#the secret ending of Just Like A Prayer

[alygator77]

another wip from me. hehe. supermodel satoru.

warnings: mdni, smut, fluff, masturbation, obsession. (honestly, satoru feels kinda yandere af. he's fucking down bad for you.)

supermodel! satoru whose life is a whirlwind—flashing cameras, designer clothes, and breathless whispers of adoration. on the surface, he has it all: the perfect career, the perfect face, the perfect life. but perfection… has its price.

supermodel! satoru who, after a ten-hour photoshoot that left him feeling more mannequin than man, slumps into the cold embrace of his sleek penthouse. the city glimmers outside his floor-to-ceiling windows, vibrant and alive, but it feels distant, like a movie playing on mute. he’s surrounded by luxury but drowning in solitude.

supermodel! satoru who, running on three hours of sleep and bad coffee, barely notices when his fingers fumble over his phone, sending a text message to you—meant for his manager. tossing the phone aside with a sigh, he stretches out on the couch, exhaustion pulling at his limbs—unaware that this accidental message is about to flip his world upside down.

supermodel! satoru who, when your response comes through, doesn’t realize at first that he’s texted a stranger. his initial confusion shifts to mild annoyance, but that changes the moment he reads your sharp, unfiltered reply. intrigue replaces irritation, and before he knows it, he’s texting back, unable to resist the pull of you on the other end.

supermodel! satoru who keeps his identity a secret, finding it strange at first, but soon, it becomes refreshing. for once, he’s not the face on billboards or the name in glossy magazines. no—for the first time in forever, someone is talking to him—not his fame, not his face, just him.

supermodel! satoru who finds himself grinning like an idiot whenever his phone buzzes with your name. you tell him about your life—mundane, you call it, but to him, it’s captivating. days turn into weeks—texts in the middle of the night when he’s jet-lagged and bored in some foreign country. voice notes where you laugh at his terrible jokes.

supermodel! satoru who one day, finally reveals who he is, and with a mix of arrogance and curiosity, boldly asks for your photo—eager to see the face behind the name he’s grown so fond talking to.

c’mon now... I show my face to the world every day. least you could do is show me yours ;)

your reply pings through, accompanied by an attachment, and for a moment, his breath catches.

supermodel! satoru who has seen countless beautiful people, surrounded by them every day, but there’s something about you that has him hooked. perhaps it’s not just the way you look—it’s the way you’ve made him feel. for the first time in forever, he’s not just admired; he’s seen.

supermodel! satoru who ends up sprawled out on his couch later that night, your picture propped up on the coffee table in front of him as he grips his shaft. his shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, his sweatpants pushed down to his thighs as his cock strains in his hand—red, leaking and desperate for attention. all he can focus on is you.

supermodel! satoru whose glossy lips part as he pants, pumping his dick, his head tipping back while the phone’s glow casts shadows across his flushed skin. his penthouse is filled with the slick sound of his hand sliding over his length, mixing with his shuddering breaths.

“fuuuck… so fucking pretty…” he rasps, his hips bucking into his fist. his strokes grow faster, more desperate, as his body thrums with heat.

supermodel! satoru who murmurs your name like a prayer, thick with need, chasing his inevitable release. “nnngh… gonna—ahhh—gonna cum f’you,” he moans, breathy and broken. His voice cracks as his back arches off the couch.

supermodel! satoru whose strokes grow frantic, erratic, his abs flexing tight as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his stomach, painting his skin in sticky streaks of white. the release leaves him trembling, every drop wrung from his body as a low groan escapes his parted lips.

supermodel! satoru who exhales a quiet laugh, his chest heaving as a lazy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. he trails his fingers through the mess, smearing it across his toned abs as his smirk deepens—amused and awed by how much you’ve made him cum.

supermodel! satoru who can’t focus during his photoshoot the next day, every click of the camera drowned out by thoughts of you. his mind lingers to the filthy fantasy of your body beneath his—your lips whispering his name, your legs wrapped around his waist.

the ache in his pants becomes unbearable, and he excuses himself, slipping away to the bathroom under the pretense of ‘fixing his hair.’

supermodel! satoru who locks the bathroom door behind him with trembling fingers, his breath hitching as he pulls up your photo again. his hands fumble with the buttons of his designer pants, desperate to release his aching erection.

supermodel! satoru who stares at your picture with half-lidded eyes, his thumb swiping over the swollen tip of his dick, spreading a slick bead of precum across the sensitive head. "fuck… you’ve got me so worked up," he whispers with a cocky smirk, and his free hand grips the edge of the sink, his cock twitching eagerly in his fist.

“pretty girl… god, I’d ruin you,” he shudders as he fucks his hand. with a sharp inhale, he reaches out to twist the handles of the porcelain sink. but honestly, the cascading water is a feeble attempt to drown his debauched sounds—sounds he knows he can’t hold back.

supermodel! satoru whose mind spirals into pure filth, his fantasies running wild as he pictures your body beneath his—writhing, trembling, utterly at his mercy. your hands would cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he holds your legs apart, spreading you wide as he fucks your tight little hole.

"bet you'd look so fucking good under me," he hisses through gritted teeth. “all spread out, legs shaking… pretty little mouth begging f’me.” his hand tightens around his cock as his hips jerk forward, “fuuuuck, you’d take me so well, wouldn’t ya? haaa—every fucking inch.”

supermodel! satoru who is teetering on the edge when a sharp knock cuts through the haze, echoing against the bathroom door.

“satoru? you’re needed back on set!” his manager calls, muffled but clear.

but his strokes turn frenzied, the interruption fueling the thrill—the sheer audacity of jerking off in the middle of a shoot. his moans mix with the rush of running water and the persistent pounding on the door.

“shit—fuck—fuck—” his voice cracks, his body seizes, and in that instant his cock erupts. he whimpers, milking his dick as his forehead falls forward against the mirror. as his thick hot seed spills on his hand, it streaks across the counter in messy, sticky arcs.

“satoru!” the knocking continues, louder this time, his manager’s voice growing sharper.

