched dean not so sneakily rub your back as the three of you casually talked. he’d even given you a small thumbs up once when dean wasn’t looking, almost as if he was giving his acceptance without even vocalizing it.

though it had happened very few times, for you and dean spent most of your moments together alone, in the confines of your bedroom.

it was that honeymoon stage; two people who come together after a long time, not wanting to be with anyone else but each other. you and dean saw so much of one another, you were surprised you haven’t gotten sick of him yet and vice versa.

but it wasn’t like that. you two genuinely enjoyed each others company, and didn’t even need to be doing much when you were with one another. wether that be watching a movie together, telling stories from when dean was a child and when you were still up in heaven, to just laying together, you and dean enjoyed every moment you spent wrapped up in each others arms.

though there was a nagging part of you that believed dean wasn’t being fulfilled. you’ve kissed before, gone into heavy make out sessions that’s left you breathless, but you’ve never done anything intimate. anytime your ministrations would get to heated, the moment’s charged air turning into something more, you’d push dean away. you’d say you were tired or wanted to watch a new movie, but you could tell dean knew what you actually meant.

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to with dean. you really, really did. but you were new to all of this, and honestly, you were scared.

anytime you thought of the idea of dean fucking you, it brought a nervous pit to your stomach. it would grow deeper and deeper into the core of your soul anytime you’d think of what it would feel like. would it hurt? would you enjoy it? or the worst of all, would dean be disappointed with it afterwards?

you knew you should talk to dean about it, that the conversation was inevitable, but you wanted to hold off for a bit, stay in this perfect utopia that you two had created in your bed.

that’s why as your movie night turned into another heated make out, you started to feel that spout of worry as dean’s lips started sliding down your collarbones, lips reaching the hem of your tank top above your breasts.

“dean, wait.” you breathed, caging his face in your hands as you lifted his face up. “i’m sorry i can’t do this.”

the worry in dean’s eyes was palpable, millions of possible reasons why you were saying that shining behind his eyes. in an instant, he got off of you, helping you so you were sitting up on the bed, his own body across from yours as he clutched his hand in yours. “what’s wrong, sweet girl. was it something i did?”

you immediately shook your head, clutching his hands tighter to give him so peace of mind. “no dean, this is completely me. i just need to tell you something.”

“of course. you can talk to me angel, i’m always here for you.” his encouraging words and soft eyes had a breath leaving your lips, palms growing sweaty as dean’s hands danced across your forearms.

“i’ve never had sex before!”

dean’s hands froze on your arms, eyes widening as he took in what you just said. immediately, he pulled you into his lap, your legs straddling his waist as his hands went to your hips.

“yeah, i could’ve guessed that angel. i didn’t expect heaven to be very lenient on angel fornication.” the smirk that adorned his lips at the last words had a nervous laugh bubbling from your lips, but it was halted as you felt dean’s fingers brush some of your hair back. “why did you feel the need to tell me that?”

his question wasn’t cruel, it was just pure, soft curiosity. he was allowing you to communicate with him, let all your worries and fears seep into his pores. you couldn’t help it, the words coming out like a tidal wave.

“i know you want to do it, that’s why,” you rushed out, hands moving about as you spoke at a quick pace. “and i’m worried you think i’m so prude who keeps stopping you anytime we get too close. what if it hurts? what if you don’t like doing it with me-“

“woah woah woah,” dean broke into your rant, fingers grabbing your chin to make you face him. “why would you think that? first of all, doing anything with you would feel more amazing than words could describe, so don’t ever think about that again, okay baby?”

you just nodded, letting him continue with what he wanted to say. “and secondly, i don’t think your some prude. i guessed you probably haven’t done it before, and i was waiting for when you gave the green light. i would never do something if you weren’t comfortable. so whenever your ready, tell me. i’ll always be here.”

a soft smile broke out onto your face, throwing yourself into dean’s chest as he hugged you back. as he held you tight, rubbing his hands through your hair, you realized that dean was the perfect person to have this moment with, and that you were ready for it. now.

“dean,” you breathed in his ear, feeling as he nodded against your head. “i think i’m ready now.”

he instantly pulled back, hands on your shoulders as he stared into your eyes, trying to see if there was any hesitation in your irises. “are you sure, angel? i don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“yes, i’m sure dean.” you smiled, hand brushing against his cheek as his own ran from your shoulders to your lower back. “i want to have this moment with you.”

in an instant, the air shifted. a more charged and heated atmosphere licking around the two of you. dean’s hands gripped onto your hips, slightly lifting off his lap and putting you back on your bed. “whatever you want, babydoll. i just need you to lay down for me okay?”

you nodded, leaning your body backwards before dean gripped onto your hips tighter, eliciting you to stop your movements. “i need words baby, i won’t do anything until you’re vocal with me.” a blush rippled through your cheeks at his lightly dominant tone, a soft, ‘okay’ leaving your lips before you rested your head against your pillows, dean getting on top of you, propping himself up on his hands until he was nose to nose with you.

“good girl.” he breathed, not letting you respond before his lips attacked yours in a punishing kiss. his mouth on yours was bruising, your lips having a hard time keeping up with his fast pace. though somehow, the kiss was still soft, a testament to this being your first time.

when dean’s lips started moving down your throat, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin and collarbones, you felt a little whine leave your throat. dean groaned at this, lifting his head up from your neck and going to remove his shirt.

“first time i’m hearing you like this and i’m hooked. can’t wait to hear what you sound like when i’m buried deep inside of you.”

his words were vulgar, not something a lot of people would like to hear. but it was dean, and the blush that coated your face said otherwise. his hands started messing with the hem of your tank top, indicating that he wanted it off.

tentatively lifting your arms, you felt the cold brush of air across your body as your bare chest was displayed to dean’s eyes. your shirt was thrown somewhere in the room as dean groaned again, his hands immediately going to cup your supple breasts. when his fingers started tweaking your nipples, a deep moan ripped from your throat, shocking you as dean just smirked at you.

“you sound so pretty baby,” he breathed, body sliding down yours as he rested his chin on your pelvis. “but i’m going to make you feel even better, okay? just need you to lift your hips for me.”

you obliged, feeling as dean’s warm fingers dipped into the waistband of your sleep shorts, slowly sliding them down your thighs. now left in only your lacy pink underwear, you watched as dean’s eyes raked up and down your body, a blown out expression on his face as he saw you mostly bare to him.

“so fucking beautiful,” he breathed out. a low sound that almost sounded like it was intended for just dean’s ears. “truly the sweetest thing.”

his words were amplified by his hands sliding down your thighs, spreading them open slowly so he could fit in between them. his fingers started messing with the waistband of your panties, fingers dipping below the fabric and sliding one of his fingers through your already slick folds.

you whimpered at the sensation, a volatile feeling that ripped through your body at the brush of dean’s hand. the man in question just smirked, pulling your underwear down all the way until your pussy was bared fully to him. “you’re already so wet, sweet thing. it’s fucking addicting.”

“dean please,” you whined, rutting your hips upward into his hand. “do something.”

“patience, darling girl.” he breathed, bending down and grabbing your thighs so he could put them over his shoulders. “i’m just getting started.”

his words were followed by a tentative lick throughout your folds, a hollow moan leaving your lips at the ministration. dean began lapping up your juices, hands gripping so tightly into your thighs you knew there was going to be a bruise in the morning.

the feeling of his mouth on your wet core was intoxicating, a feeling of such immobilizing pleasure you weren’t even sure if you could describe it. each flick of his tongue was met with a rut of your hips, your pelvis lifting towards the euphoric feeling of dean’s mouth.

“fuck dean,” you moaned, hands carding through his hair, tugging at the strands. the feeling elicited a groan from dean’s lips, making you moan louder as the feeling shot up into your core. “more, i need more.”

one of his fingers moved down to circle at your clit, making your moans become more frequent. the pleasure from both his tongue and finger was unbearable, a rippling pleasure that stirred in the depths of your gut. this was all so new, feelings you’ve never felt before, but you didn’t want it to stop, honestly mad you’ve never felt this good before.

when your hips rutted as dean’s tongue prodded at your entrance, allowing the tip of his tongue to enter your tight hole, you couldn’t contain the loud whine coming from your lips. this gave dean full permission to fully enter his tongue into your wet heat, finger still moving on your clit and making you see stars.

dean winchester was fucking you with his tongue, hands clasped tight on your shaking thighs, and you wouldn’t be anywhere right now but splayed on this bed, completely at his mercy.

when that tight coil in your stomach started to grow tighter, your moans grew louder, alerting dean that you were close to your orgasm. at that his tongue’s pace grew faster, flicking it back and forth inside of your gummy walls as his finger continued to prod and circle at your clit.

the feeling when your climax washed over you was like any other. that euphoria from before went all over your body; from your head to your fucking toes. a loud scream ripped from your lips, dean’s name leaving your lips like a prayer. your legs were shaking uncontrollably, legs clamping around dean’s head as his tongue slowly lapped up your juices, moaning into your mound at the taste of you.

