#keep your circle sacred

[alchemyofmaya]

‘You gotta study the generational curses you’re tryna break, if you don’t study them and know them.. then you won’t know where the openings are’ (Pastor Sarah Jakes Roberts)

— Your circle matters. Who are the ones that are the cracks in the foundation that you are building? Your people are reflections of where your vulnerabilities are. Ask for doors not meant for you to be closed. Ask for your enemies in sheep’s clothing to be revealed and removed. That is the power given to you. Make sure the people in your circle are anointed to stand on guard with you, and ready to go heart first into any war.

[honourablejester]

One thing I’ve never understood about D&D druids is how they’re so often imagined as stationary. They’re found ‘guarding sacred sites or watching over regions of unspoiled nature’. And, I know. This is mainly because of the imagery and popular imagination around sites like Stonehenge. But.

If I had the druid spell list? I would take Create Bonfire, and I would take Goodberry, and I would take Create or Destroy Water, and I would pack up a sleeping bag, and I would just start walking. Where? Everywhere! What’s down that road? What’s over that hill? What’s up this river? What’s past this forest? What’s over those dunes? Let’s go see! I can’t starve. I can’t parch. I can’t freeze. I can go forever. So I’m gonna.

Honestly, the druid should be the picture of the wandering vagabond. They have everything they need. You can just walk and keep walking, wherever the wanderlust takes you. You wanna go across an ocean? You can make drinking water. Ships should pay to carry you. You wanna go across a desert? A baby druid with one level and 2 measly spell slots under their belt can still make food and a gallon of water a day for 10 people. Druids should be the explorers, the navigators, the pathfinders. They can travel endlessly, without hurting that which they pass through, the very picture of ‘leave nothing but your footprints’. They can walk the earth, stopping here or there along the way to help where they need to help, and fight what they need to fight, and then they can move on again.

Yes, some druids get tired and settle down. Circles are formed, and that’s how baby druids get their starts, finding a circle. And some areas do need a permanent circle to defend or watch over them. But I do think there should be more of a picture, more of an image, more of an option, for the druid as the wanderer, the rover, the vagabond. A pocket full of berries and a wave of a hand for some rain. Just head out and follow your feet. What could stop you?

(Particularly the Stars druid, my beloved. Could there be a better picture of a navigator? That’s where a Stars druid belongs, at the prow of a ship, or guiding their people across trackless dunes, or carrying news across vast ice fields under an endless polar night to keep tiny isolated hamlets connected. Follow the stars, follow your feet. Yes, accomplish things in the process, but the journey itself is also enough. Just walk. Go. The stars will guide you).

Sorry. In real life, so often, I just really want to see what’s down that road, or over that hill. And, like. As a druid you could just go. You have all you need from a standing start. Well. You’ll have to get clothes and good boots and shit, but you can totally feed and water yourself for completely free and regardless of natural resources out there.

More druid wanderers, is my point here. Yes, still some druids guarding henges and forests, but more druids just walking about, poking their noses into things. There is no better spell list to indulge your wanderlust and curiosity. And that’s without getting into wildshape and the eventual ability to explore under the oceans and into the air. There’s a whole world full of nature. You don’t have to tie yourself to one little bit, unless you want to.

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 8 — DOGGY/PRONE BONE

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — scaramouche, ororon, wriothesley, kinich

— warnings. — fem! reader, doggy, hair pulling, rough syx, madly in love with uu

⚝ — SCARAMOUCHE

speaking of your boyfriend, if you were to describe scaramouche it was as if you've looked at rough edges and sharp words— feisty remarks and lustful eyes.

but here, now, he was something else entirely, almost indescribable.

you fall on your stomach as he presses a pillow under your hips to invoke a subtle curve on your back, his cock hurting from wanting to be touched as he clumsily unbuckles his belt to stroke himself in front of you.

to show his impatience, he quickly moved on as his gloved fingers trace over your behind to knead your ass, greedily and nasty, as he leans in to press warm, wet kisses on the back of your neck— eliciting a whimper as his warm breath coats your wet skin, lips brushing the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

you shiver as you wiggle your ass against his bulge, and he smirks against your skin when you whine at his slowed approach, "sensitive, aren’t you?" his voice turns teasing, "not used to not getting your way, huh?" but there’s something deeper beneath it— something softer, scaramouche loved playing with you, taunting you, until he can vividly feel it in his bones that you need him, desire him truly.

that's when his hands tighten around your waist as he pulls you closer, nosing into your hair and pressing himself inside slowly, breathing you in like he's afraid you’ll disappear if he were to close his eyes. your body tenses up toward the bright, building pleasure in your core as he fucks you in this position, your face messily pushed into your pillow as waves of swells rock your whole body.

his rough thrusts linger between you, and for once, scaramouche has no snarky remark to follow— way too focused in making you feel good and well, relishing in your warm, squishy walls suckling him in oh too well and precise.

yet feel it now, when the warmth of his lips move again, slower this time— like a secret, like a promise, his groans twisting and tweaking one stage with your own, the low whines of pleasure you huff out making him lose his mind.

⚝ — ORORON

ororon refuses to groan and always stops himself of making any noises when he's in you— in fact, the man was a little shy in that regard, his lips reverent as they trail along your shoulder while he arches down to kiss you, pressing his soft lips into every inch of your exposed back.

he adored seeing you in this position, on all fours, your body filthily bouncing back and forth the mattress as his hands find solace in your hips, the smacking of flesh on flesh grounding the silence of the room. he breathes deeply against your skin, exhaling as if your scent alone was something sacred,.

"you calm me, make me feel good," he finally utters, voice hushed, as if he was scared he'd actually groan out loud if he were to speak a little clearer, his tone rough with unspoken lust.

ororon licks his lips, twice, once more when you wince out at a thrust that was quite a bit deeper than usual, on purpose of course— it wasn't easy for him to keep his cool like that, to pretend like he doesn't feel all of those sensations even before he gets a slight grip on your hair and presses you into the mattress.

your muscles convulse at the roughness, his cock stimulating the tastiest corners in your body as your eyes sting, squeezing them shut because like fuck, the smell of sweat and musk between you weighted heavily on your skin and ah,

you wanted to cry, it feels so so good, ororon does.

⚝ — WRIOTHESLEY

here, as wriothesley's lips graze at the curve of your spine, he was anything but restrained, because he knows that you're all his, that everything he's seeing right now, belongs to him and him only.

his hands slide over your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles as he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades— you could see it as some sort of sweet gesture before he fucks your brains out, makes you beg for his cum to fill you up until you're nothing but a fucked out mess underneath his broad body.

the heat of his cock entering you makes you shudder as you exhale deeply, lips parting just ever so slightly as you inhale his scent— a musky perfume being set free alongside the pungency of lust, the burning stretch you felt making you curve your back into a much comfier position.

you bite your lips, eyes rolling back, desperate and wriothesley moves so fucking smug, thrust after thrust after thrust like he never did anything else besides this— and fuck, you cannot get enough of him, so dearly, how his cock was pressed thick and hard against your sweet spots, to have these sensitive spots of yours so occupied and teased, tender to make you needy enough to scream his name.

⚝ — KINICH

the feeling of kinich buried heavily inside of you made your mouth water, not only that but when he decided to circle his arms around your waist from behind, to obviously have you closer and fuck you faster, you swore you saw stars, the threads in your stomach slowly coming off until there was nothing left but raw pleasure building in the pits of you.

he swears he doesn’t rush, when in reality, he does.

the man was just so excited to feel you— it's not like he's ever felt this with somebody else, but for some reason kinich thinks he's addicted to you, it had to be since there was no possible explanation as to why he couldn't stop himself from fucking you over and over, seeing you cum and beg for more, all night long.

his breath ghosts over your ear before his lips press against the crown of your head, then lower, brushing into your hair as he inhales deeply to gather his stamina, his grip tightening slightly, "you smell like home," he whispers, voice thick with something indescribable as his lips find the side of your temple, "you're making me lose my mind— fuck,"

you feel your juices drip down at each thrust back, slick and slippery as he continues to drill his hips into you, his chest rising and falling above you, big deliberate motions making the pressure of his dripping erection against your walls shift constantly. 

you plead with your whole body as he shows you no mercy, settling heavy and powerful above you, cock fucking you thick and blunt over and over and ah, there it was, the slight pain of being stretched out so nicely was suddenly turning numb and changing into something maddeningly hot, but it still felt like it's too much to handle.

yet you loved it.

you feel it, him— how kinich groaned above you, kissed you, kneaded your ass and worshipped the ground you walked on.

this was not just affection, it was clear signs of devotion.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[00valentina-does-things00]

I love ur writing!! I was wondering if you could do Virgin reader x Sevika.

Ofc <3

✞⛧ All in 100% ✞⛧

Warnings: first time sex, oddly gentle sevika if you’re into that, fingering

Zaun hums outside, the neon glow barely filtering through the heavy curtains of Sevika’s apartment. The room smells like metal, whiskey, and the lingering burn of cigars, but beneath it all, there’s something distinctly her—warm, steady, grounding. The air is thick, charged with the weight of something inevitable, something that has your heart hammering inside your chest.