“i’m coming!” he yells back, and the irony of his words pulls a breathless laugh from his lips.

supermodel! satoru who stands there for a moment, panting, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. he’s a fucking hot mess—cheeks flushed, his hair a disarray, and his lips are swollen from biting down so damn hard, trying to keep quiet.

supermodel! satoru who tucks himself into his pants, buckling his belt with practiced ease as his smirk slides back into place. he splashes cold water on his face, tidies his hair, and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, he’s the typical picture of confidence—swaggering back to set with a cocky grin as though nothing happened.

but deep down, he knows he’s utterly, completely fucked.

why? because you’ve become his favorite addiction, his sweetest downfall. and it’s only a matter of time before he finally makes you his.

a full fic for this will be coming out! lmk if you wanna be tagged. edit: taglist closed

[sinstear]

soft sex w vi < 3

soft sex >>>>>>> rewrote this twice bc i wanted them to scissor instead ..

the candles on the dresser illuminate the bedroom perfectly, casting a soft shadow on you both just right. the glow of the moon peeks through the curtain, almost like it wanted it’s own sinful glimpse in both yours lives. your shared life.

“you're crying,” vi’s voice rings out above you, ripping you from your sudden trance, her hips moving at a slow pace that has you feeling more in heaven by the second each time her cunt glides against yours, and squeezing your leg around her and blinking away the tears pooling in the corner of your eyes. “did i hurt you?” concern is written all over her face when you quickly look at her and shake your head with a soft laugh. a laugh she adores.

“no, no you didn’t hurt me,” you reassured and cupped her face between your hands. “just love you.”

her forehead comes down to rest on yours and she smiles softly and cups your cheek. “i love you.” the words spoken as almost a secret, woven into the privacy of your bedroom.

wrapping your hand around her arm, your lips part with a gentle gasp and your hips buck up just right, just enough to elicit a whimper from between her pink plump lips as your clit rubs against hers.“i love you more.” you spoke between moans.

“hm,” vi chuckled and placed a kiss on your cheek. “no you don’t, i will always love you more, end of discussion.”

“not true, i love you the— oh fuck.” you gasped, fingers threading up into the hair on the back of her head when she’s holding your leg against her hip and grinding down onto your cunt just a little harder. “vi, baby,”

breathing heavily into your forehead, vi hums and quickly removes her hand from your leg, runs it up your side, and grabs your tit. “fuck, you feel so good,” she nods and squeezes the soft flesh gently.

you’re quick to cup the back of her head when vi buries her face in the crook of your neck, holding her to you. her sweaty body fits moulds perfectly with yours, strands of her hair brush against the skin of your cheek and your hips move in sync with hers; like tectonic plates.

“i love you,” vi whined, biting and kissing at your neck. “i love you, i love you.” the words fell from her lips like a prayer, cunt sliding against yours more quickly, eagerly even. “i love you so fuckin’ much.”

“love you,” you smiled, pushing your hips up, holding onto her hip to pull her more into you, guiding her and grinding up against her cunt. “i love you, baby,”

“shit, fuck—” vi’s voice broke just slightly as her lower stomach tightens. “baby girl,”

you weren’t far behind.

“m’gonna cum,” you warned.

“gonna cum?” she laughed when you nodded your head quickly and kissed harder at your neck. “me too.”

vi’s body tensed suddenly after the words tumble from her lips, yours quickly doing the same after a few more grinds of her hips and she buries her face more into your neck, if that was even possible and whimpers into your skin. “shit—” she’s coming with another loud moan while your eyes roll back into the back of your head as you cum against her with a mixture of moans and moans while gripping onto her tightly. “fuck, baby—”

your hand guides her hips still, riding you both through your orgasm and her body twitches at the overstimulation. “little more, please” you beg into her shoulder, sinking your teeth into her skin. “just—”

“not going anywhere, beautiful, right here.” vi promised, rocking her hips back and forth slowly. “take what you need, m’not going anywhere.”

[harmoonix]

☾ Like a prayer ☽

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫/𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭!* + 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

Note: Take this with caution! These placements are not bad. These are just some 'side things' that come within having such placements. Every placement has a dark trait, and sometimes, the nature of astrology can be negative as well as positive. Thanks for reading 🤎

• Venus x Moon harsh aspects (square, opposition, conjuction). When the Moon is in harsh aspects with Venus, the native will have a hard time telling what's on their heart. They can have the feeling of a 'heavy heart'. The native may be embarrassed or shy to tell their feelings

• Saturn x Moon harsh aspects (square, opposition, conjuction). These aspects can often feel very insecure about their feelings. They can get hurt fast, but mostly, these aspects can indicate being cold, having a hard time opening yourself, being more like a loner rather than with people

• Lilith in Gemini/3rd house, these placements often indicate gossiping and talking bad upon others. Cursing a lot, etc. The native may be savage in their communication, and their words can hurt

• Ascendant x Sun/Venus/Neptune aspects. With these placements, the native may have trouble with loving himself and may cause a lack of self-love from their side. Before having a relationship, you should always check up on yourself first. You can't love others if you don't love yourself

• Venus in the 5th/7th or 8th house. I did a 'mini post' about Venus in those houses, but in short, the native could've had more partners in their romantic past. If you're not interested in your lovers' past romantic life with other people, I think this won't affect you

• Uranus in the 7th house is also found within people who happen to have more lovers in their life. Also, dating or having casual one night stands

• Lilith x Moon aspects (all aspects). The native can have issues with their mother or their feminine energy. May feel like the black sheep or an outcast due to this. They may keep family things private in their life

• Pluto or Saturn in their 4th or 5th house could've indicated being abused as a child or having their childhood taken away from them. A person with a strong inner child

• Scorpio Saturn, the native with this specific Saturn placement can struggle with their intimacy. Can be insecure over some parts of their body and might overthink what the other person thinks about them in bed. Engaging in sexual activities can be chaotic but also beautiful