“good fucking girl, baby.” you heard him breath out, head lifting from your cunt to look you in the eyes. his chin was glistening with your orgasm, and you couldn’t help but gap at the sight. “you taste so fucking good.”

you were panting heavy, watching as two of his fingers lapped up some of your juices, bringing them up to your lips. “taste yourself, pretty girl.” he smirked, watching as you stared down at him wide eyed. “see how fucking sweet you are.”

when your fingers wrapped around his fingers, you couldn’t help but moan around them. the salty taste of your release invaded your senses, alongside the feeling of dean’s fingers prodding at the back of your throat. you made direct eye contact with him as your tongue swirled around his finger, watching as his mouth parted and his chest heaved up and down.

you let his fingers go with a pop, watching as dean made quick work of taking his pants off, leaving him only in a pair of boxers.

“dean?” you breathlessly questioned, still coming down from your first orgasm. you watched as he lowered himself on top of you, peppering light kisses across your neck. “what are you doing?”

“you think you can take another one, babydoll?” your eyes widened his words, watching as he grinned at your reaction. “was just prepping you for my cock, sweet girl. but we can stop right now if you want, go further another night.”

“no,” you shook your head, lifting your bare cunt into dean’s hardened erection. “i wanna feel you inside of me dean, make me feel all good inside.”

dean moaned at your words, lifting himself a little ways off of you so he could slip his boxers down his legs. his member came into your eyesight, angry and red as it hit his stomach. he was big, and you were worried about how it was going to fit inside of you.

“okay baby,” he breathed out, rubbing his dick in between your folds and listening to you whine at the sensation. “relax for me, okay? this might hurt, so tell me when you want me to move okay?”

his constant reassurance made you smile, lightly leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. he reciprocated, deepening the kiss as he entered into your tight walls. the moan you released into his mouth was loud, muffled by his lips on yours. the stretch of dean’s dick was suffocating, a painful yet comforting sensation that you couldn’t help but pant at.

dean’s moan mixed with yours as he entered you, feeling like he was going to fucking burst right there. “jesus, angel, you’re so fucking tight.” his words came out through gritted teeth, his resolve slipping as your walls clenched around his intrusion.

dean had fully sheathed himself inside of you, the tip of his member pressing against your cervix. you looked down to where the two of you were connected, seeing a bulge in your tummy to where his dick rested inside of you.

as you got used to the feeling of dean inside of you, he was brushing his hand down your hair, whispering sweet words in your ear as you panted heavily into his ear.

after a couple of moments, the dull pain in your abdomen turned into a searing pleasure, making your pants turn into little whines. your whines came out in the form of dean’s name, your words coming out breathless. “move, please. i need you to move.”

“okay, i’ve got you baby. i’m right here.” dean’s words were followed by his hips retracting slowly out of you, only leaving the tip of his dick inside of you before he slowly rutted back into you. you let out of deep mewl, hands gripping onto dean’s shoulders and digging your hands into his back.

his first couple of thrusts were experimental, slowly pulling out and moving back in. the pleasure was blinding, nothing you’ve ever felt before, but as his slow thrusts continued, you needed more. tightening your legs around your waist, you melded your pelvis with dean’s, nails creating crescent shapes on his shoulders. “harder dean. please, i need you to fuck me harder.”

dean didn’t waste a second until his face was in between your shoulder a neck, hips snapping back into your walls at a bruising pace. the position of your hips left him slamming into your g-spot, high moans leaving your lips at every snap of dean’s hips.

“you feel so fucking good, sweets.” dean groaned into your neck, heavy breaths hitting your skin as he went impossibly deep. “gripping me so good and tight.” his hand went to press on the bulge in your stomach, and you felt nothing but bliss hit your senses

a loud and deep moan left your mouth, hips lifting up to meet dean’s hard thrusts. it was a back and forth movement, a delicious feeling that left you into a moaning mess. dean’s hands on your hips were bruising, and you could feel each of his thrusts move you up the mattress more and more.

the tight coil you felt before come back, moans growing louder and more frequent as your orgasm approached you. dean’s movements became more quick at the realization, mouth moving to your ear so he could groan into your ear.

“you gonna come darling girl? gonna milk my cock like the pretty thing you are? let me fill you with my seed?” his words had a high pitched whimper leaving your lips, your hips rutting faster into dean’s and your orgasm approaching even quicker. the sensation of dean thrusting deeply into you was otherworldly, the thick ridges and veins of his cock rubbing all the right places. his dick continuously hitting your g-spot.

one final, punishing thrust was what pushed you over the edge, a loud whimper leaving your lips as you came all around dean’s dick. your walls convulsed around dean as the sensation felt like a straight shot of bliss, slight overstimulation racking your body as dean continued to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm.

“fuck, angel,” dean groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he panted heavily in your neck. “i’m gonna come.” grabbing dean’s face between your hands, you brushed your lips against his as small whines left your lips. “come in me dean, fill me up,”

your words had dean coming with a groan, his body dropping on top of yours as he panted heavily into your mouth. the feeling of his seed filling you was euphoric, your legs falling from his hips as you came down from your high.

as both you and dean came down from your highs, dean still laid on top of you as his softening dick rested inside of your walls, you felt a deeper sense of connection between you two. dean saw you at your most vulnerable, came inside of you and brought you towards that blinding pleasure. this moment allowed you to feel even more comfortable with the man, fully solidifying your love.

“i promised to never lie to you, angel,” dean spoke softly, lifting his head from your neck to cup your cheek. “and i can’t lie now and say that i don’t love you.”

a lone tear fell down your face at his confession, hands leaving his shoulders to card through his hair. “i’ve never experienced love like this before, but i think it feels like the sensation running through my soul right now.”

dean let a bright smile adorn his face, leaning down to press a deep kiss on your lips. you would’ve never guessed all this to happen when you landed beneath the willow tree, a crazy thought to think about how you two started off with hatred, you believing the man who just took your virginity hated you. though now, you knew that was never the case.

you knew dean winchester loved you, and that he was the reason you fell in love for the first time.

TAGS: @floralscented @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @haunteres @honeyryewhiskey @starzify @figthoughts @fallbhind @rubyvhs @foolinthera1n @taurus-0-queenie-33 @vaiieydoii @bitchykittenconnoisseur @galacticalllcafffeine @jasvtsc @pascal-rascal424 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @fayeisuppose @angel-inspiredblog @geisterfvhrer @bluemerakis @si1ver06 @drqstqr @wh0s-ra3 @supernatural-bangtanboys @whump-loverz @mostlymarvelgirl @d3anwinchesterswife @youdontknowe @oceanolokys @chxrrybobaby-sin @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @hoyoooo @mimiimmii

*i didn’t want to make this too long, so i’m sorry if it’s a little rushed😭 either way, thank you all for the love on when angel falls in love!! idk when my next series will be, but after all the love i got from this one, it will definitely be soon!!

[tobesolonely]

untitled angsty but then sweet piece...

hello guys!! it's been like over a year lol. I was going through my google doc and found this and I feel like I never posted it? so now I am posting it. maybe this can be a part 1 but also we know I'm great at starting multipart stories and not finishing them so lets see

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

warnings: none (~1.2k words)

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

“You're just gonna ignore me then, babe?”

Y/N continues silently puttering around in the kitchen, going out of her way to make sure her back remained turned on Harry. There weren't many ways to get under his skin, but throughout her years of being with him she learned that being on the receiving end of the silent treatment usually made him fold pretty quickly. She was annoyed with her husband and the fact that he seemed clueless as to why made her even more upset.  

“I take your silence as a yes?” 

More puttering. More re-wiping the already clean counters. Starting the tea kettle. Washing her hands. Anything to not acknowledge Harry, really.

“I can’t make it better if you don't tell me why you're so upset, love,” he takes a tentative step toward her. “I know we've been together for ages but I still can't read your mind. Think ‘m gettin’ real close, though.”

This is said jokingly, and she knows her husband is just trying to dissipate the tension that's thick in their kitchen, making the spacious room seem impossibly small. She doesn't acknowledge his joke, doesn't crack a smile because that would give him too much satisfaction. Nothing made Harry cockier than being the reason for Y/N’s laugh, a sound so sweet she’s pretty sure he’d forbid everyone on the planet except him from listening to it because he wanted it all to himself. He always told her it was music to his ears.

The fact that he doesn't even know what he did is what finally causes her to break, muttering about how fucking ridiculous he is under her breath. It's not lost on Harry. 

“Now you've moved on from ignoring me to cursing at me?” he sounds more curious than upset, taking another step toward her. She backs away, defensively crossing her arms over her chest and she doesn't miss the way Harry’s brow furrows at the action. “Can y’please tell me what I did, Y/N? Please?” When she looks down at the ground, ignoring his please, he begs some more. He’s not above groveling, really. 

“Please, angel? Lemme fix it,” his eyes are wide and wild as he wildly searches hers for some clue as to what he did wrong. “Tell me-”

“Am I always just gonna come second with you?” 

She can almost see the wheels in her husband’s head turning, knows he's choosing his words carefully before he speaks so as not to upset her any further. 

“Okay, love,” he runs a ringer hand through his hair. “Can you be a little bit more specific?”

“We had plans this afternoon, Harry. We were gonna try that new café that just opened. I was looking forward to it,” she doesn't care if this makes her sound selfish and childish. “I know you were working and I know you how much you love to do that, but sometimes I feel like-”

“Don’t even finish that thought,”  Harry cuts her off and his tone is sharp, calloused. “That’s not true.”