You sit on the edge of her bed, knees pressed together, fingers twisting in your lap. Your body feels too hot, too tight, and she’s right there in front of you, all broad shoulders and quiet intensity, watching you with that sharp, unreadable gaze.

“You nervous?” Her voice is low, smooth, a little raspy from years of smoke.

You swallow hard, nodding.

Sevika exhales slowly through her nose, kneeling in front of you with a quiet kind of ease, like she’s done this a thousand times before. Her metal arm rests against her thigh, but her other hand reaches for you, warm fingers brushing over your knee, then higher, smoothing over your thigh. Testing.

“You don’t have to do this,” she says, voice quieter now.

“I want to.” The words come out softer than you mean them to, but Sevika hears you.

Her eyes darken slightly, and she leans in, her breath warm against your skin. “Then let me take care of you.”

She moves slowly, undressing you like it’s something sacred. Her fingers work the buttons of your shirt with unhurried precision, sliding the fabric down your arms, exposing inch after inch of bare skin. Her lips brush over your collarbone, the heat of her mouth leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, her fingers ghosting over your stomach, tracing the nervous tremor in your muscles. “You’re so damn pretty.”

Your breath catches when she pushes you back onto the mattress, settling between your thighs, the weight of her keeping you in place. The smell of her—leather, smoke, sweat—invades your senses, dizzying, intoxicating.

Her lips find yours, firm and slow, the taste of whiskey lingering as she coaxes you deeper, tilting your chin up to control the pace. She doesn’t rush—she lets you feel every movement, every shift of her body against yours, until the nervous tension in your limbs starts to melt.

Her hands trail lower, fingers slipping between your legs ,through your slick folds, teasing over the damp heat pooling there. You jolt at the first touch, a soft gasp spilling from your lips.

Sevika groans, pressing her forehead against yours. “Shit… you’re soaking.”

A flush burns across your skin, but before you can say anything, her fingers press a little more firmly, rubbing slow, lazy circles into your hood that have your thighs trembling.

“Just relax,” she murmurs, kissing along your jaw, her voice nothing but heat and patience. “Let me in.”

And when she finally pushes inside—slow, careful, making sure you feel every inch—you whimper, your body tensing around her. She groans, fingers stilling for a moment, letting you adjust, her other hand smoothing up your stomach, grounding you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” she breathes, voice tight. “You feel so fucking good.”

She moves slowly at first, deep, controlled strokes that have pleasure curling in your stomach, have your fingers digging into the sheets, into her. Her name slips past your lips, breathless and desperate, and something about it makes her shudder.

“Yeah?” she mutters against your skin, lips brushing over your pulse. “You like that, baby?”

Your body responds before your mouth can, hips rolling up, chasing the friction, the pressure building deep inside you. Sevika groans, her fingers pressing deeper, curling just right, making you see stars.

“Fuck—there it is,” she mutters, watching the way your body arches, the way you writhe beneath her. “That’s what you needed, huh?” Her thumbs draws slow circles around your clit.

You can’t answer. Your body does it for you, clenching around her fingers, your breath breaking into gasps as the pleasure builds and builds until it’s too much, until you’re trembling beneath her, crying out her name as you fall apart.

Sevika holds you through it, her arm wrapped around you, her lips pressed against your temple as aftershocks ripple through your body. She stays close, her warmth solid against you, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over your skin as you catch your breath.

“Told you I’d take care of you.”

[srslyblvck]

── secret santa,, james potter [part one]

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

synopsis: in which you become the secret santa of none other than james potter

genre: fluff

warnings: none

author's note: ik it isn't even december, oh well, i couldn't help myself :)

word count: 1.1k

part two!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ SNOW FLUTTERED GENTLY AGAINST the tall, frosted windows of the Gryffindor common room, casting a soft glow over the cosy space. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and the air buzzed with anticipation as the Gryffindor gang gathered in a circle on the floor, laughing and sipping on mugs of cocoa.

Sirius, always the self-appointed leader of mischief, stood atop one of the squishy armchairs like he was addressing a crowd of thousands. His dark hair flopped dramatically as he gestured toward the large bowl of folded parchment in his hands.

“Lend me your ears!” Sirius announced with flair. “It is time for the greatest, most legendary Gryffindor tradition—our annual Secret Santa! The only thing that rivals this sacred event is when James hexed Snivellus’—”

“Sirius!” Lily interrupted, fixing him with a sharp glare, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. “If you could manage to keep it PG, that’d be great.”

Sirius sighed dramatically, holding a hand to his chest. “Evans, your lack of faith wounds me. I’m a model of propriety.”

Remus snorted softly from his seat on the arm of the couch. “Sure you are.”

“Can we please get on with it before Sirius bursts into a sonnet about himself?” James chimed in, sprawled out on the floor with his hands behind his head. His untamable hair stuck out in every direction, and his glasses were slightly askew. He was grinning, the kind of grin that could light up an entire room.

“You’re just eager because you’re convinced you’ll get Evans again,” Marlene teased, leaning over to flick James on the shoulder.

James shot her a mock-wounded look. “For your information, I have no such hopes. My heart will graciously accept any gift—except socks. Sirius.”

Sirius gasped. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would,” Dorcas piped up with a smirk, earning a round of laughter from the group.

“Alright, alright!” Sirius cut in, gesturing dramatically toward the bowl in his hands. “The rules are simple: pick a name, don’t tell anyone who you’ve got, and if your gift sucks, prepare to be ruthlessly mocked.”

“Sounds fair,” Peter muttered as he scratched his nose.

One by one, the group leaned forward to pluck a slip of parchment from the bowl. You waited until your turn, your fingers brushing against the cool paper as you grabbed a folded chit. Your heart skipped a beat as you unfolded it and saw the name:

James Potter.

Your eyes instinctively darted toward him. James was mid-laugh, probably at some ridiculous quip Sirius had made, and there was a mischievous sparkle in his hazel eyes. You quickly looked away before anyone could notice the heat rising to your cheeks.

Of all the names you could’ve drawn, it had to be James.

From the moment names were drawn, the common room became a hotbed of shenanigans.

“Oi, love,” James said casually the next evening as you sat near the fire, working on your Potions essay. “You can just tell me who you’ve got, you know. Save yourself the stress.”

You didn’t even look up from your parchment. “Nice try, Potter. Not happening.”

He leaned back in his chair, clutching his chest dramatically. “You wound me! After everything we’ve been through?”

“I’m doing you a favour,” you said with a smirk, finally glancing up. “Imagine the disappointment if I told you someone else got you and not your precious Evans.”

His grin widened, and there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Who says I want Evans?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only been after her for, what, three years?”

James shrugged, leaning forward on his elbows. “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart. Maybe there’s someone else who’s caught my eye.”

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly ducked your head to pretend you were reading your essay. “Well, whoever they are, I’m sure they pity you.”

He threw his head back with a laugh, and your stomach did an annoying little flip. Merlin, he was impossible.

The chaos only deepened as Christmas approached. James became increasingly annoying in his quest to figure out his Secret Santa, trying to weasel answers out of everyone.

“Wormtail, it’s you, isn’t it?”

“What? No!” Peter said, flustered, clutching his Charms textbook.

“It’s Moony, then,” James decided, turning to Remus.

“I’m not saying anything,” Remus said calmly, flipping a page in his book. “But if you keep pestering me, I’ll make sure whoever has you gets you socks.”

“Traitors, all of you,” James declared, throwing himself onto the couch in defeat.

“I heard Sirius in Honeydukes the other day asking the shopkeeper if they could make a giant chocolate wolf. Like, life-sized.” Marlene whispered, her eyes wide with glee.

You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” Marlene said, grinning. “The poor clerk looked like they didn’t know whether to laugh or run.”

“Are you two gossiping about me?” Sirius asked, turning to narrow his eyes at you and Marlene.

“Always,” Marlene quipped, not missing a beat.

Sirius looked pleased. “As you should.”

You spent hours agonising over James’ gift. He was impossible to shop for—he had everything he needed, and he didn’t seem the type to care much about material things. But you wanted it to be special, something that would show you’d noticed the little things about him.

Finally, inspiration struck.

You bought him a small, leather-bound notebook, the kind with a soft cover and faint golden stars embossed on the front. James was always scribbling something—Quidditch plays, spell ideas, random doodles. It seemed like the perfect fit.

Inside the front cover, you wrote:

For all your brilliant (and slightly ridiculous) ideas. - ♡

You also found a tiny enchanted Snitch pin at a shop in Hogsmeade. It was gold and delicate, and its tiny wings occasionally fluttered when touched. You figured it was subtle enough to wear but still a nod to his love for Quidditch.

The common room glowed with the warmth of fairy lights strung around the tree, and the group had gathered again, this time with a pile of wrapped gifts beneath the branches. Sirius had, naturally, donned a Santa hat and was gleefully handing out presents.

When it was James’ turn, he tore into the wrapping paper with childlike enthusiasm, his grin widening as he pulled out the notebook and pin.

“This is…” He trailed off, turning the notebook over in his hands. His hazel eyes softened as he read the note inside, and a small, genuine smile played on his lips. “This is brilliant.”

He held up the pin, letting it catch the light, and glanced around the room. “Whoever got me this, you’ve officially got better taste than Sirius.”

“Oi!” Sirius protested, though he was laughing.