• Venus in Fire signs, the native can be either extremely loyal either extremely catchy with your feelings. Tends to flirt quite a lot. And may have multiple crushes

• Saturn in the 2h/6th/10th house or Saturn in Earth signs. The native can be an workaholic, they work over the program to gain more money/salary. This can also result as then coming exhausted from work and most times being away from home

• Lilith x Jupiter aspects (all aspects), the native with these aspects can crave more in bed. They're not happy if they're not satisfied. And they may struggle with obsession over sexual things

• Neptune in the 5th or 8th house, the native may have addictions related to 18+ content which can be a turn off for many. Nonetheless Neptune can also have a strong sexual energy

• Sun in the 7th or 10th house, the native might receive a lot of compliments. Sweet personality and a very charming aura, they like attention

• Scorpio/Capricorn/Cancer Venus, the native might be into dating older people, not very old but there can be some age gap between them. They might get successful relationships in their adulthood yesrs

• Pisces Venus and Moon, these natives are mostly ending up with a lot of scenarios in their head after an argument. They need lots of resurance from their partners

• Venus in the 8th / 12th house, the native could've had several admires, which he wanted to keep hidden. Secrets around their relationship

• Water Dominant: The native may be too clingy or very fast to respond to your feelings/they mirror the type of love you give them

• Pluto x Mercury aspects (all): The native will always have the last word in arguments. 'Truth hurts' archetype. They can use words to manipulate after their own will

• Sun x Jupiter in harsh aspects, the natives ego can be fragile, yet they tend to have a 'superiority complex' they may think they're better than others

• Aphrodite (1388) in the 2nd/5th/8th houses, the native may want to be satisfied physically. They may use their sexual energy to make themselves feel better

• Aphrodite x Ascendant/MC Aspects (all): People may find their beauty intriguing. Approachable with a soft/feminine/calm energy by the public (to both genders) tender personality

• Juno in Aries/Cancer/Scorpio may give a possessive and jealous spouse. If the spouse has low self-esteem, these can be intense

• Pluto in the 9th house, 9th house can indicate how your spouse family might see you. With Pluto here, they may see you as a powerful person to marry their son/daughter

• Pluto/Lilith/Saturn in the 11th house, the native could've had lots of issues with betrayal in their life. People in general weren't so loyal to them

• Sun in the 5th house, the native may feel to act more like a child when they are around your presence or if they feel safe with you

• Aries/Mars over their 4th house can indicate that they were raised in a household with abusive or angry family members, also can posses angry issues

• 2nd house ruler in the 8th house, they may be stingy with their money, may keep them like a secret behind you

• 2nd house ruler in the 10th house, the native may love money over anything. Money over love is their way to go

• Saturn in the 12th house can drain the native a lot. They may feel tired 24/7, get irritated fast, and becomes melancholic easily

• Leo Saturn, they can struggle with favoritism. Can be related to family trauma/ just they love picking on things to cause conflicts

• Scorpio or Lilth in the 4th house/Cancer, raised in a household where their family could have been manipulators, liars, toxic, etc

• Juno aspecting Jupiter can grant the native with fulfilments in their relationship, in harsh aspects you don't feel satisfied enough

• Mars in the 7th house can cause relationship arguments (which are normal for every relationship), but with Mars, these can he quite intense

• Having Retrogade planets like Venus in the 7th house can indicate your exes coming back in your life more than usual (these are mostly just things you need to finish, as an little advice, exes don't always come back to be together with you again, but you don't need to get back with them even if they come back in your life lol)

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫, 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

If you enjoyed this, let me know so I can make a second part 😊 🥰

Have a good day, everyone 🥰🥰

[unboundprompts]

hi! i wanted to ask how could i write a scene of a band performing and make it flow smoothly? Reactions to it and inner dialogue of the leader singer while performing?

I hope that makes sense!

Thank you :)

How to Write a Band Performance

Set the Atmosphere with Sound and Sensory Details

Use sensory language to capture the energy of the music, the movement on stage, and the audience’s reaction. Think about the sounds of instruments, the lights, the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor, or how the crowd looks.

Example: The drums kicked in, a thunderous heartbeat that pulsed through the packed venue. Strings followed, filling the air with an electric charge, and the lights dimmed just enough for the crowd to lean in, hungry for the next note.

Anchor the Lead Singer’s Focus

The lead singer might catch moments in the crowd, like a fan mouthing every lyric, someone laughing, or even seeing familiar faces in the sea of people. These little connections add a human touch and make the performance feel alive.

Example: He spotted a girl in the front row, eyes closed, every word leaving her lips like a prayer. She knew each lyric by heart, maybe better than he did. That look kept him grounded—kept him singing.

Use Inner Dialogue to Show Nerves, Confidence, or Distraction

Let the lead singer’s mind wander a bit, but keep it tethered to the music. They might think of something unrelated that they suppress to stay focused, or maybe they reflect on what this song means to them, especially if it’s deeply personal or symbolic.

Example: Here we go. Breathe. Just like rehearsal. But it was never just like rehearsal. Each word brought him back to the night he wrote it—a night he barely survived. He shook off the thought. No. Tonight, it’s just for them.

Describe Body Movements and How They Connect to Emotion

Physical sensations can be as telling as dialogue. The lead singer might feel the warmth of the spotlight, the stickiness of sweat on their skin, or the way their voice feels strong, raw, or strained.

Example: He gripped the mic stand, fingers tight, and leaned forward. His voice cracked on a high note, but he let it, gave it to the crowd raw. They wanted his truth, his realness. That was all he had to give.

Show the Crowd’s Reaction

Describe reactions like a wave, where energy ebbs and flows. The crowd might sway during slower parts, roar during the chorus, or go silent in the song’s more intimate moments. This back-and-forth dance adds rhythm to the scene.

Example: As the first chorus hit, the crowd became a sea of outstretched hands, fingers clawing for a piece of the music. A roar rose, then softened as they sang with him, their voices tangling with his own, something fragile and fierce all at once.