“You know, at first I was worried something happened when you didn't show,” Y/N continues like she didn't hear him. “But then I realized nope, you probably just forgot or couldn't get out of another meeting. Just like always.”

A look of sadness flashes across Harry’s face, which quickly transforms to indignant anger. “Don't throw this in my face, Y/N. You know how much I hate that.” 

“So I’m supposed to be mindful of the things you hate, but you can't be mindful of the things I hate?”

“You don't get it,” he mumbles under his breath, growing increasingly done with the conversation the longer it drags on. “You're not in the industry. I can't just always leave-” 

“Then blame it on me! Make me the bad guy, Harry,” she finally turns all the way around to face him completely. “The people you work with get to see you more than I do…the fans…” Y/N trails off, letting her unfinished thoughts hang limply in the air. 

It’s quiet between the couple for no more than thirty seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. Harry breaks it first - he always does. He inhaled a deep shaky breath, trying to call forward the breathing techniques his therapist taught him to use in high-stress situations. Right now counts as a high-stress situation. 

“You’re right, angel,” the pet name slips off his tongue easily which comforts Y/N. Harry’s not as upset as she thought he was. He’s still her Harry. “That’s not fair of me, is it?”

All Y/N can do is shake her head, lower lip jutted out. She knows if she tries speaking she’ll start crying, and she doesn't want to cry. All she wants is for Harry to understand. Harry however, knows her too well. He knows the look she gets on her face when she's trying really hard not to cry and he knows she goes silent because she doesn't trust her voice not to come out shakey. He decides to continue talking.

“I should've called you and let you know I’d be late- or told you we needed to reschedule. I’m sorry I left you hanging, darling.” He pauses, selecting his next words very wisely. Harry knows his wife is sensitive. The last thing he wants is for her to think he's blaming her for anything. “...but it seems like this is about more than me missing our lunch. Which, again, I'm very sorry about. I'm taking you wherever you want for dinner tonight and I'll make you dessert when we get home. Let's talk more about this though, yeah?”

“You also have to be in charge of picking up after Hershey for a month,” Y/N responds with a small smile on her face. Hershey was the couple’s tiny brown poodle who was the cutest puppy in the world. “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums, knowing his wife was trying to keep the conversation lighthearted since she hated confrontation. Since being with Harry her communication skills have improved tremendously since he was so good at it and wanted to talk about everything, but healthy communication clearly still didn't come as easily to her. “Talk to me, angel. What’s this about?”

Harry’s in front of her now, arms wrapped limply around her waist. He walks her backward until the small of her back hits the counter then he tells her to, “jump” so he can lift her onto the counter. Once she's situated he settles himself in between her legs and places his arms back on their place on her waist. Harry looks intently into Y/N’s eyes and she knows she won’t be leaving that spot until she tells him what's bothering her, so she just says it.

“I want a baby.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows in quick surprise before breaking out in a wide grin- the kind that causes his nose to scrunch up and wrinkles to form around his eyes. 

“You want a baby? W’ me?”

Y/N doesn’t return his smile, which quickly makes Harry’s turn into a frown.

“Why don’t you look happy?”

Y/N sighs, her eyes avoiding Harry’s. He gently places his index finger under her chin and pushes it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. He’s desperately searching his wife’s eyes, trying to figure out why she isn’t more excited about coming to this big decision. Harry has been ready for years of course, but he never wanted her to feel pressured.

“You’re never here, Harry. I don’t want to feel like a single mom.” Y/N looks down again and Harry doesn’t lift her chin back up this time. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. It’s silent for what feels like a couple minutes but is actually maybe only twenty seconds, the faucet leaking being the only sound heard throughout the whole house.

“Y/N…love,” Harry inhales a shaky breath, removing one of his hands from her hip to run his fingers through his curls. “I never want to make you feel like you’re alone. Not just with this, but…with anything.” Harry gently knuckles away a stray tear falling down Y/N’s cheek. 

“I know you don’t mean to make me feel this way, H. I guess it’s just what I signed up for when I married a popstar, yeah?” Harry can tell Y/N is trying to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t like that he’s the reason for he feeling this way.

“You didn’t “sign up” for anything, love. I’m your husband and you’re my wife and we’re supposed to be there for each other through it all, good and bad.” Y/N opens her mouth to say something but Harry gently pinches her hip, muttering for her to let him finish. “I want a baby with you. I want everything with you, Y/N. I want to be here for everything. I’m going to be better about being here.”

“H…I love you and I know you’ll try, but you’ve said this before-”

“I’ll take a break, babe. Cancel everything,” Harry’s talking faster now, excitement about his plan evident in his voice. “We’ll focus on ourselves and start our family. Go out of the country and leave my bloody phone here, if you’d like.” Y/N giggles at that, which makes Harry give her a big, dimpled grin.

“Will it be okay? With Jeff and everyone?” Although Y/N’s sure people on Harry’s team won’t be happy with his sudden change in plans, she can’t deny how charming the idea sounds. She could already picture them at their favorite villa in Italy, the one Harry purchased as a wedding gift to her and where they spent their unforgettable honeymoon. In all honesty, she’s surprised they didn’t get a baby out of that trip.

“Let me worry about that. You just worry about buying yourself some new bikinis, yeah?” Harry places a lingering kiss to Y/N’s jawbone. “Perhaps a few things for me to rip off you too, hmm?”

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

hooray for happy endings :')

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (absolution)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Keep in mind how things have been altered from the canon to fit the narrative of this story better.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, violence, slight gore)

- Previous part: the brave

- Next part: the fool

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril

The Brave Companions had been marching steadily for days, their campfires burning low at night, their tempers growing shorter with each passing hour. You had been uncharacteristically quiet, your glares aimed more at Vargo than Jaime. Something had been brewing, he could see it in the set of your jaw and the way your eyes flicked to the woods whenever they stopped to rest.

It came to a head two nights later.

The camp was dim, the fire little more than embers. Vargo’s men were scattered, their guard lax after days of marching. You sat not far from Brienne, who remained bound but defiant, her bruised face shadowed by the weak light. Winter, ever the loyal protector, had yet to return, and Jaime found himself hoping the wolf stayed away.

Jaime was watching you—he’d grown accustomed to it, much as he tried to pretend otherwise—when he noticed the subtle shift. Your hand brushed your boot, your fingers closing around something hidden there. A blade, small and sharp. Jaime’s breath caught as you moved with deliberate slowness, your gaze darting to the nearest guards. You waited until their heads turned before springing into action.

The blade flashed in the firelight, slicing through your bonds with practiced precision. You didn’t hesitate, lunging toward the woods with surprising speed. For a moment, Jaime thought you might make it. The shadows of the trees were close, the promise of escape tantalizingly near.

But then the shout came.

“She’s running!” one of the guards bellowed, scrambling to his feet.

Chaos erupted as the Brave Companions surged after you, their shouts echoing through the forest. Jaime stood instinctively, his eyes following your retreating figure as you weaved through the trees. You were fast, faster than he expected, but the Companions were hunters, and they moved as a pack.

Vargo’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Bring her back! Alive!”

Jaime’s stomach twisted as he saw two men break ahead of the group, their longer strides closing the gap.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away.

You fought like a cornered animal when they caught you. You managed to wound one man, your blade finding his thigh, but the second tackled you to the ground. Your scream of frustration cut through the night, raw and desperate, as the others descended on you.

When they dragged you back into the clearing, your face was bloodied, your clothes torn, but your spirit remained unbroken. You thrashed against their grip, spitting curses that would make a sailor blush. Vargo approached with a twisted grin, his crooked teeth bared like a predator savoring its prey.

“Well, well,” he sneered, his voice thick with amusement. “The little wolf thought she could slip away. How foolish.”

“Let me go, you bastard!” you hissed, your voice hoarse but defiant.

Vargo chuckled, his dark eyes gleaming. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’ve caused enough trouble. It’s time we teach you your place.”

“Don’t touch her,” Jaime said sharply, stepping forward before he could stop himself.

All eyes turned to him, the clearing falling eerily silent. Vargo’s grin widened, and he tilted his head, clearly amused.

“And what will you do, Kingslayer?” he sneered. “You’re in no position to make demands.”

Jaime met his gaze evenly, his jaw tightening. “If you want to make it to Harrenhal alive, I suggest you keep her unharmed. Robb Stark may already have his suspicions about Bolton. If he hears you’ve mistreated her, there won’t be a corner of Westeros safe for you.”

Vargo’s smile faltered for the briefest moment before returning, though the flicker of uncertainty didn’t escape Jaime’s notice.

“This again? You’re quite the loyal protector, aren’t you?” Vargo said mockingly, stepping closer to Jaime. “But don’t think I don’t see through you. You’re not protecting her for Stark’s sake. You’re protecting her for your own.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his eyes flicking to you. Your defiance hadn’t wavered, but there was a shadow of exhaustion in your expression, a flicker of something more vulnerable beneath the surface.

“Chain her,” Vargo commanded, his voice cold. “If she tries anything again, she’ll regret it.”

The men obeyed, dragging you to a tree and securing your wrists with heavy iron chains. You struggled, but the fight was leaving you, your strength sapped by the relentless days of captivity.