James’ gaze flickered to you for a brief moment, and your heart stuttered. Did he know? The way his smile lingered made you wonder, but you quickly looked away, your cheeks warm.

For now, you were content with the way his smile lit up the room.

[nianeyemystic]

Sextrology Observation 💦🤤😈

Where Saturn is placed in your chart, can show you what prevents you from being able to cum

- please keep in mind these are my OWN interpretations. they may or may not resonate with you, and that’s okay. I’m open to opinions & conversations however let’s keep it cute (rudeness is not acceptable in this safe space ) & learn from one another. Please do not copy of plagiarize , any reblogs & shares are greatly appreciated. This information may help somebody 🥰

Saturn in 1H:

You can be in your head alot during sex, you have to learn to let go so your body can feel & relax. it’s sometimes hard for you to experience emoting freely in front of others. Also how you feel about yourself & the person

Saturn in 2H:

Your self esteem. Your confidence an what you value can be a huge factor here. You should do affirmations, listen to sensual music before or even have your partner engage in praise kinks & compliment you during.

Saturn in 3H

Inability to communicate what you need & desire during sex. Communication is key here for you, you can limit yourself to cumming just based on lack thereof. Your partner may not know how to please you unless you say it.

Saturn in 4H:

Your emotional needs, home life & even sense of security with your partner. A lack of stimulation surrounding the home environment you’re in during. Maybe try changing up the atmosphere.

Saturn in 5H:

You place a lot of pressure on yourself during, there needs to be a balance of this is a devoted action & something fun & creative. Try new positions, have exploration in the bedroom & music / good vibes are needed.

Saturn in 6H:

You’re too focused on work maybe. Or your career is heavily on your mind during sex. Also if you’re not in good health mentally or physically this can hinder you as well in the bedroom. Try to meditate, do breathing exercises & completely change out of “work mode” before engaging

Saturn in 7H:

The need to feel secure in your relationship. Their needs to be reciprocal loyalty & commitment before you can release. Your relationships can deeply effect your sensuality so be careful who you’re getting into bed with

Saturn in 8H:

Your sexuality may have been something you’re ashamed of before. Maybe you’ve held onto view around sex as taboo, or have not gotten fully comfortable with exploring your sexuality. The right healing work & sexual expression will help you get there. Sacral chakra & Root Chakra yoga could help here

Saturn in 9H:

You may be too intense or focused on your intellectual pursuits. Sex has be to stimulating for your mind as well. So maybe conversations that lead to sec should involve topics like expansion, travel & self discovery. Or you could need to engage in more of those to feel sexually aroused

Saturn in 10H:

Reputation of the person your having sex with & maybe even their social status could effect you here. Maybe try finding partners who fit the ideal you’re attracted to in social world or simply forget about that & let go.

Saturn in 11H

The money & income of either yourself or your partner could effect your sexual stimulation. Even the social circles you hang in. If you’re attracted to a person but his/her friend group doesn’t align you maybe turned off. Also patience, you might be rushing the act to get there. Take your time

Saturn in 12H:

Your intuition will tell you everything. So if you’re not aligned spiritually, or have some sort of connection with a partner you could hav trouble cumming. Sex should be a sacred & devoted practice. Also your needs for solitude might be a huge indicator of not being able to cum

@nianeyemystic

[cheeseatlantic]

oddities!!

The door creaks open, and before you can even call out, Simon’s voice fills the house.

“There’s my tiny wife,” he drawls, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Worked her little heart out today, didn’t she?”

You roll your eyes, barely able to suppress your smile as you sink deeper into the couch. Your feet ache from hours of standing, and your limbs feel like dead weight, but the second you hear him—deep, warm, and fond—you feel lighter.

Simon steps into the room, already shrugging off his jacket. His eyes sweep over you, and his lips twitch in amusement. “Christ, love. You look like you ran a marathon.”

You huff dramatically, stretching your arms above your head. “Might as well have.”

His gaze softens, and before you know it, he’s crouched in front of you, hands already reaching to pull your legs into his lap. His touch is firm but gentle, his thumbs pressing slow circles into your calves. “Poor little thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head like you’re the most pitiful creature he’s ever seen. “Made to work so hard today. Didn’t even have her big, strong Simon to help.”

You scoff, but the sound turns into a hum as his hands move higher, kneading the tension from your legs. “Mm. Keep talking like that, and I’ll start expecting this every day.”

Simon chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that makes your stomach flutter. “You already do, sweetheart.”

He’s right. You do. But it’s not your fault that he treats you like you’re made of glass, like the world is too rough, too harsh for someone as soft as you. He’s been like this since the day you met, only worse now that you’re married—watching you like a hawk, carrying things before you can, doing the smallest, sweetest things that remind you just how much he adores you.

And God, do you love being adored by him.

His hands finally still, warm palms sliding up the sides of your thighs. “C’mon, up you go, baby.” he murmurs before effortlessly pulling you into his arms.

You yelp, but he barely reacts, shifting you in his hold as he settles onto the couch with you in his lap. His arms wrap around you, big and sturdy, and you melt against him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, face pressing into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Mhm,” he hums, resting his chin atop your head. “But I’m your ridiculous husband.”

Your ridiculous husband who treats you like royalty, who kisses your forehead like it’s sacred, who never lets you lift a damn thing if he can help it.

“Did you eat?” he asks after a moment, tilting his head to try and meet your gaze.

You hesitate.

Simon sighs, already knowing the answer. “Of course, you didn’t,” he mutters, shifting as if he’s about to stand—with you still in his arms.

“Wait, wait!” you protest, wrapping your arms around his neck in an attempt to hold him still. “I was too tired, Simon.”

“Too tired to eat, but not too tired to sit here and pout?”

You glare up at him, and he grins.

“Sit tight, princess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple before standing, still holding you like you weigh nothing. “Gonna fix this.”

Simon carries you to the kitchen, setting you on the counter with a firm, “Stay.” He turns toward the fridge, muttering under his breath, something about “can’t have my wife wasting away” and “useless at takin’ care of herself, she is.”

You swing your legs, watching him work. He moves with an easy confidence, pulling things out of the fridge, heating something up on the stove, like taking care of you is second nature. Like he doesn’t even have to think about it.

It makes your chest ache.

“Did you eat?” you ask, just to be difficult.

He doesn’t even turn around. “’Course I did. Unlike someone, I know how to take care of myself.”

You huff, leaning forward to grab his shirt and give it a little tug. “I take care of you.”

He finally turns, looking down at you with something soft in his eyes. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping between your legs. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your dress. “You do.”

You grin up at him, smug. “So, there.”

Simon chuckles, shaking his head before dipping down to kiss you. It’s slow and warm, his lips lingering on yours like he has nowhere else to be, nothing else to do but kiss his wife in the middle of the kitchen.

And you suppose he doesn’t.

When he pulls back, he flicks your nose gently. “Eat first. Then you can argue with me.”

You roll your eyes but let him finish making your food, watching as he plates it with all the care in the world before setting it in front of you. He even grabs a fork and holds it out, raising a brow.

“You want me to feed you, too?”

You huff a laugh, grabbing the fork from him. “Not today.”

Simon hums, leaning against the counter beside you as you eat. His fingers brush over your knee, absentminded and gentle. “Gonna run you a bath after this,” he murmurs. “Maybe give you a massage. My girl worked so hard today, didn’t she?”

You try to play it cool, but your face warms at the way he says it—low and full of affection, like you hung the moon just by existing.

“You don’t have to do all that,” you mumble, even though you desperately want him to.

Simon clicks his tongue. “Not about havin’ to. I want to, love.” He nudges your cheek with his nose, whispering, “Wanna take care of you.”

You turn your face, burying your warm cheeks in his shirt. “You’re embarrassing,” you mumble.

He laughs, tilting his head down to kiss the top of yours. “That so?”

“Yes.”

“Mm. Well.” His arms wrap around you, pulling you into him. “Better get used to it, Mrs. Riley.”

You do.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Y! Young Justice (the og) x villain! reader

You twist, defiant even now, and they feel it—their adversary, their ghost, the one who slipped from their grasp with a laugh on the wind, now held tight. Tonight, the uncatchable is caught, and their silent victory thrums like a heartbeat in the air around you.

Kaldur’s water binds hold fast, yet there’s a strange gentleness as he looks at you, eyes deep as the sea he commands. His grip is sure but reverent, each ripple around your wrists a silent hymn to the dance you’ve led him through, chase after chase, like a lover drawn to shore by the moon. His eyes are an ocean, quiet and unfathomable, but tonight there’s no mistaking the longing within them—a soft, undulating desire to hold what he’s finally claimed.

Wally stands close, not taunting but transfixed, his smirk softer than usual, as though he’s taken his place beside you at last. You’ve always been the thrill, the pulse in his veins, the rush of the wind at his back. The quicksilver desire he’s buried comes to the surface, flickering like light itself as he watches you now. There’s something poetic in his gaze, like a line of verse held just for you, words spinning in the silence as his fingers twitch, yearning to trace every inch of the face he’s only seen in blurs of speed.