Balance Between Action and Inner Thoughts

To keep the scene flowing, alternate between what the singer does (interacting with the mic, moving on stage) and what they think. Too much inner dialogue could slow down the scene, so give action and reaction space to keep the reader engaged.

Example: He took a step back, holding the last note, letting it resonate through the space. He stole a glance at his bandmates. They were lost in the music too, faces set, eyes closed. It felt like the old days—a secret between them, shared with everyone.

End with a Climactic Moment or a Release of Tension

End the scene with a dramatic finish, like a powerful note, a burst of applause, or even silence if it’s an emotional song. The lead singer could feel relieved, drained, or exhilarated by the end.

Example: As the last chord faded, a brief silence hung over the crowd—a pause, a heartbeat—before it shattered with applause. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him, knowing that for now, the song was enough.

[tothosewhoyearnforit]

am i yours or are you mine - chaewon

-im back. might edit this later

-trying to finish my drafts so maybe have hope im posting more.

-2373 words. student-teacher relationship. daddy kink. oral. deepthroat. pussyeating. unprotected sex. breeding? creampie. happy bday chae chae !

Am I yours or are you mine?

Chaewon asked that question right before she was bobbing her head up and down on your length, a mixture of drool and precum trailing, dripping down onto her skirt.

You look at the neatly decorated bed, the work of none other than you. Illegal as it is for a professor to be in a student’s dorm room without any prior permission, any risk is worth fucking Chaewon. It's even riskier considering the fact that her roommate, Yunjin, shares the same room as her, could waltz in at anytime.

But you know she won’t tell. After all, you're dicking her down too. Gosh, her lips, so meant for dick sucking.

You look at the gorgeous slut squatting for you obscenely, her legs spread as she slobbered over your meat, dressed in her school girl outfit, feeding even more to your ill desires.

Was it really her birthday? Or was this “present” for you?

She unsheathes your raging erection, and rests your cock on her right cheek, stroking your length while staring at you.

The sheer size of your cock against her face was feeding into your size kink way too much, it was almost like one of those porno pairings where a burly buff dude fucks the brains out of the tiniest pornstar.

“Aren’t you unusually hard today professor?”

“I- You’re just so hot today Chaewon…”

“It’s the student outfit isn’t it, you sick pervert.”

She chuckles at your stammering.

“Looks like my reward is about to be a big one.”

And with that, she goes back down on your length, this time wrapping your arms around the underside of your thighs and increasing the pace at which she gobbles your length up. The amount of sticky, viscous liquid that's dripping down from her chin secretes at an even greater rate and your mind is practically going wild at the mere sight of your student slutting herself.

“Oh, fuck, Chaewon…”

Toes curling, head thrown back, it’s only been a week since you both last fucked, yet it felt like forever.

“Are you close daddy?”, she asks as she takes your shaft out to take a breath. Her pearly round eyes stare up at you and you realize the innocence you're destroying. She then sucks on your tip for a good few seconds, that tongue of hers being used to lick so accurately at your slit that you feel a prickly sensation rush down to your toes and fingertips. Then, she pushes her head down all the way and hollows her cheeks out, her tongue now making lazy, sloppy movements on the underside of your length. Her hands peel yours off from your awfully tight grip on the bedsheets and place it at the back of her head, gesturing for you to push her head down.

“Fuck, Chaewon, gonna shoot my load so deep down your throat…”

You push her head down till you feel her tiny nose on your pelvis and your balls rest on her chin. She’s so ready to choke on your cock. So ready to accept your load. In her warmth, your cock is throbbing like mad.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking cumming down your throat Chae!”

Her hands tighten their grip on your legs as she braces for your load. And as if saying a prayer, all your lips mumble out are feeble mentions of her name.

One spurt.

After another.

And another, as she slowly removes herself from your cock, her suction never ending.

She opens her mouth while cum is still spurting out of your tip and a splash of the pearly white liquid lands on her cheek. Inside her mouth, a pool of potential kids get sloshed around by her playful tongue before she gulps it down and savors the taste with a resounding “ahh”.

“Thanks for the thick, warm load daddy.”

She uses her finger to swipe the cum on her cheek into your mouth.

“But I’m going to need a rough fucking tonight.”

She peels her thin black thong off and places it in your palm. It's full of moisture and warmth, the naughty student is oh so ready for her private tutoring.

After climbing out of her shirt and skirt, she lies on the bed and spreads her legs and with two fingers, spreads her pussy lips. She’s inviting you in, like a deer on a barren flowery field and you’re the wolf, ready to pounce.

“Come give your favorite student a nice hands on lesson, professod.”

“Such a disobedient student, always teasing the professor.”

You climb onto the bed, and dive your head right between her inviting legs. Her legs instinctively close up on you, like those of a Venus flytrap, but you use your hands and push them away, spreading her legs even further than they were before.

“I just shaved yesterday, just for you, sir.”

“Such a good girl, but a bit of hair isn't against school rules you know…”

You place gentle loving kisses on her inner thigh before running your tongue against her slickening heat.

“I’ve missed my favorite student's top tier pussy so much…”

“Oh, fuck…That’s it daddy. Ravage my pussy.”

Chaewon is just like how you were not too long ago, a whimpering mess, at the mercy of the one giving head.

She tastes so good, a complete diorama of flavors hitting your palate at once. Sweet like a sakura with a hinge of bitterness reminding you how lewd and taboo this very act of eating out your own student is.

You feel the vibrations she sends as her hands are unable to support her anymore as you probe your tongue deeper and deeper into her slick, causing her to lie back onto the hotel bed while her hands find your head, her fingers running through your hair.

Looking up at her, you can see her toned body, her abs, her perky tits, it seems like basketball is doing its magic in keeping her fit. You look at her hard nipples heaving up and down as a result of her heavy breaths and you can't resist bringing your hands up and giving those nubs a pinch.

“Fuck, wait, sir. I’m so sensitive right now.”

She’s moaning more and more now. The walls of the dorm room might not be thick enough, and a professor leaving the student dorms so late at night? Surely someone is going to suspect something.