Jaime watched as they stepped away, leaving you slumped against the tree, your chest heaving with exertion. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the helplessness threatening to overwhelm him.

Vargo gestured to his men, his grin returning. “Take the Kingslayer. Separate him from the rest. I’ll deal with him privately before we reach Harrenhal. Perhaps Tywin will enjoy seeing what’s left of his son after a Stark bannerman delivers him.”

As Jaime was dragged away, he glanced back at you, your head bowed but your spirit unbroken. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why your suffering twisted something deep inside him. But one thing was certain: he would find a way to end this.

The forest seemed to close in as Vargo Hoat led Jaime to a secluded area away from the main camp. The Brave Companions flanked him on either side, their mismatched armor clinking with every step. Jaime’s mind raced, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. He knew what was coming—Vargo had been too clear in his intentions to leave any room for doubt.

His right hand.

It wasn’t just the loss that gnawed at him; it was the implications. Vargo wanted Tywin to believe Roose Bolton had been behind it, a ploy to fracture alliances and sow chaos. Jaime clenched his fists, willing his breath to stay even. If he showed fear, Vargo would relish it.

They stopped in a small clearing, the faint glow of the campfire barely visible through the trees. Vargo turned, his crooked grin widening as he drew his curved sword.

“Well, Kingslayer,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “I did warn you about causing trouble. Now, it’s time to make you a little less… dangerous.”

Jaime smirked faintly, though the effort took more willpower than he cared to admit. “And here I thought you’d at least buy me a drink first, goat.”

Vargo chuckled, motioning for one of his men to hold Jaime’s arm. “Oh, I’ll make it quick. But not painless.”

The blade gleamed in the dim light, and Jaime forced himself to hold Vargo’s gaze, refusing to flinch. He knew what was about to happen, but he wouldn’t give the goat the satisfaction of seeing him break.

The blade came down.

You sat chained beside Brienne, the iron biting into your wrists as two of Vargo’s men stood nearby, their weapons drawn. Brienne’s posture was as rigid as ever, her eyes blazing with fury despite her bruised face and bound hands. The camp around you was eerily quiet, the usual chatter of the Brave Companions muted.

Your chest felt tight, your mind racing as you replayed the events of your failed escape. You should have known better, should have anticipated their response. But you couldn’t sit idly by while Jaime and Brienne were dragged toward an uncertain fate—and worse, you couldn’t let yourself fall into despair about your sisters.

Brienne shifted beside you, her voice low. “What are they doing with him?”

You glanced toward the trees where Jaime had been taken, your heart sinking. “Something cruel,” you muttered, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed.

Brienne clenched her jaw, her muscles straining against her bonds. “Vargo Hoat is a monster. Whatever he’s planning, it will be to make a statement. That’s all he knows—violence and cruelty.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the chains. “He’s not my concern.”

Brienne turned her sharp gaze toward you, her blue eyes narrowing. “He should be. If they break him, we’ll lose any chance we have of surviving this. We need him alive—and whole.”

Before you could respond, a blood-curdling scream tore through the air. Your heart stopped as you recognized the voice.

Jaime.

You shot to your feet instinctively, the chains rattling as the guards stepped forward to shove you back down. “Stay put, Stark,” one of them growled, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

You glared up at him, the fire in your chest burning hotter. “What are they doing to him?”

The guard smirked. “Just teaching the lion his place.”

Brienne’s fists clenched, her voice low and seething. “Bastards.”

You turned your gaze back toward the woods, your stomach twisting with unease. The scream echoed in your ears, louder than it should have been, and you couldn’t shake the image of Jaime—the proud, arrogant knight—reduced to this.

“He’s Tywin Lannister’s son,” you said quietly, your voice trembling with anger. “If they harm him, they’ll pay for it.”

Brienne nodded, her expression grim. “But we’ll pay for it too. We need to think carefully. Every move we make from here on out will determine whether we live—or die.”

Your hands tightened into fists, the iron chains digging into your skin as you stared at the treeline, waiting for any sign of what was happening.

Jaime’s scream faded into the night, leaving only silence. But it was the kind of silence that promised more pain, more blood, and more despair.

And as the firelight flickered in the corner of your vision, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way out of this nightmare.

The forest clearing seemed quieter now, the chaos of earlier hours replaced by an uneasy stillness. You and Brienne remained chained near the dimming fire, guarded by two of Vargo’s men. The cold bit into your skin, but you barely felt it, your focus locked on the dark woods beyond the camp.

When the sound of footsteps broke the silence, you turned, your breath hitching. Jaime was being dragged back into the clearing by two of the Brave Companions. His face was pale, his steps unsteady, and his right arm hung limply at his side. The crude bandage wrapped around the stump where his hand once was did little to stop the blood seeping through.

You inhaled sharply, your stomach twisting at the sight. Jaime stumbled as they pushed him forward, catching himself awkwardly with his left hand. The smirk he usually wore was gone, replaced by a look of exhaustion and pain.

“Set him there,” one of the guards barked, motioning toward the tree near you and Brienne. The men shoved Jaime down, and he slumped against the trunk, his breath shallow as he leaned his head back, eyes closing briefly.

Brienne’s voice cut through the stillness, low and furious. “What did they do to you, Lannister?”

Jaime opened his eyes, his usual bravado faint but present. “Just a little lesson in humility,” he muttered, his voice rasping. “Apparently, I’ve been too full of myself lately.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, the sight of him like this stirring an uncomfortable mix of emotions. You didn’t pity him—you told yourself you couldn’t—but you couldn’t deny the weight pressing on your chest.

After a moment, you spoke, your voice colder than you intended. “You shouldn’t have defended me.”

Jaime turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression unreadable. “They would’ve done it anyway,” he replied quietly. “If not for you, then for something else. It’s the price of being Tywin Lannister’s son.”

You narrowed your eyes, your jaw tightening. “And the price of being Tywin Lannister’s son is a fitting punishment for someone like you.”

Jaime chuckled weakly, though it came out more as a ragged exhale. “Fitting, perhaps. But not particularly enjoyable.”

Brienne’s gaze shifted between the two of you, her brow furrowed. “They’ll keep pushing until you’re broken,” she said, her voice heavy with warning. “That’s what Vargo wants—control. He thrives on suffering.”

“I’m well aware of that, thank you,” Jaime replied, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

You watched him carefully, noting the way his left hand twitched as if it were trying to compensate for the loss of the right. Despite the pain etched across his face, there was a stubbornness in his eyes that refused to yield.

“Why did you do it?” you asked suddenly, your voice softer now, though still guarded. “Why defend me at all? You hate my family. You hate me.”

Jaime sighed, leaning his head back against the tree. “Hate’s a strong word,” he said after a moment. “But if it makes you feel better to think that, go ahead. As for why…” He paused, his gaze meeting yours briefly before flicking to the fire. “Let’s just say I’ve been around enough people like Vargo to know when something needs to be said. If I hadn’t, things might’ve been worse. For all of us.”

You stared at him, your mind racing with thoughts you didn’t dare voice.

“You’re a fool,” you said finally, your tone quieter but no less bitting.

“Probably,” Jaime agreed, closing his eyes again. “But even fools have their uses.”

The camp fell silent once more, the crackling of the fire the only sound as the night deepened. Brienne shifted slightly beside you, her chains clinking softly as she adjusted her position. Jaime remained still, his breathing shallow but steady.

You looked away, your hands tightening around the chains that bound you. Whatever was coming next, you knew it wouldn’t be easy. But as you glanced back at Jaime, his head tilted against the tree, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to him than the arrogant, reckless man you’d always believed him to be.

For now, though, there was no time for reflection. Survival was all that mattered, and the road ahead was only growing darker.

The looming silhouette of Harrenhal grew closer with each passing hour, its jagged towers and scorched walls a grim reminder of the war’s toll. The air seemed heavier here, thick with decay and despair. Jaime felt it pressing against his chest, though the weight of his thoughts far surpassed the weight of the place itself.

His right arm throbbed incessantly, the crude bandages wrapped around the stump now damp with blood and pus. The infection was spreading—he could feel it in the fever that crept through his body, in the weakness that made every step more difficult than the last.

Jaime Lannister, the golden lion of Casterly Rock, reduced to this.

He walked in silence, trailing slightly behind the group. His usual wit and biting remarks had abandoned him days ago, replaced by the quiet hum of pain and exhaustion. Vargo Hoat and his men had taken notice of his diminished state, their taunts growing louder and crueler as they marched. But Jaime barely heard them now. His focus had narrowed, his thoughts circling the same unrelenting truths.

You walked ahead of him, your posture rigid, your steps purposeful. The chains around your wrists clinked softly with each movement, a reminder of your captivity. Brienne walked near you, her gaze flicking back to Jaime every so often, her concern evident despite her own injuries.

Jaime’s eyes lingered on you, his thoughts churning with a mix of longing and bitterness. You hadn’t looked at him since the previous night when you’d told him to hold on. He knew the words had been for your sisters’ sake, nothing more. But still, they had stuck with him, echoing in his mind like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

“Hold on just a little longer.”

How simple it sounded. How impossible it felt.