Robin moves with precision, binding you with a care that’s more art than security. His eyes linger on every knot, every inch of skin beneath his gloved fingers, crafting his hold as if sculpting something sacred, every tie a testament to the chase that brought you to this point. He’s not simply holding you down; he’s committing you to memory, carving his mark into every second. The vigilante has become a poet, each knot in his rope a line in the unspoken sonnet he’s woven around you.

Conner watches with an intensity that goes beyond duty, his protective instincts woven with the depth of a soul that’s finally found something worth holding. His admiration is fierce, a silent ode to the strength you’ve shown against him time and again. The quiet in his gaze is the chorus he’s always sung for you—a promise etched in steel, a love wrapped in the strength he wields, silent but unbreakable. He’d turn worlds to dust before letting you slip away again.

Above, M’gann floats with a gentle, boundless reverence, her empathy a quiet lullaby echoing through your mind. There’s a depth to her gaze, a wish to hold you safe, to shield you from every shadow. Her presence wraps around you, the warmth of a song without words, each glance a silent lyric, a promise she wants to whisper only for you. Her thoughts spill over, her devotion filling every corner of your mind like a quiet symphony, promising to keep you safe, her heart’s song bound to you.

And Artemis, fierce and unwavering, watches from the edge, her gaze sharper than any arrow she’s ever shot. The smirk that once mocked you has softened into something reverent. She’s a huntress who’s caught her elusive prey, but there’s no more need for the chase. She wants to keep you close, to pull you into her orbit as if you were a star meant to be drawn to her. Her pride for you is fierce, unbending; her eyes drink you in like an anthem she’s claimed for herself.

Each of them stands close, a circle drawn tight, their poetry woven around you, their gazes fierce and unbreakable. You’re no longer simply their rival—you’re a muse, their song, the obsession they’ve crafted verse by verse in their minds. They’ve turned the chase into a masterpiece, and now, their poem is complete: you’re here, captured by verses only they can write, bound to them in a love that echoes like a heartbeat.

(A/n: when will I make a real story? I think never)

[ravens-bird]

Midnight Warmth – Sylus.

Pairing: Sylus x F!Reader

Tags: Established relationship, starts with Sylus' pov but changes to reader pov, fluff, based on Midnight Warmth Tender Moment, slightly suggestive towards the end, kissing, hickeys/marking. Let me know if I missed any!

wc: 2k.

Note: This has been rotating in my mind for ages 😭 Not really Beta'd 🤚

IT WAS A FRIDAY NIGHT.

The week had stretched on endlessly, time dragging its feet as if conspiring against him, and keeping you from him.

Normally, Sylus had little interest in the passage of time.

To him, it had simply passed then – without notice. Quietly.

His world had been perfect before. Perfectly monotonous? Perhaps. But perfect nonetheless.

Until you crashed into his life like chaotic, explosive sunshine – like a splash of colour onto his otherwise monochrome canvas.

Now? He was perfectly content. Happy. 

With you in his life now, the way time slipped between his fingers felt significant. Alarming.

He had to fight against his draconic instinct to keep you hidden away, like the most precious treasure in his hoard. He managed — barely.

How dare you barge into his life like this? Stealing his peace of mind, his heart, his very soul?

No one dared to steal from him.

(“He's lying,” Luke would whisper conspiratorially to you. “He got his bike stolen once.”

What? 

“And a money tree!” Keiran added helpfully. 

What??

“Caw!” Mephisto agreed.) 

… That said, Friday Nights were sacred to him. 

(He wouldn't be caught dead admitting it, of course. Perhaps he can be coaxed into it, though. Maybe.)

Because Friday Nights often meant you time. 

And that was why, despite the dull movie playing in the background, the warmth of your body wrapped around him combined with the peacefulness of the moment was so precious to him.  

The room was bathed in the warm glow of the ceiling lights, while a comforting scent of cinnamon lingered in the air. With a fuzzy throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you nestled against him as you rested your head against his shoulder.

Your legs draped lazily over his lap, while his arm curled securely around you, holding you close. His other rested on your knee, the cool metal of his rings make your skin tingle.

In a haze of drowsiness, you don’t bother paying attention to the TV, instead fixated on the touch of his fingers on your leg as he traced slow, absent-minded circles over your skin.

The sound of his heartbeat – though comforting, chased all remnants of sleep. You sigh, shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position.

Sylus’ fingers flex against your back in response, and a quiet hum rumbles from his chest.

“You’re still awake?” His voice was soft, lazy, laced with affection as he adjusted his hold on you, chuckling when you fidget again. “You’re fussy, kitten.”

The smooth timbre of his voice sends a delicious shiver down your spine, and you nestle closer to him, fingers curling in his shirt.

God, he smelled so good.

“Why did you move closer?” His smirk was evident in his tone, and you didn’t need to look at his face to know he was watching you with that teasing glint in his crimson eyes.

He knew you got clingy when sleepy, and yet he liked to point it out as if it were something new each time.

With a huff, you lightly dig your elbow into his side as he sighs, relenting.

“Okay, okay. You’re spoiled rotten, that’s for sure,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your head as his arms tightened around you further.

Silence settles again, save for the faint hum of voices and music from the movie playing in the background like white-noise, and you shut your eyes breathing him in. You give in to the drowsiness, letting yourself drift off.

But sleep remained elusive.

The steady thumping of his heart – though usually comforting – sounded like drums in your head until sleep abandoned you. After a few moments of futile attempts, you cracked your eyes open, giving up on sleep.

Tilting your head slightly, your gaze traced the faint crease between his brows, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and the dips and sharp curves of his face. Silver hair falls over his forehead, and you reach up to push it away when he grabs your wrist.

He raises an eyebrow questioningly, and you blurt out the first thing that comes to your mind.

“I have some ideas for what we could do tomorrow,” you say, pulling your wrist from his grasp. He lets you, and you immediately reach up again, to ruffle his hair – messing it up further.

He captures your wrist again, bringing it down to place it over his heart as his eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment, taking in your smile, before looking away.

“I’ll leave the planning to you.” He says after a beat. “I’ll see what you’re planning first, and then decide whether I’ll come.”

You roll your eyes. Liar. You knew he was going to come no matter what, and yet he liked to pretend otherwise.

Still, he remained quiet as you began listing the things you had been wanting to do with him – some were little plans that had lingered in your mind for some time now, and others just some crazy ideas that you know he would grumble about.

His fingers trail up your shin as he listens, fingers grazing the curve of your knee, the slope of your thighs and back, and the warmth of his hands seeping through your clothes chases away the light chill.

“That’s a lot,” he chuckles softly once you finish, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Can you really do all of that in one day?”

You scoff, and pinch his side lightly in response.

His smirk widens. “You just want to spend time with me,” he says more than asks, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “You’re a sly one, kitten.”

Before you could fire back a retort, he leans down, brushing his lips against your ear.

“But if you get tired and start complaining halfway through…” his breath fans over your ear, heating the skin. “I won’t accept that.”

Your cheeks burn at the insinuation, and you bite your lip as you turned your head, pulling the blanket tighter around you and over your face in a feeble attempt to escape his knowing gaze.

Your thoughts had taken a decidedly… southward turn, and you knew that he had done it on purpose. That sly crow.

He lets out a quiet laugh, shoulders shaking slightly as he tugs on the fuzzy fabric covering you.

“Don’t hide under the blanket, kitten. I remember everything you said.” His voice was warm honey, and you knew that he could have you anywhere – anyway – he wanted you.

And that you would let him.

But he was also being insufferably smug right now. So, you just grumble, keeping your face turned away. “I’m not hiding. I’m just going to sleep.”

“But your eyes are still open. Can you fall asleep like that?”

You stubbornly refuse to respond, a small pout on your lips as you flop your head back against his shoulder. He exhales in mock exasperation, shifting you both so he could rub a large hand down your back – as if you were a tantrum throwing child whom he had to console.

Your lips thin, but you continue to ignore him.

But when his hand slips higher, fingers threading through your hair in slow, soothing strokes, you sigh, melting into his touch.

After a few more moments, you forget all about sulking.

“Can’t you sleep with me?” you mutter against his shirt.

“Do you even know what time it is? For me the day has just begun.”

Despite his words, he doesn’t budge. Eventually, he concedes. “Since you can’t sleep, I’ll tell you a story. Might be a little boring, by the way.”

You listen quietly as he launches into a tale that he claims he heard from an old man. His voice wove a quiet lullaby, painting vivid imagery of an old, towering castle and a young girl who started living in it. His words flow easily, and you try not to interrupt.

Eventually, the conversation shifts towards nocturnal creatures, until eventually – Sylus’s uncanny resemblance to vampires.

“Pale skin, red eyes, very active during the night…” You trail off, grinning mischievously.

“I do sound like one, when you put it that way.” He shakes his head a little. “What else?”

You sit up now, letting the blanket fall away as you squinted at him.

“Sharp teeth, tendency to bite,” you list, as you poke lightly at the corner of his mouth, before adding, “Bullying people.”

He seems amused. “How does a vampire bully someone exactly?” 

You roll your eyes about to retort when he suddenly shifts, pulling you into his lap so you can straddle him, bringing his mouth down to your neck.

“Like this?” He speaks against your throat as your heart flips, hands immediately bracing themselves against the back of the leather couch, though there is no need. Sylus has you firmly in his grasp, and it seems… he won’t be letting go of you anytime soon.