The next dorm room definitely won't say anything, that's for sure. It belongs to another two of your cock slave students, the Japanese duo of Kazuha and Sakura.

Heck, you’re even banging the milfy dorm keeper, Tiffany.

Maybe to escape, you’d just have to fuck your way out of the dorm building.

You’re probing your tongue even deeper now, sucking on her clit as well. Every drop getting past your lips is so damn addictive that you can't detach yourself for anything other than to inhale.

“Fuck, daddy! I’m gonna fucking-!”

Her back arches further than it ever has, as she climaxes. Her body convulses due to the stimulation she’s received, and instinctively, her legs close around you, thighs squeezing your head shut, the flytrap of Venus herself secreting the sweet substance for the poor fly (you) to be devoured by.

Akin to the fly, you're sucking in all the precious Chaewon juice, her little “ahhs” and tiny aftershocks showing how good of a job you're doing.

“Oh… That felt so good.”

She’s heaving sighs of relief, slowly calming down from her high. But you. You fucking rock hard, as if you didn’t just shoot a pent up load down her throat.

You flip her over to doggy style in a horny hurry and she yelps in surprise.

Running your finger between her pussy lips, you trace your way up to her puckered asshole.

“Since it's your special day, I let you choose which hole gets destroyed first. Your tight little pussy getting a fresh load shot straight into your womb? Or this tight fuckhole that’s sure to leave you unable to sit properly?”

She looks back at you.

Both are new options to her. She hasn't felt a warm load all the way in her womb since you always keep a pack of condoms in your drawer at the staff room. And anal always requires lube which neither of you want to bring around.

“I’m feeling dangerous today, prof. How bout I take the pill tomorrow morning, but you empty all the cum you have into your favorite student pussy?”

“I would love nothing more, my top slut.”

Lining yourself up behind her, you give that perky little butt a cheeky slap.

“Such a cute butt, always teasing me as you walk into class.”

“Is it really teasing if you pound it senselessly afterward?”

Chaewon deprives you of the chance to savor the initial penetration, slowly pressing her hips into your pelvis as your tip parts her folds. Your hands find their way onto each respective ass cheek, holding on for stability as you inch your way into her tight pussy.

“Always so fucking tight and warm for me. Feels exactly like a virgin’s pussy. That’s why you're my favorite cocksleeve.”

“Thank you professor. Kazuha kept saying you liked her pussy more. I found that so hard to believe.”

“In terms of folding her into the lewdest positions possible, nobody is beating her. But your pussy is so tight that you don't need any positions.”

The way her walls of muscles wrap around your cock makes you dreamy as you pick up the pace and thrust your hips even more in her.

“Ah, fuck! So fucking big daddy!”

Soon, your hips are donning a mind of their own, thrusting mercilessly and harshly as the slapping of skin on skin becomes more and more frequent. Your mind is sending messages to your mouth, but all you can make out is “fuck” and “ohh”.

When she looks back at you, she has a face full of bliss and lust, a small indication that you can go faster, destroy her pussy with less hesitation.

It really begs the question again.

Am I yours or are you mine?

You give her right ass cheek another slap. The red hand print becomes more and more prominent, just like how loud her screams are becoming with each slap. There’s no need to worry if she’s feeling hurt or not, because you know for sure that her mind is in a state of only euphoria, drunk on your cock moving in and out of her pussy faster than she can think.

“Such a good slut. Willing to spend her birthday with her perverted professor rather than her friends.”

“Nothing beats your cock daddy. Nothing.”

Those words fuel your engine even more, giving you renewed energy to go faster.

“DADDY!”

She screams ever so obscenely. Anybody studying or sleeping would be sure to be in a state of shock.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum so hard over daddy’s dick.”

You put both her hands together behind her back, handcuffing them with one hand of your own, then pulling her towards you till your face is buried in her neck and you can whisper against her neck.

You can feel the sweat that has collected on your two bodies, a result of your hot, intense lovemaking session.

“Then cum baby girl. Cum as much as you want.”

You make your thrusts as fast as you can possibly go, and the sounds she makes sound like a jackhammer go ham on the ground.

“Yes, daddy, yes, yes, yes, yes. Fuck your slut stupid daddy so you can teach me all again.”

You feel her muscles tense up for that brief moment as she finally cums. Her core is no longer even trying to keep her in that kneeling position. She is squealing, squirting, spraying her slick juices onto the walls and onto your cock as you hold onto her to keep her upright.

But your thrusts never cease, as you can feel the throbbing of your cock once again, a huge climax on the nigh.

“Cum in me please daddy. Shoot your load deep in me daddy.”

You’re so fucking close.

“Think about how you might get your favorite student pregnant, sir. We could become fuck partners for life.”

And that about does it for you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”, you growl, the intensity of your voice matching how hard your hips are thrusting, smacking her butt.

You don't even make it back in fully before the cum starts shooting.

Your thrusts are now timed according to your spurts of cum, Chaewon moaning with each lazy thrust of warm semen that she feels getting pumped to her womb.

“iloveyouiloveyouiloveyoumylittleslutstudent” is all you can muster into the crook of her neck while Chaewon replies with whimpers and heavy pants.

The throbbing finally subsides, and every fiber of your being finally registers how vigorous you have been fucking your student and fatigue kicks in. You let go of your grip on her hands and let her slump on her bed, before you eventually join her.

“Feels so fucking warm daddy…”, she mutters in between heavy breaths.

She sits up as you stay lying down, body completely exhausted. She gets into the same position she did when she first got onto the bed and spreads her pussy lips for you again. The fresh, warm cum that you just deposited, slowly spilling onto the sheets.

Chaewon pushes two fingers into her creampied pussy and scoops some baby batter up and licks it off her fingers, before scooping any spillage and pushing it back into her pussy.

It’s such a lewd sight that you feel your cock twitching back to life.

“You might have just knocked me up, professor.”

She looks briefly at the digital clock on the wall.