His steps faltered slightly, and Brienne slowed her pace, her eyes narrowing as she glanced back at him. “Lannister,” she said sharply, her voice cutting through the haze. “You need to keep moving.”

“I’m moving, aren’t I?” he replied, his voice hoarse. But even he could hear the weakness in his tone.

Brienne’s frown deepened, but she didn’t respond, her focus returning to the path ahead.

You glanced back briefly, your eyes meeting his for the first time in what felt like hours. Your expression was hard to read—was it concern? Frustration? Jaime didn’t know, and he hated that he cared.

“You’re slowing us down,” you said flatly, though your voice lacked its usual bite. “If you don’t keep up, they’ll drag you the rest of the way.”

Jaime smirked faintly, though the effort sent a fresh wave of pain through his arm. “I’ll try not to ruin the rhythm of the procession,” he muttered.

You stopped walking then, turning fully to face him. The guards barked in irritation, but you ignored them, your focus entirely on Jaime.

“Just hold on a little longer,” you said, your voice quieter now. “We’re almost there.”

Jaime’s smirk faded, replaced by something closer to resignation. He knew why you were saying it. You needed him alive. Without him, your sisters’ safety would be in jeopardy. It had nothing to do with him—nothing personal.

But the way your eyes lingered on him, the faint tension in your brow, made him want to believe otherwise.

“I suppose I owe you that much,” he said softly, his gaze dropping to the ground.

You didn’t reply immediately, but when you turned back toward the path, Jaime caught a glimpse of something in your expression—something fleeting and indecipherable.

The rest of the march passed in a blur of pain and exhaustion. Harrenhal loomed closer, its broken towers casting long shadows over the forest. Jaime’s body screamed for rest, but he forced himself to keep moving, his left hand gripping his side as if that alone could steady him.

The infection burned through him, a relentless fire that made his thoughts sluggish and his steps unsteady. But through it all, one thought remained clear, piercing through the haze like a blade.

You.

Every glance, every word, every retort—it stayed with him, filling the silence when the pain grew too loud. He told himself it was ridiculous, that you were a Stark, that you despised him. But it didn’t matter.

You were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

As they neared Harrenhal’s gates, Jaime glanced at you one last time, his vision blurring slightly from the fever. You walked with your head high, your chains clinking softly, your determination unshaken.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, Jaime allowed himself to hope.

Not for himself. Not for redemption.

But for you.

The gates of Harrenhal loomed like a giant maw, jagged and broken, swallowing all who dared enter. The once-mighty castle was a shadow of its former self, its walls blackened by dragonfire and its halls steeped in death. The atmosphere was suffocating, the air heavy with decay and despair.

Jaime stumbled as they were marched through the gates, his fever-addled mind struggling to stay focused. His right arm hung uselessly at his side, the hastily wrapped bandages doing little to stem the infection festering beneath. Every step sent jolts of pain radiating through his body, but he clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep moving.

You and Brienne walked ahead of him, your chains rattling with each step. Your posture was rigid, your eyes scanning the grim surroundings with barely concealed disgust. Brienne’s face was stoic, but her clenched fists betrayed her tension. Vargo Hoat rode alongside his men, his twisted grin widening as they approached the central courtyard, where Roose Bolton awaited.

The Lord of the Dreadfort stood in the center of the crumbling courtyard, his pale face impassive, his cold, calculating eyes taking in the scene before him. Clad in black and grey, he looked every bit the predator that his reputation suggested.

Vargo dismounted with an exaggerated flourish, his voice grating as he called out, “My lord Bolton! I bring you a gift worthy of your station—the Kingslayer himself!”

Roose’s eyes flicked to Jaime, his expression unreadable. He stepped forward slowly, his gaze narrowing as he took in Jaime’s condition.

“This is the Kingslayer?” he said, his tone as calm and cold as a winter breeze. “He looks half-dead.”

Vargo chuckled, though the sound was nervous. “A small… accident, my lord. But he still lives.”

Roose’s gaze lingered on Jaime’s fevered face, his pale lips pressing into a thin line. “An accident,” he repeated, his voice flat. “You’ve rendered him nearly useless. Lord Tywin will not be pleased.”

At the mention of his father, Jaime forced himself to straighten, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatened to consume him. “Where is my father?” he asked, his voice rasping but steady.

Roose’s gaze shifted to him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of amusement in his otherwise impassive expression. “He is not here,” he replied simply. “He has left for other matters.”

The answer struck Jaime harder than he expected. If Tywin wasn’t at Harrenhal, then whatever hope Jaime had of immediate salvation was gone. He glanced at you briefly, noting the tension in your posture as Roose’s attention shifted to you.

“And who is this?” Roose asked, his voice as smooth as silk. “A Stark, no less. A rare prize.”

You lifted your chin defiantly, your eyes blazing as Roose stepped closer. “The wolf cub,” he said softly, his tone almost mocking. “How far from the pack you’ve strayed.”

Without hesitation, you spat at him, the glob of saliva landing near his feet.

The courtyard fell silent, the dread palpable as Roose regarded you with a slight tilt of his head. Vargo’s men moved instantly, yanking you back roughly by your chains, causing you to stumble.

“Careful,” Roose said sharply, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. “Do not harm her. A Stark must remain intact if we are to have any use for her.”

The men hesitated, their grips loosening slightly as they glanced nervously at their lord.

Roose turned back to you, his pale eyes narrowing. “You have fire,” he said softly, almost to himself. “A trait you share with your brother. Let us hope it does not consume you.”

You glared at him, your breathing heavy but steady, refusing to look away.

Roose’s gaze shifted back to Vargo. “Get them cleaned and seen to,” he ordered, his tone brisk. “Their current state is unacceptable. They are to be treated as prisoners of value, not cattle.”

Vargo opened his mouth to protest but quickly thought better of it. “As you command, my lord.”

The guards moved to escort the three of you deeper into Harrenhal, their grips firm but less rough than before. Jaime stumbled again as they marched, his strength waning with each step.

“Hold on, Lannister,” you said suddenly, your voice low but steady.

He glanced at you, his expression a mix of exhaustion and bitterness. “For your sisters’ sake, I presume?” he muttered.

You didn’t reply, your gaze fixed ahead as the grim halls of Harrenhal swallowed you whole.

Jaime’s thoughts churned as he walked, the pain in his arm nearly unbearable. Roose Bolton’s presence added a new layer of unease to the already dire situation. But as he glanced at you one last time, your defiance unbroken despite the chains, he found himself clinging to the faintest shred of resolve.

If you could stand tall in the face of this nightmare, then perhaps he could too. For now.

The air in the stone bathhouse was thick with steam, damp and suffocating, yet it carried a sense of relief—a reprieve from the grime and blood that clung to them after days of captivity. Jaime stumbled slightly as he was led inside, his body aching and fevered, but his keen gaze quickly took in the scene before him.

You and Brienne had already been brought here, seated in one of the large stone baths partially filled with hot water. Neither spoke. You were scrubbing at your arms, your movements methodical, your focus elsewhere as though the world around you barely registered. Brienne, by contrast, sat rigid and alert, her broad frame hunched slightly, her eyes darting toward the entrance the moment Jaime appeared.

Jaime’s first thought, despite himself, was of you.

The steam blurred the air between you, softening the harsh edges of the moment. Your hair clung to your damp skin, your movements precise as you worked to rid yourself of the dirt and sweat of the journey. There was something about the quiet determination in your expression, the way you seemed to block out the world, that drew his attention.

Not that he could dwell on it for long.

Brienne gasped, her eyes widening as Jaime stepped forward. “You shouldn’t be here!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of alarm and outrage.

“Relax, Brienne,” Jaime said, his tone dry, though his steps were unsteady. “I’m hardly here to steal your modesty. Though I’m sure the gods are watching with bated breath.”

Brienne turned scarlet, scurrying to the far end of the bath and splashing water as she moved. “There’s another bath chamber next door. Use that one!”

Jaime smirked faintly, leaning heavily against the stone edge. “I’d love to, truly, but I doubt I’ll make it another step without keeling over. So, unless you’d prefer to haul me there yourself…”

“You’re impossible,” Brienne muttered, averting her gaze.

You didn’t react, your focus still on scrubbing your arms, your fingers working the grime from your skin. Jaime’s smirk faltered as he glanced at you, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t quite name.

She doesn’t care, he thought bitterly. Of course, she doesn’t. To her, I’m just a pawn, a means to an end for her sisters’ safety.

Still, he couldn’t help but admire your composure, the way you carried yourself even now. It was infuriating, really, how you seemed untouched by the vulnerability of the moment, your focus unwavering as though you had nothing to hide.

Jaime eased himself into the water with a hiss, the heat stinging his wounds and sending a jolt of pain through his arm. He clenched his jaw, refusing to let it show, though his breathing came quicker for a moment.

Brienne glared at him from her corner of the bath, her expression a mix of disgust and frustration. “You have no shame, do you?”

“Shame?” Jaime echoed, his smirk returning faintly despite the discomfort. “I left that behind in King’s Landing. Or perhaps it was when I was chained to a tree and left to rot. Hard to keep track these days.”

Brienne’s lips pressed into a thin line, her anger simmering beneath the surface. “You mock everything—honor, duty, decency. Is there nothing sacred to you?”