He sniffs your neck lightly, the tip of his nose brushing against sensitive skin as you tense, squirming at the ticklish sensation. “Your scent... I want it.” His voice is low and deep, and his touch is so warm that your mind goes blank of all thoughts except ones of him.

“I’ll just nibble this…” he nips at your throat, and the sharp twinge is instantly met with a warm swipe of his tongue, and your breath hitches. “Is that it?” He asks, still holding you in place. You squirm again, moving your arms to his shoulders, your fingers pressing into his shirt.

He bites again, and you push one hand up to thread your fingers through his silky hair. This time, it stings a lot more – though it has your stomach fluttering.

He leans up to peck your lips softly, before he speaks again. “Answer me.” A small chuckle. “Was I too rough?” Another peck. “Is this what they call bullying?” 

You grip his hair as he dips his head again, kissing the spot he’d bitten. “I didn’t do it on purpose. You’re the one who said I look like a vampire.” 

The space between you crackled with heat as you shifted closer, pressing against him deliberately, feeling the solid warmth of him against you.

“You weren’t rough enough,” you tease.

His crimson eyes darkened as his hands gripped your hips. “Keep doing that,” he warns, “and you’ll be getting punished.”

Your fingers curl around his collar, tugging. “And what would that be?”

His gaze flickers down to the reddening mark he had left on your neck. “Perhaps I’ll just have to mark you,” he muses, thumb brushing over the bruised skin, “like the girl in the movie.”

Before you could fire back, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips. Too quick. Not enough.

You frown frustrated, when his fingers cup your jaw, palm pressing lightly against your throat as he stops you from kissing him.

“Your intention wasn’t to help me sleep, was it?”

“It was,” he replies, though there is no sincerity in his voice. “But now I regret it.” His fingers trailed lower, featherlight. “You’re not sleepy at all. I need to try something else.”

You barely had a moment to react before he effortlessly shifts you off his lap, getting up and scooping you into his arms. You gasp as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“We won’t wake up in time to pick strawberries in the morning, will we?” you muse, arching a brow as he carries you to the bedroom.

He smiles, and the tips of his canines gleam like fangs. “The strawberries aren’t ripe yet, he murmurs, setting you down on the bed before he climbs in, the mattress dipping under his weight. “And,” he adds, voice dark with promises, “I still have to show you the rest of the story.”

And show you, he did.

The last thing you hear is, “You’ll get everything you ever ask for. Just be patient.”

masterlist.

[roamingleaf]

"Maximum Occupancy"

TW: Bukkake, R@pe, Public, Freeuse, Fauxcest(BroXSis), Gangbang, Degrading, Dirty Talk, Blackmail

"Stop taking pictures with your phones." She shakily protested. As a tinted rosy flush started to simmer under her summer rain soft cheeks. What was the cause of the crimson imprinting steaming away at such an unblemished, marble face? The fact that her school mandated navy blue skirt that was expected to be prim, pressed, and presentable at all times was lazily crumpled up and cast into some obscure corner of that florescent flooded linoleum bathroom.

There, exposed before the eyes of a few delinquent boys was her pale, plush, plumped thighs which seemed as if they had been woven into the very fabric of her mesh black stockings. With that guiding roadmap on full display those devilish glares walked their way up to her itty-bitty, raven, almost yarn like thread she swore where panties for a mere peak at that hidden oasis. This horrendous, shameful endeavour couldn't be made any worse could it?

Sadly, it could. one of those four hooligans to have cornered this innocent lass was her own brother. Even as our Ivory bunny pleaded for the snaps of those cameras to cease, he would be the one to brazenly lead the charge of ignoring it and continuing to treat her like their personal model.

"I told you she'd do it." He proudly bragged to the group of gawking boys. All but astounded by his rash, bold, forthrightness that they too continued to snap away.

Her protest would not cease however, with one of her slender hands she tried desperately to keep that sacred shrine out of the eyes of such devils. "I'm serious Issac...stop taking pictures with your phone."

But again, her quiet riot was met with deafening silence before Issac himself stepped closer to address this perceived bratty behavior. "Ya'll want to see something cool?" He posed to the peanut gallery before firmly reaching out and grasping her flowing, golden locks between his fingers. With such a sturdy hold upon her only such a dark wish could await. Suddenly as if thunder erupting a crashing clap could be heard echoing through that small confinement. He had done the unthinkable in front of these gazing glares. Issac had reddened her flushed, ghostly cheeks.

Unfortunately for this frightened, petite, doll that clap seemed to be the signal for the circling vultures to descend upon her with the speed of the winds. One of the boys helped Isaac push this porcelain statue up against the wall securing her tightly. All while a second boy was sure to slowly unbutton her school embroidered shirt. Those emerald eyes of hers couldn't help but fall upon Isaac as his gleeful grin was all the support he would give back.

"Don't let them do this Issac, I'm your si-"

Before another word could be uttered in defiance Isaac's lips met his sisters. This love drunk embrace was so misplaced. Nevertheless, that shocked the other boys. They themselves couldn't help but enjoy the show as Isaac's tongue slipped between her cherried, treasured lips. What grunting, groaning, resistance she had before was all but melting away between the steaming embrace of their lips locking.

This sullied display of sin was more than enough to call the final boy into action. Moving in next to the second boy they both pulled her matching black bra down to reveal her precious, rolling hills. Like the hungry creatures they were both of them started to suck, nipple, and squeeze the breasts that were in front of them. Only as her enchanting, symphony started to leak from between Isaac's embrace did they finally break for air. He pulled himself from her lips to watch as his friends started to defile his own flesh and blood with their teeth and tongues.

"Isn't she such a little slut? I've trained her well." He boasted again. Implying this was far from the first time he had tried his hand with her frame. Now, the first boy wanted a taste of her lips as well. Seeing his chance with the hand that was free her head was tilted to the left where another pair of lips locked with hers once again. There would be no need for too long of a break for her sadly.

Issac saw this as the perfect opportunity to switch with his friend. Maneuvering his lumbering frame in front of hers Issac would waste no time taking that well shaped, juicy, pale peach into his palms and lifting her up off the ground. With ease her brother and some stranger kept her suspended between their grasp. "Make sure you get a good angle." He reminded one of the boys who still greedily had their phone out. "Are you ready for me whore?" He taunted softly into her ear as his javelin-like shaft made its way into the awaiting, glistening, cove of hers.

By this point her mind was already struggling to stay afloat in that hazy, lust fueled daze her senses were thrown into. The only response she could muster was a booming, entrancing, moan as her greedy hole gobbled her big brother's cock in front of these nobodies. "You're so much tighter today, what's wrong? You love an audience you filthy doll?"

Taunt, after taunt was hurled in her face to match the steady rhythmic thrusting he was starting to establish. The boy who had been helping prop this petite portrait up could not help but let his wandering hands lead down towards her jiggling chest for a handful. He too would soon find his own rhyme. A deadly mix between groping, grasping, and squeezing her breast all while his tongue would trace shapes along the fringe of her ear. How could this be happening? Yet, that thought would have no time to settle in her mind through this vicious ravaging.

Oh, but who could forget those two other monsters waiting eagerly in the wings both with phones in hand to capture this private pornography. Unfortunately this was far from the end. Issac hungered to present his pretty portrait in every way he could think of. Pulling himself from deep within her soiled, creamy, cove he eased her down to her knees while calling forth the boys to gather with a mere wave of his hand.

"Open your fucking mouth." Issac barked. And like the timid, touched, tulip she listened. Her dripping, tongue happily slithered from between her lips as everyone who had not unzipped, quickly stepped to catch up. Beneath that dim humming light her hands and mouth were filled with cocks. Stroking them in time with her oddly soft yet, firm grip while her mouth was used by Isaac. The last boy, knowing he would not get something was swift to shift to the side of Isaac, aligning his shaft near her bobbing head in some desperate plea to be next.

It wouldn't be long from here till the shaft in her left hand abruptly erupted onto her glowing, blonde locks and between the crevices of her fingers. Which seemed to cause a chain reaction as the one in her right hand followed suit. This time, marking more over her cheek and chin. The runt of the litter saw his chance and quickly pounced. Taking both of her hands to wrap them around his shaft, he would thrust between them as if he was trying to impregnate her very palms.

Issac laughed as he saw this as a race to the finish. Who would be the last to add their part to this pretty portrait? Due to Isaac's tightening grasp upon his dear little sister's head he could become twice as violent with his reshaping thrusts into her throat. That once soothing moaning symphony was quickly turning into a gargling, haunting, orchestra of corruption. Neither one of them seemed ready to lose, that was when Issac freed himself from the coils of her breathless throat to plaster his seed precisely upon her elegant tapestry face.

Having to be the last finished, the runt was sure to take advantage. Moving his shaft out from her hands, he was the first to use her squishy, pillowy hills to encircle his cock. This must have been the piece of the puzzle missing, for not too long between them did he too, erupt. Spilling himself amongst her snowy white mountains.

"Good man, now bend her over." How could Issac still want more after this depraved scene left in their wake? Yet this call went heeded with tenacious speed.

This filthy debauchery continued until the sun dropped below the crest of the horizon--On that cold, disgusting, ceramic tiles of the bathroom did her exhausted, exploited, leaking canvas lay after they had finished each painting her as they saw fit.