“It’s Thursday, meaning I have no lessons tomorrow.”

Climbing over you, facing away from you such that her ass is staring right at you, she spreads her cheeks apart, showing you her asshole clench and release. She looks back and smiles.

“You’ve completed just 2 out of 3 of the lesson module daddy. Time for the final teaching right daddy?”

It’s bout to be a long fucking night.

[r3starttt]

KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT

PAIRING: Act 1. Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader

SUMMARY: Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut. You're just one of her toys.

CW: Mean Cait. Slapping. Oral. Fingering. Spitting. Cum eating.

TAGLIST: @Kaimythically @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @kiki5gigi @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @femininologies @dinakisser @viajeros--sin--destino @GodessAgrona @patronagrona

The body armor that once weighed on your chest now rested on the seat beside you. The vest's sturdy stood out against the soft fabric of the seat—a strange contrast, like the life you lived and the one you longed for.

The rest of your enforcer uniform clung to you, a reminder of duty yet unfinished.

That day, Caitlyn—ever the composed commander—had begun to offer quiet gratitude for your unwavering support.

You, along with Vi, had stood as her pillars, the only ones to truly understand her relentless pursuit—not for justice, but for an end to the cruel theater of war.

Your edge had always been the things left unsaid: the secret resolve you gleaned from stolen glances and murmured words between Caitlyn and the flame-haired recently announced as enforcer. A silent agreement lingered—Jinx had to fall, no matter the cost. Yet Caitlyn’s resolve was tempered by her steadfast refusal to risk innocent lives.

You’d stayed behind that day, waiting to close the chapter for her, to ensure the mission was marked as complete, and to witness her return to a world where the war was finally over.

But the war wasn’t over.

When Caitlyn returned, it was with a storm at her heels. Her uniform hit the floor with an uncharacteristic force, and the soft light of the room betrayed the scratches on her face and the glassy sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. Words felt unnecessary; they always had between the two of you.

Your place wasn’t to pry but to steady her.

As her anger and exhaustion hung heavy in the air, you reached for her. With practiced tenderness, you cleaned the cuts on her face, folded her discarded uniform, and whispered a quiet apology—not for yourself, but for the weight she carried.

Maybe it was in the way your gaze softened when it met hers, or the steadiness of your touch where others faltered, but in those moments, something shifted.

Now, months later, the quiet crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room, its red glow painting your skin in gentle warmth. You sat with your legs crossed, wrapped in a cocoon of tranquility, the stillness of the Kiramman house a sharp contrast to the chaos that had once consumed you both.

Yet there were nights—nights when the weight became too much—when Caitlyn would seek you out.

On those nights, she would find you, her command unspoken but clear. Her bed became your world, the green sheets wrapping around you like ivy as her lips left marks on your skin—marks meant for no one else. Her hands traced the edges of your being with a reverence that bordered on desperate. Only her name left your lips, whispered like a prayer.

She never asked you to stay outright, but you had made yourself at home in her world, entwined in her life. You followed her, among the enforcers who now joked that you were just another one of her loyal dogs.

Caitlyn never denied it, not anymore. But it was in the quiet hours, when the rest of the world faded away, that she sought you—she didn’t need to speak her desires aloud; they were etched in every glance, every movement.

And you stayed because you knew you were needed, because she had carved a place for you in her life without words.

But distance crept in, inevitable and suffocating. It didn’t take long for the whispers to prove true—there was no room in her world for many. Caitlyn had always been honest in her way, thanking you with a sincerity that almost hurt, reminding you that your unwavering devotion, your strength, your unyielding support, was a rare gift she’d craved all her life. She wanted someone who didn’t just desire her but believed in her, who stood firm at her side without faltering. And yet, as much as she needed you, she resented it.

Caitlyn couldn’t control you, not as easily as she wanted. It frustrated her. She loved the way your hands felt against her skin, the way your fingers brushed her cheek as she confided in you, the sound of your voice filling the lonely silence of her room. But she didn’t love you—not fully, not in the way you hoped. You were a balm to her restlessness, a constant she could lean on when the world pushed too hard, but never enough to tether her.

You’d learned how to navigate her moods, how to bend without breaking. Like now, slipping into her office before she arrived, knowing she’d storm in after another grueling encounter with Ambessa—a woman who saw her as nothing more than a pawn to mold and exploit.

You knew how to disarm her. Hands resting on her shoulders, soft words murmured close enough to be mistaken for affection. Kisses trailing down the curve of her neck, slow and deliberate, as you whispered what she wanted to hear. It worked every time. Your hands found their way to her uniform, fingers deftly untying it, sliding beneath to stroke her skin. A touch on her stomach, a gentle caress, until she let her head fall back against your shoulder, surrendering once again.

For a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe this could be something real—something more than the empty transactions of power and need. But Caitlyn tore that hope from you as swiftly as it bloomed. Her hand shot out, closing around your wrist like a shackle, firm and unyielding.

“Enough,” she said, her voice a blade cutting through the fragile warmth you’d dared to nurture. The command carried no affection, only the sharp edge of authority. She stepped back, retreating out of your reach, leaving you hollow. Stunned, you stayed frozen as her words shaped the air between you into walls you couldn’t scale.

She had trained you well, hadn’t she? To obey without question, to absorb the sharpness of her words without flinching.

You’d mastered it: nodding, listening, falling in line. But this time, you couldn’t help the silent plea that escaped your gaze as you looked at her, your heart hanging on the edge of one unspoken question: Why?

Her posture stiffened, her body a fortress against you, and though her face betrayed no anger, what you saw there was worse—something colder, crueler. Her boots struck the floor in a rhythm that mocked the silence between you, an unyielding percussion that quickened the ache in your chest.

“Do you really think I don’t- see through you?” she hissed, her voice low but serrated, each word an incision that bled you dry.

You opened your mouth, desperate to explain, to justify, to reach her. “I thought you wanted me to help—”

She didn’t let you finish. With an almost lazy disdain, she perched on the armrest of the chair you’d just been resting in, claiming the space as her own, as if to erase your presence from it entirely. “Is that what you think this is? Help?” Her eyes locked onto yours, her gaze unrelenting and merciless. “You think you’re different, but you’re not.”