Jaime’s gaze darkened, the smirk fading as his eyes locked onto hers. “Honor and duty,” he said quietly, his tone sharp. “Words people like you cling to so you can pretend the world isn’t as cruel as it is. Tell me, Brienne—what has honor earned you? A lifetime of being ridiculed? A chain around your neck? Or is it your blind loyalty that’s brought you to this fine establishment?”

Brienne’s fists clenched, her glare intensifying. “I serve my lady and her family because it is right. Because it is what I swore to do. You, Lannister, wouldn’t understand that.”

Jaime leaned back against the edge of the bath, his head tilting slightly as his gaze flicked to you. “And what about her?” he asked, nodding toward you. “What does she fight for? Honor? Duty? Or something else entirely?”

You paused briefly, your fingers stilling on your arm as you glanced at him. Your expression was unreadable, your eyes meeting his for the briefest moment before you turned away.

“It doesn’t matter what I fight for,” you said simply, your voice calm but distant. “What matters is surviving. And right now, that means all of us making it out of here alive.”

Jaime studied you for a moment longer, his chest tightening again. He wanted to say something, to challenge your words, but the fatigue in your voice stopped him. You weren’t wrong, after all. Survival was all that mattered now.

“Wise words,” Jaime said finally, his tone softer but no less cutting. “But don’t think for a moment that survival comes without a price. It always does.”

The room fell silent then.

The steam of the bathhouse wrapped around them like a shroud, thick and suffocating, but Jaime hardly noticed. The heat barely dulled the gnawing pain in his arm, and the weight of his fever pressed heavier with every passing moment. He leaned against the edge of the bath, his breaths shallow, his smirk hanging on by a thread.

Brienne, ever the sentinel of honor, glared at him from her corner of the bath. Her face twisted with disgust as she finally broke the heavy silence.

“You’re nothing more than a Kingslayer,” she spat, her voice shaking with anger. “You speak of honor and duty as if you understand them, but all you’ve done is betray them. You broke your oath. You stabbed your king in the back.”

The word—Kingslayer—cut deeper than any blade. Jaime’s jaw tightened, his smirk faltering.

He turned his head slowly to look at her, his fevered eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “Do you think you know the whole story, Brienne?” His voice was soft but razor-sharp. “Do you think it’s that simple? That I killed him because I’m some honorless villain in your tale?”

Brienne didn’t flinch, but her lips pressed into a thin line. “You betrayed your vows,” she said coldly. “You took an oath to protect him, to serve him, and you—”

“I saved them all,” Jaime snapped, his voice rising. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness crashing over him, and he gripped the edge of the bath to steady himself.

You looked up sharply, the stiffness in your shoulders evident as you turned your gaze to him. Jaime’s breath hitched as your eyes lingered on his face, but he pressed on, unable to stop the words that spilled from him.

“Do you know what Aerys Targaryen was?” Jaime continued, his voice shaking now—not with fear, but with something deeper, something darker. “The Mad King. Do you know what he planned to do?”

Neither you nor Brienne spoke, but the silence was answer enough. Jaime’s chest heaved as he laughed bitterly. “He ordered his pyromancers to burn the city. All of it. Every man, woman, and child in King’s Landing. He told me to bring him my father’s head, and when I refused, he said he’d light the fires.”

His voice cracked as he leaned forward, his fever-bright eyes boring into Brienne’s. “So, tell me, Lady Brienne—should I have kept my vow? Should I have stood by and let him turn the city to ash? Should I have let him burn thousands alive to preserve my ‘honor’?”

The words hung heavy in the air, the steam swirling around them like smoke. Brienne’s face paled, her mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came.

Jaime sagged against the edge of the bath, his strength draining as his confession unraveled something inside him. “I killed him,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I plunged my sword into his back and watched him die because I had to. Because no one else would.”

His vision blurred, the fever clouding his mind as he slumped forward, his hand slipping from the bath’s edge. Before he could hit the water, your hands were there, catching him, holding him steady.

“Jaime,” you said sharply, your voice cutting through the haze.

He blinked, his head lolling as he tried to focus on you. Your touch was firm but careful, your hands gripping his shoulders as you eased him back against the edge of the bath. The heat of the water and the warmth of your hands blurred together, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Brienne’s voice broke the moment, sharp and panicked. “Guards! Guards!” she shouted, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

Jaime let out a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a cough. “Let them come,” he muttered, his voice slurred. “Let them hear the tale of the honorable Kingslayer.”

You ignored Brienne’s cries, your focus entirely on him. “Jaime, stop,” you said, your tone firm but not unkind. “You’re burning up. You need to calm down.”

His fevered eyes searched yours, something raw and unspoken passing between you. He hated how much he wanted this—your touch, your presence. He hated how it made him feel like he wasn’t entirely broken.

“I saved them,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “And they call me a traitor. They call me a monster.”

Your grip tightened slightly, your expression softening for the briefest moment. “You did what you had to,” you said quietly.

Jaime’s chest ached, not from the fever or the infection, but from the weight of your words. He wanted to believe you meant them, that there was something real in your voice, but he couldn’t let himself. Not now. Not ever.

As the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, Jaime closed his eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking him. Your hands remained steady, holding him upright as the steam swirled around you both.

And Jaime Lannister allowed himself to feel the smallest flicker of absolution.

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

I mean they still coerce/steal children into joining them. And they left Anakin's mom to die a slave death. Like sure they aren't awful as an organization but they aren't always right?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too harsh on Jedi antis. Then something like this happens and it hits me that no, if anything I'm being too soft.

Let's begin with the obvious, out-of-universe part. It's very rude to come to people's clearly tagged posts and say something like this. I love the Jedi I see in the PT and TCW, and I should be able to make, at least, vaguely positive posts about them without having to see this in the comments.

Now, onto your argument:

"They coerce/steal children into joining them."

You'd have a hard time arguing this, even using only Legends, the continuity that's most critical of the Jedi.

Baby Ludi doesn't offer us much information beyond "the baby's family was reasonably but incorrectly pressumed dead". Even then, these type of stories are used to show what the public opinion of the Jedi was, not what the Jedi were actually doing.

Children of the Force (the comic) is another of these stories. The Shatterpoint novel, on its own, contradicts every single instance of the Jedi being baby-snatchers or not being allowed to know their birth families/culture. Shatterpoint was written by Matthew Stover, who spoke with George Lucas personally and knew George Lucas' vision for Star Wars, and had that aside from his own personal interpretations that may or may not align with Lucas', unlike many other EU writers. This puts Shatterpoint very high in Legends canonity tier.

Jedi Path is stupid even when reading it in good faith. Movies, shows and later books with more canonity contradict it, so not good for argument.

Anything written by Karen Traviss is bullshit because 1. she disagrees with the good vs evil narrative of a franchise intended for kids, and 2. she only watched the PT halfway through, as a child. That's not getting into how she tries to paint both sides of the Empire vs Rebellion war as bad. Let me repeat, she's presenting the original heroes as bad. She's not engaging with the narrative presented to her, so what she writes is something else with the names of the Star Wars universe slapped into it.

In TCW this is trope of baby-snatchers is invoked and defied. A planet believes the Jedi steal children (manipulated by a Dark Side cult, so the people's worries were born out of propaganda), the Jedi stop going there, and the arc ends with them making up and solving the misunderstanding. To add to that, Children of the Force (the episode) is about Force-sensitive children being kidnaped by Cad Bane, and ends with the Jedi giving the children back to their parents; one of them was in the middle of an adjustment period to the Order and the other's parents had refused to give their child up, and there is zero indication that either child becomes a Jedi in the future.

In the PT the only introduction into the Order is Anakin, and the Jedi refuse. Until they can't refuse because Anakin is in danger of being discovered and brainwashed/stolen by a Sith, the Jedi say no. This is not how you portray characters to want to paint as kidnapers. Also, Palpatine (y'know, the Sith who's grooming and trying to turn Anakin against the Jedi) doesn't bring up anything related to child-stealing. If the main villain doesn't make that point, not even to be subverted later on, it's simply not true.

Coertion is an interesting argument because… it's never brought up. Yeah, you read that right. Never. Not even in arguments against the Jedi done by villains.

Jedi are not kidnapers in any continuity. Fandom made that up. Can that make for some interesting story about shady situations? Sure, if you're into that, but it's not canon. If you're critizing canon Jedi, bringing this shit up immediately makes you lose the argument.

"They left Anakin's mom to die a slave death"

No, they didn't. This post talks about her death, but something important I want to add is that she'd been free for years at the time of her death. Also, who's to say they didn't try? Who's to say they even knew she was a slave? Qui-Gon brought Anakin to the Order and then he died.

In Legends they actually had a hand in her winning her freedom, too.

You proved my point. You can critize the Order (I'm the first person to say they aren't perfect and some of their choices should be critized), but creating a narrative about the Jedi stealing children that has no basis in either Lucas', Legends or Disney canon to dunk on them is not being critical, it's just slander.

Friendly reminder that if you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

"They told Anakin he wasn't fit to be a Jedi" Yeah, was he? He was unhappy the whole time, broke all their rules and eventually slaughtered them.