-🪶

[laylaplease]

Stupid girl with perfect little cunt ༘♡ *.｡˚

ׁ ֶָ֢ ⏤͟͟͞͞☕️ ׁ ࣭ warnings ! ۪ ׁ ⊹ || Dom!Anakin × Sub!Fem!Reader, dubcon, pussy torture, orgasm denial, degrading, praising, pet names, swearing, panty stuffing, PinV, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, daddy kink, pain kink, dacryphilia, begging, clit play, fingering, tied hands, male masturbation. MDNI

"Oh my, what a needy pussy you got, hmmm?” Anakin coos, his fingers caress your drenched panties right over your slit. “It’s just getting wetter and wetter.”

He speaks with great amusement present in his voice, no remorse for your exhausted, writhing self; you’ve been restrained in his bed for around an hour, and all he’s doing is just edging and edging and edging... Anakin didn’t care how your wrists hurt or how your cunt trembled with each ruined orgasm; all he knew was that seeing you at his mercy made him incredibly hard, and he anticipated producing a lot of cum to stuff you full with later. But that has yet to come.

“There we go, feels good, doesn’t it?” His thumb rubs tiny circles over your covered clit, making another spark of electricity tingle your lower tummy. It felt amazing, the pain felt amazing.

“’S too much, Ani—” You cry, involuntary, trying to free your arms from the tight rope he’s bound you with.

“Yeah, baby, keep begging like that.” He rolls his eyes at your words, only speeding the movement around your swollen bud while his fist wraps around his cock, pumping it to the matching pace.

Your back arches, lower muscles ache from unnatural movement, making tears form in your eyes. There was no point in begging; your throat was sore from pleading cries, hands were bruised, throbbing pussy puffed, and sensitive to the smallest caress; and yet none of those things made Anakin consider stopping.

How could he stop? Why would he stop when you pleased him so much? Your cunt clenching around nothing, undies soaked through with your sweet juices dripping onto the sheets, tainting his bed with the remains of you that he would later bask in. You were a pretty little doll, all for him to love and all for him to torture; your pain and pleasure belonged to him.

“Let’s take a look,” His fingers hook under the waistband of your underwear and slowly tug them down, soft cotton unsticking from your abused pussy, sending shivers down your spine. Anakin pulls them all the way off, admiring the artwork that was created because of him.

“Look at these…” He brings the ruined material to his nose and inhales deeply. “Slutty pussy ruining all the pretty things; I should punish it more, mmm?” He pats your tender folds, making sure the tips of his fingers smack right against your pulsating clit so you whimper for him more.

“N-no!” You sob, trying to squirm your hips away from his bitter touch, which only makes his cock twitch towards you, aching to be welcomed deep in your guts. 

“You are in no place to complain, little whore.” Anakin, quite obviously unpleased by your actions, grabs your legs and pulls you back to him. Snaking under your knees, he pushes your legs up, raising your pelvis. His muscular arm is enough to hold them in place, with your knees almost touching your ears. “Pretty sopping cunt, all for daddy to spread.” He tsks, enjoying how it pulsed and trembled from the lack of pleasure.

His words were instantly followed by two thick fingers sliding easily knuckles deep and proceeding with a scissor-like motion, opening up your most sacred place. He swirls his digits around, juices sloshing around his flesh, pussy full of wetness that he’d love to eat out of you. But that would drive you over the edge, and it wasn’t on his to-do list. No, you were going to be a good toy and enjoy pleasing him instead. That’s what the dirty slut of a girlfriend is for.

“So greedy, just asking to be fucked.” He sucks you off his fingers, savoring the taste, a sight almost invisible through your glossy eyes. Anakin reached back for your damp, discarded panties, folding them messily.

His index slides back in you, accompanied by the cotton of your undies, material scratches your moistened skin, making your legs tremble.

“N-no, please!” Your voice breaks, pretty begs catching his attention.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Anakin hums, continuing to stuff you full of your own underwear slowly. “Need daddy’s cock? Is that why you’re so squirmy?”

“Yes, yes, daddy, please, need to cum, fuck— fuck me, please!” You blabber, trying to make him fuck your delicious, dripping pussy. “Please, need it s’ bad!”

He chuckles at your desperation, slipping out of your cunt, leaving the pink material peeking outside just a tiny bit while the rest of the lace soaks up your wetness.

“Of course, honey, I couldn’t just not cum in such a pretty hole.” He releases your legs, dropping them down at each side of his thighs as he lines himself to your entrance.

He slides in slowly, careful not to drive your panties further than he intended. Once his swollen head is wrapped between your spongy walls, he stops completely, making you whine in frustration.

“Pleasepleaseplease need to cum, please!” You try bucking your hips forward, not even caring what will happen to your expensive garment, for it was probably already ruined beyond repair, leaving its only purpose to make your pussy even more sore.

Anakin pushes you down, pinning your lower body to the bed, annoyed at your whinny, stupid self. He pinches your puffed-up clit between his fingers.

“Shut the fuck up.” He hisses, making tears drip down your cheeks. “One more squirm, one more peep, one more dumb word from your stupid mouth, and you won’t be walking for weeks.”

Naturally, you do shut the fuck up. Your glossy eyes stare at him, trying to keep still so his treat won’t become reality. You know what happens to disobedient sluts. You know what Anakin does to you when you fail to please him.

“Thought so.” His anger eases when you cooperate, and yet he remains still, only the tip of his cock stretching your entrance. He wraps his fingers around the rest of his length and starts pumping it.

Planting your hips into the mattress, you try not to move as he uses you like a little cum dump, not even trying to properly fuck you. Your brain scrambled from how perfect his moans and grunts are; you are proud; you are grateful to be the one who gets his precious seed; and as long as he deems your womb as usable, you are fulfilled.

“Good girl, gonna stuff you full.” He grunts. His hand strokes faster and faster.

Feeling the lack of your moans, he grants you the pleasure of his thumb back on your clit, caressing it up and down to the speed of his hand.

“That’s it, my stupid breeding hole, you’ll take daddy’s cum, yeah? Get that womb nice and busy…”

He talks you and him both into a sweet release, his filthy words making your insides tremble with the need. Even if he won’t fuck you, you’re thankful. Pussy split, ready to receive the load, pretty panties stuffed inside, tortured clit finally being rubbed to its content, and the prospect of your daddy knocking you up finally gets you over the edge. Your trembling body shakes his bed as you finally get to feel the release, highlighted by Anakin’s hot cum leaking inside of you. His fist keeps milking all of the viscous liquid, filling you to the brim, leaving your poor panties and sore pussy ruined.

[ollieolliewrld]

DMC Men in Bed (NSFW)(afab!reader)

A brief take on what the Sparda men are like in bed~

*CONTAINS SEXUAL CONTENT 18+*

0.8k words

Dante

☾ He is a very playful lover

☾ With a sex drive as high as his you will be pushed to your limits

☾ While he is a giver all of the pleasure given to you comes with teasing 

☾ Adores seeing you mindlessly drunk on pleasure

☾ He is never pleased with just one orgasm out of you

☾ Dante craves more from you having you on his cock on the brink of tears 

☾ Watching as you try to squirm away from his thumb circling your clit

☾ “Don’t run from it, Baby”

☾ Loves to have your leg on his shoulder as he fucks you

☾ He wants to see the look on your face when he thrusts his full length inside of you

☾ Will ask you questions knowing that you are unable to answer

☾ “How does that feel, Princess? Do you know how good you feel around me?”

☾ The messier you get the better

☾ If he can’t cum inside of you he will be cumming on your tits

☾ He would take a picture of you if he could and keep it with him

☾ Dante thinks you look so cute covered in his cum, your thighs slick with your juices 

☾ Just when you think he’s done he will pull one last orgasm from you

☾ “You can take it, show me you can”

☾ As you lay there out of breath and mindless he takes the time to engrave this image in his head, each time better than the last

☾ He will always clean you up afterward, making sure you know that you are cared for 

☾ Then he pulls you to his chest stroking your hair and whispering to you until you drift off to sleep

Vergil

☾ His dominance in bed ranges from slow and controlled to making it so he will be helping you walk the next day

☾ No matter what Vergil is a vocal lover

☾ Very big on praise as he has your face buried in a pillow, his hands on your hips as he thrusts into you you’ll hear

☾ “You’re so pretty like this”

☾ He flips you over and slides back into you placing a hand on your throat

☾ “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop”

☾ Gets drunk on the sounds that you make 

☾ The surprised gasp you let out as he places a slap on your ass 

☾ The moans you illicit when he takes your breasts into his hands 

☾ “Say my name”

☾ Will fuck you until all you can say is his name like a mantra

☾ Rough sex is his favorite, having his hand pulling at the roots of your hair bringing your back against his chest so he can speak directly into your ear

☾ “Look at you taking my cock so well, my little slut”

☾ He takes his time with sex wanting to feel every part of you

☾ As rough as he gets with you Vergil takes his time to kiss over the marks he has left on you

☾ Sex to him is sacred and carries meaning, he uses it as a way to show you his feelings for you allowing himself to be fully vulnerable with you