The words landed like a physical blow, robbing you of air. Your chest tightened, but no anger rose to meet her cruelty—only the dull, familiar ache of resignation.

"Caitlyn,” you whispered, but Caitlyn was quick to silence you with a hand raised in command.

“Stop,” she said, her voice softening, but only to the point of condescension. “You don’t get to make this about you. You knew what this was. What this is.”

You wanted to fight, to push back, but the weight of her words was suffocating, a reminder of your place beneath her. “You’re useful,” she continued, her tone almost clinical now. “But don’t mistake that for being necessary.”

Her cruelty was a scalpel, carving away any illusions you’d held onto. And still, you couldn’t muster defiance. Your head bowed, your gaze falling to the floor as her power washed over you, cold and relentless. You should have walked away. You should have demanded more. But instead, you let her words seep into your bones, leaving you hollow and malleable.

“I should’ve been focusing on the job,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair, undoing her bun with a frustrated tug. “You were just a distraction.”

The admission sliced through you, but instead of anger, you felt a strange, masochistic sense of purpose ignite. She was pushing you away, yes—but even in her rejection, she gave you a role to play, a way to exist in her world. And you were too far gone to reject it.

“If that’s all I am,” you murmured, stepping closer, your voice trembling but resolute, “then let me be it.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in her eyes—something human. Regret? Guilt? But it was gone too quickly to grasp.

She reached for you, her hand pulling you close with the same commanding force that had always bound you to her. Grasping at your hair with painful force, one you ached for.

Her touch burned, not with warmth but with possession, and you let yourself fall into her. You would let her define you, break you, shape you, because belonging to her—even like this—was the only place you felt whole.

Her voice dropped to a whisper as her breath brushed your ear. “You’re exactly what you let yourself be,” she said, her tone both damning and tender, sealing your fate. "But you need this, don’t you?”

Her lips brushed against yours—soft, fleeting, a cruel promise of something more—you realized you would always let her pull you back in. Even if it destroyed you.

"Get on your knees." It was your last chance, one you weren't doubting on using even if it meant getting kicked out the second she was satisfied.

The floor coldness- It's stiffness and fancy pattern, digging into your skin. You looked up at her just to meet her eyes, entirely locked on yours.

Something about the way she felt beneath your hands, even with her uniform still on- half of it, at least. You wanted to prove your worth.

You'd stay here for hours If that's what she needed, if that's what she wanted.

Her hands came to cup at your cheeks, holding your head in place. The tip of your fingers fidgeted with her belt, forcing it open before you slid her uniform pants down, taking her underwear too with a desperate whimper.

"What're you staring at?" Her hand comes closer to your chin again, leaning her pelvis towards you. Yet your absence of words maddened her.

Beneath her eyes- you, on your knees for her. With those shiny orbs and long lashes, the drool on your lips- yet, unable to do anything. "Cait..." You were just as pathetic as any other woman she's ever dragged into her room.

Her hand pressed agasint your cheek, smacking at it. "Address me with respect." The couple of muffled moans- whines, were quickly shushed by her. “And keep your mouth shut, understand?,” tears threatened to fall from your eyes before you pressed a gentle kiss over her clit.

Her head tilted back Inmediatelly, holding yours in place.

You sticked out your tongue, lapping at her folds while your nose brushed her clit.

Caitlyn could be mean, she couldn't care less about you, she could hurt you and manipulate you, but even so she was as pathetic as you were for her. Wet just by the mere thought of having you at her mercy, opening her legs for you to sink in between her thighs and slurp with obscenety at her pussy.

"Good girl" her tone comes quiet but firm, mockingly even. Shes got her lips slightly parted, her teeth peeking enough for you to catch a glimpse of how they sink on the flesh of her bottom lip.

She's still mad at you and it shows with how much she's digging her nails into your scalp. How tight she's got you between her legs.

You begin bobbing your head on your own. Her clutch on your hair firmly enough to lead you, as she always does. Your fingers tease on her hole, making small circles around her arousal while your tongue threatens to fill her inside.

You feel your lips growing wetter, a mix of the drool that will soon run down your chin and her juices. Her skin tender with each caress, each kiss on her clit or between her wet folds, her hole clenching at the emptiness, aching for your fingers to ease the ache. But you don't do anything until the burning of her nails digging on your wrist catch you off guard.

Only there your eyes open again, your saliva connecting your lips to her clit as you pull back enough to look up at her. "Do it right or leave."

Her fingers pulled your hair, forcing your head back. The furrow on her eyebrows gently faded into a mocking laugh at your aroused face, and eventually curved eyebrows. "What are you waiting for? mhm?"

Her hips adjusted forward, legs wide open for you to see and touch yet not savor any soon.

You thrusted your fingers with ease, growing wet at the obscene sound that came with it, at how her smile grew just enough to give you the satisfaction- you got the job done as she wanted.

The back of your head burned at the strength with which she held you in place. Forcing you to stare up at her, admire her blue strands of hair cascading on each side of her face, drool at the sight of her nipples beneath her messy blouse. You needed to touch, to put her breasts on your mouth and kiss each piece of skin you could, savour her whole and leave marks on her skin even if it meant her words hurting you lately.

"Please?" the whispers tone was ignored by her selfish pleasure. Only looking back at you with curved eyebrows and her pretty lips opened, whining at how good your fingers felt inside her. Caitlyn was practically riding on them at this point, only giving you the pleasure of looking at her like this, a desperate mess.

It wast only when you felt her tightening around your fingers. Only when your wrist got wet enough- her grasp on your hair forced you close to her pussy again. "Clean it." her breathless command was obeyed in a matter of seconds, with your tongue all over her wet, slurping and kissing and lapping and savoring everything of her while your fingers thrusts slowed down.