"They massacred the Sith Order" Yeah. Those "I'm better than everyone and everything and they all should kneel to me or die" people? I see no issue here.

"They fought in the Clone Wars as peacekeepers." Yeah. What was the alternative? Standing by as the clones, civilians and the Republic itself (the best government out those in the galaxy, although admittedly that's rather a low bar) were massacred by the Separatists? Yeah no. And peacekeepers ≠ pacifists.

"They forbid marriage." They are a religious organization, monks. Fobidding its members from marrying is pretty standard in monasteries. They also aren't celibate, friendship isn't discouraged at all and it's all but stated by Obi-Wan in TCW S6 that romantic feelings are perfectly allowed. Several of the Order's members practice their home planets' culture and religion and language (Barriss has a Mirilian Idol in her room, she Luminara Quinlan etc have cultural tattoos, many characters have accents which implies Basic isn't their first language and others don't speak Basic at all,etc). They have no dress code, they are allowed to drink, smoke, etc., even become part of other religions organizations (see Plo Koon)! Marriage being forbidden is nothing, literally meaningless next to the freedom Jedi have.

If you're gonna critize the Jedi, they have to be wrong.

No, they shouldn't change their whole way of life just because you don't like it.

[vamptizm]

vi. MISSION JEALOUSY — p.bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis: in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings: angst. explicit language. that’s it i think.

word count: 3.6k

note: this took me soso long i apologize, i’m just not satisfied with this whatsoever. this series will not be revolving around just smut, so obv it’s not going to be in every or every other chapter. idk how long i’ll make it, but most of my chapters are rather short so probably double in the digit chapter count. yeah anyway thank u for being patient and reading this (i loveee comments of any kind so pls don’t hesitate to leave those)

series masterlist

Clover sat across from Vanessa in a quaint little sushi restaurant downtown, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her water glass as she tried—really tried—to focus on the conversation. The dim lighting cast a warm glow across the table, the soft murmur of voices and clinking plates filling the space between them. Vanessa was mid-sentence, her voice light and animated as she recounted a story from work, but Clover wasn't listening.

She couldn't.

Everything about the evening felt... off. The restaurant, the atmosphere, even the date itself.

Vanessa had been the one to suggest this place, raving about it for days until Clover finally agreed to go. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a break from the monotony of campus life and basketball practices. But instead, the girl found herself counting the minutes, waiting for the check to arrive so she could call it a night.

The truth was, she hadn't been feeling it from the start. Not the date. Not Vanessa. 

Vanessa was kind. Sweet. Energetic in a way that most people found contagious. Her laughter was bright, her gestures animated, and her eyes sparkled with sincerity whenever she looked at Clover. She was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, someone who loved openly and fiercely, someone who deserved the same in return. 

But Clover wasn't that person. 

She wasn't someone who gave her heart away easily. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she had it in her to give it away at all. 

Relationships had never been her thing. The idea of commitment, of letting someone get close enough to see her cracks and flaws, felt like a weight she couldn't bear. Vulnerability wasn't something she handed out freely—it was something she locked away, hidden behind witty remarks and carefree smiles. And still, Vanessa wanted more. 

Something serious. Something Clover couldn't give. 

"...and maybe next weekend we could check out that new art exhibit?" Vanessa's voice pulled her back to the present. She was smiling, hopeful. Her hands rested on the table, fingers curled lightly around her glass. There was a certain softness to her expression, an eagerness that made Clover's chest tighten with dread. 

It was getting too much. 

"Hey, listen," Clover interrupted, her voice quieter than usual, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "We've already talked about this." 

Vanessa's smile faltered, just a little. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. 

"I told you," Clover continued gently, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, "I'm not ready for anything serious." 

For a moment, Vanessa froze. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, she sat back in her chair, shoulders stiffening slightly as she processed Clover's words. 

"I know," Vanessa finally said, her voice quieter now, too. "But... I thought maybe if we took it slow, you'd change your mind." 

Guilt twisted in Clover's stomach, sharp and unforgiving. She hated this part — the part where things inevitably fell apart, where someone always got hurt. 

"I don't think that's gonna happen," she said softly, regret lacing her words. "You're... you're too good for me, Vanessa. It's not fair to let you act like my girlfriend when we both know it's not gonna happen." 

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Vanessa's face hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it. But Clover saw it — she always did. And it only made the guilt worse. 

"You show up to my games with signs," Clover added, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping to the table. "You wait for me after practice. You plan dates, and you're always so thoughtful... I don't deserve any of that. And you know it." 

"Why wouldn't you deserve it?" 

The question came quickly, sharper than Clover expected. It caught her off guard, and she stilled for a moment, her thoughts scattering. 

Why didn't she deserve it? 

It was a loaded question, one one required an even more loaded and heavier answer.

Because she didn't appreciate it the way she should. Because it never felt like enough to change how she was. Because the butterflies Vanessa so desperately tried to give her never came—not from sweet gestures, not from thoughtful words or sex, not from anything Vanessa did. 

"Because I don't appreciate it," Clover finally said, her voice low, barely audible above the hum of the restaurant. "The way you'd like me to." 

Vanessa blinked, confusion clouding her gaze. 

"It doesn't... it doesn't do anything for me," Clover admitted after taking a deep breath, the confession weighing heavily on her chest. "It's not wooing me. It's not making me feel any butterflies. None of it. And I don't want you to keep hurting yourself trying to make it happen." 

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. 

Vanessa's gaze drifted to the window, her jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand curled around her napkin, knuckles white. Finally, she nodded—a small, stiff motion that spoke of resignation more than understanding. 

The guilt was unbearable. 

Clover signaled for the check, pulling out her card before Vanessa could argue. She paid quickly, avoiding the waitress's curious gaze, and stood without a word. 

The silence in the car pressed down on Clover like a weight. The rain tapping against the windshield filled the space where words should've been. Vanessa sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, her expression distant and unreadable. 

Clover clenched the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white. The guilt gnawed at her, twisting in her chest, but not in the way most people would expect. She didn't owe Vanessa anything — not her loyalty, not her heart. She had made that clear from the start. 

Still, something about the way Vanessa sat quietly, radiating disappointment, made the brunette’s stomach churn. 

Vanessa finally broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "You're not a bad person." 

Clover exhaled, the lump in her throat tightening. 

"You're kind," Vanessa continued, her gaze still focused on the rain-slicked streets outside. "You're thoughtful. You care more than you want people to think. And I don't know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you're incapable of something real." 

Clover's chest tightened. 

She hated this. Hated that Vanessa saw her as someone capable of giving more than she actually could. Hated that Vanessa saw something in her that wasn't there. Or maybe, she just hated that she couldn't see it too.

The memory of Paige lingered — the weight of her touch still fresh on Clover's skin, the way her hands trembled slightly when they pulled Clover closer, the way their eyes met in that charged, unspoken moment. 

And then the look on Paige's face when Clover left. 

It had mirrored the one Clover wore the first time they'd crossed that boundary. She had been the one left standing there, confused and craving more while Paige walked away without a word. 

Tonight, it had been her who walked out, and she hated that it still hurt. That it felt so wrong.

Vanessa sighed, her tone softer now, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to reassure Clover. "I just... I thought maybe you'd change your mind. That maybe I could be the one to—" 

Clover cut her off before she could finish. 

"You're not the one." 

The words came out harsh, sharper than Clover intended, but she couldn't take them back. The truth was too raw to sugarcoat. 

Vanessa flinched, her lips pressing into a tight line. She nodded slowly, as if piecing everything together, realizing how deeply she had misread the situation. 

"I see." 

Silence returned, heavier than before. 

Clover wanted to tell her that none of this was Vanessa's fault — that she hadn't led her on, that Vanessa deserved someone who wanted to give her what she was looking for. But it would've sounded hollow. Pointless. 

Instead, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her mind unwillingly drifting back to Paige. 

To the way Paige had looked at her, eyes burning with something Clover could never quite name. To the feeling of Paige's lips against hers, desperate and insistent. To the ache in her chest when she walked out of the room, the echo of her own footsteps on the hardwood floor sounding louder than they should've. 

And to the nagging thought in the back of her mind—almost like a whisper from the devil himself—that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't running away from love entirely. She was just running from the wrong person. 

"I had sex with someone else before this," Clover said suddenly, her voice steady but quiet, cutting through the silence like a blade. 

Vanessa blinked, startled by the blunt confession. 

"What?" 

"I had sex with someone else," Clover repeated, this time slower, more deliberate. "Right before this date." 

Vanessa's expression shifted — not to anger, not to betrayal, but to resignation. 

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Vanessa said after a long pause. There was no malice in her tone, just disappointment. "I thought I could be different. That I could make you want... more." 

Clover stared straight ahead, her chest hollow. 

"I told you from the start I wasn't ready for anything serious," she said, her voice steady but distant. "I wasn't lying." 

"I know." Vanessa's voice softened again. "But I hoped." 

And there it was — the difference between them. 

Vanessa was someone who hoped, who believed in love and connection. She thought that if she showed enough kindness, enough patience, she could win Clover over. That she could make her feel the way Vanessa felt about her. 

But Clover had stopped hoping a long time ago. The only person who ever made her feel anything real was Paige. 

And that terrified her more than it should.

Vanessa cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Did it mean anything?" 