☾ Breeding kink, seeing his cum leaking out of you drives him feral

☾ He loves to watch it slowly dripping out and then fuck it back into you with his thick fingers

Nero

☾ This sweet boy doesn’t have much experience yet

☾ At first, he is a bit timid but is eager to learn 

☾ It starts off with him wanting to finger you 

☾ Taking it slow Nero works his way along your body learning where to touch, the sounds you make, what makes your back arch

☾ The first time you have sex you get on top of him rolling your hips experimentally 

☾ He holds his hands on your hips watching where your bodies meet desperately trying to control his hips as you ride him

☾ Nero does not talk much as he is too focused on how he feels and making sure that he is doing what you like 

☾ Switches between whimpers when you are on top and small grunts when he is thrusting into you 

☾ But he likes to move you around, picking you up from off his lap and walking you over to a wall holding you up as he thrusts into you 

☾ Loves to use his strength in the bedroom, no matter what size you are he will be moving you with ease 

☾ Gets easily egged on by your voice, hearing you moan signals him to go harder 

☾ Doesn’t mind you being in control at first but he becomes more dominant as time goes on

☾ As his confidence rises Nero starts to take more control putting you into different positions 

☾ Cannot control himself while you go down on him

☾ Grabbing at your hair and bucking his hips 

☾ When he sees you swallow his cum it unlocks a new kink for him as he pulls you up to kiss him

Author's note: Very open to any comments, recommendations, or criticism!! I don't write a lot of NSFW pieces so let me know how I can Improve <3<3

[chwrrylace]

─── ❝ OH, MY GOOD LOOKING BOY ❞

SUMMARY ; the morning after with jayce talis

JAYCE TALIS x fem!reader.

CONTENT ; established relationship, fluffy, viktor mentioned (bcs why tf not)

WORD COUNT ; 450

A/N ; im still in denial that this man isnt alive and also that the fact ARCANE is over forever like i believe i deserved more and better😭 (but it was like inevitable lwk so). ANYWAY my title is inspire by Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 is warmth.

The kind that settles into your bones, lulling you into that perfect space between wakefulness and dreams. A strong arm drapes over your waist, the weight grounding and familiar, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your bare skin.

Jayce.

You can feel his breath against the back of your neck, steady and deep, the rhythm of sleep still holding him captive. It’s rare to see him so still—no council meetings, no hammer-forging, no Hextech worries clouding his mind. Just him. Just you. Wrapped up in golden morning light and tangled sheets.

A smile tugs at your lips as you shift slightly, stretching. The movement earns a sleepy hum from Jayce before his arm tightens around you, pulling you back into his chest.

"Mm, don't move," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. "Too early for that."

You chuckle, turning in his arms until you’re face to face. His eyes are still closed, dark lashes resting against sun-kissed skin, his hair tousled from sleep. He looks softer like this—less like the brilliant mind of Piltover, more like the man who whispered sweet nothings to you last night, who kissed you like you were something sacred.

"You’re awake," you tease, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"Only because you moved," he grumbles, cracking one eye open to peer at you. "And because you're staring."

"I'm allowed to stare at my handsome genius boyfriend."

He huffs a laugh, eyes finally opening fully. They’re warm, filled with something soft and unspoken. His fingers trail along your spine, sending a pleasant shiver through you.

"Last night was..." He pauses, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his lips. "Incredible."

"Yeah?" You raise a brow. "Good enough to skip work for the day?"

Jayce groans, flopping onto his back. "Tempting. But Viktor would kill me."

You prop yourself up on one elbow, tracing a finger along his bare chest. "He would. But you work too much anyway. One morning won’t hurt."

Jayce catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "You make a good argument."

"And if that doesn’t convince you," you say, voice dropping into something softer, "I can think of other ways to keep you here a little longer."

His grin turns wicked as he rolls over, pinning you beneath him. "I like the way you think."

The morning stretches on, filled with soft kisses, whispered laughter, and golden light spilling across the bed. For once, the world outside can wait.

© chwrrylace — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Quick Notes:

You, the reader who is an artist, and had become Alastor's sweetheart, have just died.

Alastor is about to find out.

Part 7:

The sound of a singular gunshot rang clearly in the night that had been so peacefully quiet up until that moment in time.

Alastor, with the engagement ring in his pocket, who had been peacefully reading a novel within the confines of your shared home, nearly ripped his book in half upon hearing the sound of a gunshot in these woods.

The forest around here was part of his private property, anyone who dared to trespass or hunt in his neck of the woods was shot on sight. Many people ignored the plentiful and very obvious warning signs, so it wasn't his fault so many people ended up becoming your and his meals. Everyone else just thought the law didn't apply to them, straight-up criminals. In his eyes, they all deserved it.

Thinking it was just another nuisance, a "tsk" left Alastor's mouth as he grabbed his shotgun and headed into the woods.

After a few minutes of walking, he finally caught sight of the transgressors. Two men that he, unfortunately, recognized right away as the men from the bar who liked to push his buttons by harassing you.

The seething rage pooled in his core, bubbling up into his chest. This was his chance to get rid of those nuisances once and for all.

They would trouble his darling no more.

For him to get into a better position to take the men out, he crouched down and quietly circled around them like a hunter playing with his prey.

After circling around to position himself behind the men, what he wasn't expecting to see was the most nightmarish sight he's ever seen.

His beloved sweetheart, soon to be betrothed, all disheveled and tied up against a blood-splattered tree with a bullet lodged in the middle of their forehead.

Your eyes were lifeless. There was no doubt about it, the love of his life was dead.

Alastor didn't need to even think before pulling the trigger on the men, shooting one after the other, over and over, even after their bodies had hit the ground.

He. Was. Enraged.

By the time Alastor was done with them, they looked like Swiss cheese, barely strung together.

Alastor's breath was heavy, his chest heaving, near hyperventilating, his eyes were enlarged and his mind was focused on one thing. You.

His beautiful love, he couldn't bear to see you in this state.

In his oddly manic and shocked state, he untied you from the tree and took your body back to your shared home in the woods not too far from here.

For a few moments, his rage was replaced by sorrow and mourning as he buried you in the backyard. As fucked up as he was in the head sometimes, he would rather die than think about eating you. You were sacred to him.

As he laid you down into the ground, he embraced you once last time and took the ring out of his pocket. He placed the ring onto your ring finger and kissed the top of your hand, "In life and in death, I am forever yours, as you are forever mine. I love you, dear."

After you were buried, the rage returned like a vicious tsunami. Oh he wasn't done with revenge just yet.

Every single man or woman that ever mistreated you or offended you, was put on his list.

This night was the catalyst that gave birth to the serial killer known as the "Bayou Killer".

Alastor stopped visiting Mimzy's bar since your death, with his sole focus and dedication in life going to hunting down those that had harmed you in life. After all, they deserved it, you were like an angel to him.

But what Alastor didn't stop doing, was broadcasting his radio show. So many of his connections were made because of his show, so it was a valuable resource to keep active, to use to his advantage.

Alastor continued living his life like this until every single name was crossed off his list.

It was then that it was time for his luck to run out.

Right upon the killing the very last person on the list, was Alastor also shot right square in the forehead.

Before his consciousness faded into black, all he could hear was the muffled panic of a stranger who seemed to be apologizing for mistaking him for some sort of animal.

All Alastor could do was chuckle at the irony of the whole situation, the maniacal laughter was the type that only a madman could produce- before everything went dark and he died.

He thought he would never see you again, because surely, his beloved sweetheart would end up in heaven right?

The answer to this would remain a mystery for many decades to come as Alastor descended into Hell and became who is now widely known in Hell as "The Radio Demon".

-> Part 8

[dipperscavern]

can I be cheeky and ask for riding jon’s face 🫣🫣🫣

yes… oh yes you absolutely can….. i fell asleep last night to the thought of jon snow canonically being a munch (funny enough) — we’re on the same wavelength anon ! (written w shy!reader in mind)

you’ve heard the talk, heard the different ladies from different statures talk about “the act”, and it’s always a different answer. some say it’s mediocre… others, that it’s their favorite way to feel good, and some, say it’s terrible. you’ve heard stories of men never caring about the woman’s pleasure, and how their only purpose was to give them children. the thought made you shudder.

you, yourself, have never had time. time to freely choose who you trust enough to share that sacred experience with (or even touch yourself). the men at castle black are sworn to celibacy, and even if they would abandon their oath for a night with you, you wouldn’t let them. most of the men at the wall are untrustworthy, and you want more than just a quick fuck. even if these thoughts plague you, you’re too busy with your duties to worry about it. a thing you’ve since long accepted.

until jon snow.

you had been there for jon since his arrival at castle black. never batting an eye at his surname, always trying to make his life a little bit easier. there was also the stolen glances, the soft touches you both passed off as “accidental”, the longing for each other. you both remained as merely “close friends”, until things boiled over and you found solace in each others lips. it didn’t go farther than that, the tentative kiss being soft & exploring, and that was okay with you. you didn’t expect more. until you got more.

sometimes, you hate jon for being so easy to talk to. your shy nature has slowly melted away in his presence, and you find yourself unable to be embarrassed about the questions you ask or answer. your late night talks are what keeps jon sane. he wants to know everything about you, and you both would talk till morning if you could (you have before). the topic often shifts, landing on anything and everything on the planet. even “the act”.

imagine jon’s surprise, when the most beautiful & endearing woman he’s ever met drops her gaze to the floor and bashfully tells him she’s never cum before.

jon short circuits. he asks if you want to. he asks if he can make you. and you say yes.

jon snow is a giver. tasting a woman is a pleasure in itself, and he’d tell you as much if you asked. his mind ran a million miles an hour, thinking about all the ways he could make you feel good. it doesn’t take long before the desire to taste you takes a hold of him, and so he does.