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. 

Did sleeping with Paige mean anything? 

Everything. 

"Not in the way you think," Clover lied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Vanessa nodded again, her gaze dropping to her lap. "Right." 

The rest of the drive was silent, tension crackling between them like a live wire. 

When Clover finally pulled up in front of Vanessa's apartment, neither of them moved right away. Vanessa fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, and Clover kept her hands on the wheel, staring at the rain streaking the windshield. 

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Vanessa said softly, breaking the silence. 

Clover didn't answer. 

Vanessa gave her one last glance before stepping out of the car and disappearing into the building without looking back. 

As the door clicked shut, Clover let out a shaky breath. The weight of the evening bore down on her, but it wasn't Vanessa's disappointment that crushed her. 

It was the way Paige's name lingered on her mind like a brand, burning and inescapable. No matter how far she ran, no matter how many distractions she sought, Paige was always there. 

The way the blonde's gaze lingered a little too long during practice. The way her usually teasing and taunting voice softened when she checked in on Clover after a particularly rough game. The way her presence filled every empty corner of Clover's mind, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

Because Paige had never just been a fleeting crush or a temporary obsession. 

It wasn't just admiration. It wasn't just complicated friendship. She had always been something more. 

It had been something more for a long time.

The apartment was quiet when Clover walked in, save for the soft clatter of a knife against what she assumed was a cutting board. She barely glanced at the kitchen, her mind clouded with exhaustion, her heart heavy with that same guilt. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and shut out the world.

But of course Paige was still up.

Clover cursed under her breath as she slipped off her shoes, hoping to make it to her room without incident. She knew how Paige operated. Knew the games she liked to play. And Clover wasn't in the mood for another round of it tonight.

"Late night?" Paige's voice cut through the silence, sharp and calculated.

Clover stopped in her tracks, her heart sinking. She set her bag down by the door, straightened, and took a slow breath before turning around. Paige was at the counter, slicing through an apple with a steady hand.

"Something like that," Clover said, keeping her tone flat.

Paige didn't look up. "Thought you'd be back later. Guess the date wasn't that great, huh?"

There it was. The edge in Paige's voice. That barely veiled disdain, like she was trying to poke holes into Clover's night without outright saying what she really felt.

Clover ran a hand through her straightened hair, none of her natural curls in sight. "It was fine."

"Fine." Paige repeated the word with a smirk, like it was a joke only she understood. She tossed a slice of apple into her mouth, chewed slowly. "Guess that's not exactly life-changing."

Clover's patience was already wearing thin. "Why do you care?"

Paige shrugged, finally meeting Clover's gaze. Her blue eyes were cool, assessing. "I don't."

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on Clover's chest. She could feel the unspoken tension between them, like a storm waiting to break. She shifted her weight, debating whether to walk away — but Paige wasn't done.

"You're wasting your time, you know," Paige said quietly, her voice softening. It wasn't a taunt this time. It sounded almost like a warning.

The brunette frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Paige set the knife down, her hands resting on the counter. "These girls you fuck around with. They're not going to give you what you want."

Clover's chest tightened, brow raised in an almost challenging manner "And what exactly do you think I want?"

Paige tilted her head, her gaze never wavering. "Someone who makes you feel the way I do."

The air between them went still, heavy with meaning. Clover froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her pulse quickened, a mix of irritation and something else—something she didn't have the guts to name—coursing through her veins.

"That's overly cocky, even for you," She responded, her voice steady but strained.

Paige's lips curved into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong, am I?"

Clover's hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated how easily Paige got under her skin. How she always knew exactly what to say to make Clover doubt herself.

"God, you just say the dumbest shit sometimes." Clover muttered, turning toward her room.

"You're scared 'cause I'm right, Amar," Paige called after her.

Clover stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart pounded in her ears, a feeling of unexplainable dread and frustration clawing at her chest.

Paige's voice softened, almost teasing. "Went straight from my bed to her arms. You always like to rebound, don’t you?"

Clover spun around, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" the blonde questioned, feigning innocence.

"Make it sound like it meant something to you," Clover near to snapped. "Because it didn't. You made that clear the first time."

Paige's smirk faltered for the first time. Her gaze dropped for a moment before meeting Clover's again. "And yet, it keeps happening."

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable in a way Paige probably hadn't intended or planned.

Clover swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing. "Yeah, 'cause we're both too fucked up to stop."

Paige's expression shifted—something between hurt and frustration flickering across her own face now. "Is that what you think?"

"What else is there to think?" Clover shrugged lazily. "We don’t do that healthy shit. That's how it's always been."

Paige pushed away from the counter, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. Her gaze never wavered, her expression unreadable.

"You keep saying that like it's a rule we mutually agreed on," Paige spoke quietly. "Like it's some fucked up contract we both signed."

Clover's back hit the wall. Paige was standing too close now, the scent of Clover's sweet vanilla perfume lingering in the air between them.

"Isn't it?" Clover whispered, her voice unsteady.

Paige's hand brushed a strand of hair away from the brunette’s face, a light, almost instinctive touch. But it sent a cold shiver down Clover's spine.

"Don't remember signing anything," Paige murmured.

Clover's heart was pounding, her mind racing. She hated this—hated how Paige made her feel out of control. Vulnerable. Exposed.

"You don't know what you want," Clover said, her voice deliberately bland and cold, despite the emotional chaos brewing inside of her.

Paige's hand lingered, her finger tucking the piece of hair behind Clover's ear. "Neither do you."

For a moment, Clover couldn't breathe. The tension between them was suffocating, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on her.

"You think this is a game," Clover said, her voice barely audible now. "But it's not."

Paige's hand dropped away, and for a second, Clover saw something crack in her expression—a glimpse of vulnerability before the mask slipped back into place.

"It's not a game to me," Paige said softly.

Clover blinked, stunned into silence, though she didn't let it show.

But before she could say anything, Paige stepped back, the distance between them suddenly unbearable.

"Get some sleep," Paige said, her voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Gotta be up early for practice tomorrow."

Clover didn't respond. She watched as Paige turned away, heading back to the kitchen to finish her snack, leaving Clover standing there, harshly biting down on her tongue and heart aching with everything they couldn't say.

The sound of Clover's door closing echoed through the apartment, cutting through the thick silence like a blade. Paige stood frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at the half-sliced apple on the cutting board. Her appetite was gone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she set the knife down, pressing her palms against the counter to steady herself.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

Paige exhaled sharply, pushing herself upright. She rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers brushing over the faint mark Clover had left there earlier — a kiss, a bite, she wasn't sure which. It didn't matter. It wasn't supposed to matter.

This wasn't supposed to feel like this.

It was supposed to be easy. Fun. No strings, no feelings, no mess. That's how it worked. Clover hooked up with whoever caught her eye, Paige did the same. They'd judge each other, throw around meaningless jabs and at the end of the day they'd be fine. Back to being a team.

So why did it feel like her chest was caving in every time Clover walked away and into the arms of someone else?

Paige clenched her jaw, trying to swallow the frustration rising in her throat. She hated this. Hated feeling out of control. Hated how Clover had walked out on her earlier without a second glance — just like Paige had done with others so many times.

'Is this what it feels like?' she wondered bitterly. ‘To be the one left behind?’

She'd told herself it didn't matter. That Clover going on a date with someone else was none of her business. That it wasn't jealousy, just curiosity. But the sting in her chest said otherwise.

Because deep down, Paige knew the truth.

No one made her feel the way Clover did.

And that terrified her more than it should.

She grabbed the cutting board and shoved it into the sink with more force than necessary, the sound of it clattering against the metal louder than she intended. She winced, glancing toward Nika and Jana's rooms. No lights turned on. No doors opened.

The last thing she needed was a groggy Nika asking her why she was slamming things around at midnight.

Paige turned off the kitchen light and leaned against the counter in the dark, the faint glow from the streetlights outside casting shadows across the room. She could still hear Clover's words in her head, clear as day:

‘Because we're both too fucked up to stop.’

Paige ran a hand over her face, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

She'd spent so long pretending she didn't care. Playing it cool, keeping her distance, convincing herself that what they had was just physical. But it wasn't. Not anymore.

And Paige wasn't ready to admit it.

She thought back to the way Clover had looked tonight — tired, defeated, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Paige had wanted to say something real, to cut through the bullshit and tell her whatever truth there was.

But that truth was messy. Vulnerable. And Paige wasn't good at that.

Instead, she'd resorted to what she knew best: cocky remarks and passive-aggressive digs. It was easier to act like none of it mattered. To pretend that Clover's wandering eyes and restless heart didn't bother her.

But as hypocritical as it was, it did.

And that scared her more than anything.

Paige glanced toward Clover's room, her heart aching in a way she didn't quite understand. She thought about knocking on her door, saying something — anything — to break the silence between them.

But what would she even say?

‘I care about you. More than I want to. More than I should. And it's killing me.’

No. That wasn't her.

Paige pushed off the counter and headed to her own room, her footsteps quiet against the hardwood floor. She paused outside Clover's door for a moment, her hand hovering in the air like she might knock after all.

But she didn't.

Instead, she whispered into the silence: "Good night, Clover."

And with that, she walked away, closing her own door behind her.

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