“You’re hovering.”

he’s not wrong. you are. you thought you had heard it all, but the act of sitting on someone’s face has clearly alluded your ears. you’re unsure. you don’t want to hurt him.. suffocating the first man you lay with would have you begging the gods to open the ground and swallow you whole. and it’s not just any man, it’s jon.

the soft glide of jon’s fingers across your thigh bring you out of your head. his hands are cold. they feel nice in contrast to your own skin, nerves lit on fire.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t.”

“Jon-”

“Do you trust me?”

he’s steadfast in his reassurance. his thumb has been rubbing circles in your hip while you both have been talking. does he do it all on purpose, or is he just this naturally desirable?

“You know I do, but-“

“Good. Sit.”

you still hesitate, and that’s when jon takes matters into his own hands. his hands stop their tracing, and instead grip your thighs, bringing you down himself.

whatever expectations you had are exceeded tenfold. jon eats you out like a man starved. your head spins with the way you can feel his tongue, exploring you and swiping over your clit. it has white hot pleasure shooting up your spine, and your thighs quiver ever so slightly, but jon’s firm grip keeps you in place. he’s confident in his movements, precise and sure in a way that makes you see stars.

jon thinks he’s found the place where he would be content to meet his demise. you taste so good, and the pretty sounds you’re making have blood rushing straight to his cock. jon has always loved the sound of his name on your lips — whether it be small acknowledgments in passing by, or just mentions in mere conversation. but he’s found he much prefers hearing you moan it.

you’re almost embarrassed how quickly he has warmth building up in your belly, pressure building as he gives you the most pleasure you’ve ever had. he’s giving and giving and giving, and you find yourself selfishly taking all of it. he doesn’t slow down, keeping a steady rhythm that makes the cord in your stomach wind impossibly tighter.

“Jon, I’m-!”

you don’t get to finish your sentence, interrupted by the snap of the cord in your stomach that was previously tightening. pleasure overtakes your nerves, flooding your veins and momentarily removing your ability to speak (or think). jon’s tongue doesn’t stop fully, only slowing down to help you ride out your peak.

you catch your breath, feeling jon kiss the inside of your thighs as small aftershocks have you clenching around nothing. you find yourself seeking his touch (as if he hasn’t been constantly on you), your hand running along the surface of your thigh to find his own. he reaches for you, trapping your own smaller hand beneath his own. it’s reassuring, grounding you back to the present after he brought you so far over the edge.

you move to get off, to let him get up & breathe — but he doesn’t release his grip, keeping you in place. you hear him speak.

“Only once?”

[777bae]

PERFECT IMPERFECTIONS LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: You finally open up to Luke about a long-standing insecurity of yours

Warnings :: Insecurities (dark circles)

Word count :: 1.4k

The evening has a quiet, gentle rhythm to it, a calmness that feels almost sacred. The kind of quiet that can only come from being comfortably wrapped in the presence of someone you love, knowing that the world outside can wait for a while. You and Luke are on the couch, the soft light from the lamp beside you casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The glow dances across his face as he scrolls through his phone, the familiar sounds of his movements grounding you in the present. You’ve always loved these quiet moments with him—when nothing else matters but the fact that you’re together.

But tonight, something’s different. The sense of peace you usually feel when you’re near him is heavy, weighed down by an insecurity that’s been gnawing at you all day. You can feel it pressing on your chest, slowly tightening with every passing second, even though you’re trying your best to push it away.

You’ve always had these dark circles. As long as you can remember, they’ve been there. When you were a little girl, you’d stare at your reflection and wonder why your face looked so tired, even when you hadn’t done anything to earn that exhaustion. As you grew older, it became something you learned to live with—something you tried to hide, tried to mask. No matter how much sleep you got, no matter how many “miracle” creams or makeup techniques you tried, those shadows under your eyes were always there. They became a constant companion, something you never quite got used to, but had learned to accept.

And yet tonight, they feel more pronounced than ever. Maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s built up over the last few weeks—too many late nights and early mornings, trying to balance everything, trying to keep it all together. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been staring at your face in the mirror all day, looking for signs of something different, something better, and all you’ve found is the same tired reflection you’ve always seen. Your eyes look heavy. You look drained. Like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it’s written all over your face.

As you sit beside Luke, curled up on the couch, you find yourself unconsciously shrinking away from him, trying to hide the way you feel inside. You pull your knees closer to your chest, folding in on yourself as if to protect the parts of you that are exposed—the parts of you you wish you could change. You try to make yourself small, hoping he won’t notice. But Luke, being Luke, notices everything. He always does.

“Hey,” he says gently, his voice a soft anchor in the quiet of the room. He looks over at you, his gaze immediately softening as he notices your change in posture. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet.”

You try to offer him a smile, but it’s thin, insincere. It feels like a mask that doesn’t quite fit. You don’t want to burden him with your feelings, don’t want to sound trivial, but the words escape your lips before you can stop them.

“I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about my dark circles,” you admit, the words hanging in the air between you, heavier than you’d intended. “I’ve always had them, you know? No matter how much sleep I get, no matter how much I try to fix them, they’re always there. And today, I just… I don’t know. I feel like they’re all anyone would notice when they look at me.”

The vulnerability in your voice surprises even you, and you immediately feel a wave of embarrassment, as though admitting this out loud somehow makes it worse. You brace yourself for the usual reassurance—the empty kind of comfort people often give when they want to make you feel better but don’t truly understand what’s going on inside. You’re so used to hearing it, to hearing people say, “It doesn’t matter to me,” or “You’re beautiful no matter what.” But you’ve always wondered if they mean it. If they can really see you, see the parts of you that feel broken, and still love you just the same.

Luke doesn’t say anything right away. His gaze softens, though, and you can feel his presence shift. It’s almost as if he’s studying you, trying to understand the quiet storm brewing behind your eyes. He moves a little closer, his body turning toward yours. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing over your arm, sending a ripple of warmth through you. But it’s not just the touch. It’s the way he looks at you—as if he’s trying to read every part of you, to reach the parts of you that you don’t even know how to express.

“Let me see you,” he says softly, his voice low but firm with the kind of gentleness you’ve always known him for. He doesn’t push you, doesn’t force you to explain yourself, but his words are a quiet invitation. An invitation to be seen, to be understood. “Look at me, babe.”

You hesitate, unsure if you’re ready to meet his gaze, unsure if you’re ready to let him see all the insecurity swirling inside of you. But when you do, when your eyes finally meet his, something shifts. There’s no judgment there. Only love. Only understanding.

“Those dark circles, the ones you think make you less beautiful? They don’t make you less, anything,” he says, his voice unwavering. “They’ve always been a part of you. And honestly?” He smiles gently, the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “I’ve always loved them. I think they’re beautiful.”

You blink, your breath catching in your throat as you try to process what he’s just said. “What?” you ask, your voice a mixture of disbelief and surprise. “But they—”

“They’re a part of you,” Luke interrupts, his hands now gently cradling your face, his thumb sweeping softly across your cheek, where those dark circles sit. “They tell a story. A story of you—of everything you do, everything you are. They show your strength, your effort, your heart. They’re not flaws. They’re part of what makes you, you. And I think that’s beautiful.”

His words are simple, but they sink deep. So deep, in fact, that you feel a tear slip down your cheek before you even realize it. You hadn’t even known you were holding it in, but the floodgates open, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by the wave of emotion rushing through you. You’ve never heard someone speak to you this way before, never felt so seen in your entire life. It’s as if the parts of you that you’ve always hated, the parts of you you’ve always tried to hide, are suddenly being accepted without question, without hesitation.

Luke’s hands move to cup your face more securely, his eyes never leaving yours, and his forehead presses against yours, as if grounding you in his love, in his belief in you.

“I love you. And I don’t just love you despite those dark circles. I love you because of them. They’re a part of your story, and they make you, you. And there is nothing in this world that I would change about you.”

The warmth in his words wraps around you like a blanket, melting away the harsh edges of your insecurities, leaving behind only peace. You close your eyes for a moment, taking in his words, letting them sink in. When you open them again, you feel lighter, freer, like a weight has been lifted from your chest.

Luke leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead in the softest kiss, the kind of kiss that speaks volumes without uttering a single word. You let out a breath, a shaky laugh escaping your lips as you finally feel the truth of his words sink deep into your bones.

And in that moment, with his hands gently cradling your face, his heart open and steady, you realize something profound. The dark circles under your eyes, the tiredness that’s always been with you—they no longer feel like something to hide. They’re not a sign of something broken or wrong. They’re a sign of your resilience, your humanity, your capacity to love and work and care.

And Luke loves them. He loves all of you, dark circles and all. And for the first time, you can finally say that you love them, too.