Caitlyn loved your devotion, loved seeing your face covered in her wet, your fingers swallowed by her, how you opened your mouth for her to spit on your tongue and how you swallowed it all. She adored the gagging when her fingers dove too deep into your mouth, loved that drool that connected your tongue to her lips or your tongue to her pussy whenever you got to eager.

But you could never be enough for her.

And so, after all these months of helping her, working for her, making her cum and being her toy. You realized you've fallen for it just like everyone else.

Next time she got stressed and her body was aching with all the tension gathered in the last week, it wasn't you on her office but Officer Nolan, sitting on the same desk she'd got you leg wide open for the first time.

[girlsoutlate]

thinking about nikto that is more a glorified guard dog than human, let alone your lover.

fem reader, animalistic language, mentions of past sex between reader and nikto, unwanted sexual remarks made about reader (nikto sorts them out dw), nikto is a FREAK

you're too nice for him. not soft, you couldn't be with him. he would get over-excited and greedy. you were firm, but never too strict. you had to give your mutt some leniency, he'd never dreamed being spoilt by a beauty like you. with kindness and patience you coaxed him from being brash and hypervigilant to pathetically obedient.

some small part of nikto is confused at the change, how could a thing like him be doted on by someone like you? his mind just as warped and scarred as the stretched skin that covered his body. compared to your angelic self he almost felt ashamed of believing he was deserving of your love. almost. but he didn't question your compassion, for once the world had given him something good.

instead of returning to his bare kennel of a flat, he returned home to you. the glow of your presence had seeped in to your now shared home, an array of your trinkets as well as belongings scattered about. as he opened the front door his pale eyes latched onto your supple body, surrounded by halo of light from the bulb behind. gliding down the hallway your features changed to furrowed brows and slightly parted dewy lips as you took note of his bloody knuckles and ragged breathing. meeting his eyes through your lashes you brought a manicured hand up to pet the side of his masked face. he lent in to it, rubbing the harsh material of his mask against your smooth hand. "nikto, are you okay?" you asked, melodic voice soothing the never-ending raucous in his head. you didn't ask what happened, it was typically for a good cause, even if he got a little too enthusiastic. you just wanted to make sure your loyal dog wasn't too injured. besides, a little roughing up can be quite beneficial.

nikto could deal with comment and looks towards himself. he had always had to deal with them. from his hazy childhood memories, to his return from torture. but no one could whisper your name without a bark of threat from nikto. more often than not he followed through. you were closely guarded in niktos heart at all times. his devotion to you was not a secret, and neither was your existence to those close enough to him. instead, your name was the holiest prayer a sorry man could utter. your existence proof that there was sanctuary. so, if anyone acted maliciously towards you they better pray your forgiveness extends to them. because niktos bite was worse than his bark.

thats what happened earlier today. some dolts commented on your salacious body when you dropped off some documents nikto left at home. it made his blood run hot. their unrestrained remarks over your full curves and cherubic face pervaded his ears. he hated it. hated hearing them jest about the fat of your ass. that was for him to sink his fangs in to. or when they fantasised of using your plush tits for their own pleasure. they were for nikto to nuzzle at and suckle on. he almost gutted them right there when they innocently complimented your gossamer hair to your face. that was for nikto to snatch when he mounted you, desperate to show you he was good enough to have you like that. back arched while stray strands of hair fell across your shoulder blades, muscles quivering with pleasure. the plumpness of your ass bounced and rippled off his narrow hips, his mushroom tip kissing your cervix with more aggression each time. chanting your name with a growl he pawed the fat of your hips, stretchmarks littered with bites and bruises. nikto fucked you with fervour, he was all yours. it made it that much more unfortunate when you pulled him aside just before you left base, asking if he heard the comments too.

so when he came home half an hour later with bloody knuckles you didnt ask what he did. you could count on your dog to protect you, he was more than happy to serve you. it gave his life a further meaning from death and war. you gave him a meaning. he replied to your concerned question with a husky grunt. gesturing him to follow, you turned and walked down the hall with the soft pad of his footsteps just behind.

"sit." you said, nodding towards the kitchen table "i put our dinner in the oven to stay warm, we'll eat after i've patched up your hands". he gave a short nod. he thought you were so selfless, choosing to look after him first rather than yourself. as you picked up the first aid kit off the counter that was always in easy reach, nikto let out a soft growl that was only reserved for you.

"moya lyubov, missed you"

thanks for reading!! likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, i hope you enjoyed it :)) i am more than happy to give this apart 2 if your heart so desires

this is my first time writing anything resembling smut so i hope it isn't too cringe LOLL felt like i had a bloody brain aneurysm when i wrote it for like the fifth time

[dilf-docs]

X Si Volvemos

ex older bf!logan x younger fem!reader

summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (phew), smut, ex!logan, exes to ????, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, logan is on his middle to late 40s, angst (duh), this happens in an AU where mutants don't exist bc i don't wanna complicate myself with timelines lol hence time isn't really important but it's contemporary, the vibes i bring to the function are more sad than horny and i'm sorry, toxic too! may build a series around it?

word count: 1,925 words

side note: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!

You shouldn't call.

"Logan" you speak. His name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.

He shouldn't answer.

It's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says I'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? As soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.

You shouldn't keep calling.

"I need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.

I miss you. I love you.

Your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.

He shouldn't keep answering.

"Princess..." Logan pleads, "don't do this"

You know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. Just to hear your voice, just to-

"Please, Lo" you whine out. Logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. It takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.

"Don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.

"I've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"

"Y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"

Logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.

"I'm sorry" and then he hangs up.

I'm sorry for not being who you needed. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I keep on coming back after I said I would leave you alone. I'm sorry I can't keep my promises.

You feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.

"Are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.

What are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself? Do you love him more than you love you?

You dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.

"Yeah?"

"Hi. Wanna go out?"

Logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.

Listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.

He empties another glass, feeling pathetic. This is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.

A song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. The night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. He still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. Logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.

But every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.

So he did what he did best: ruin it. Deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.

When he broke your heart, he took a part with him. So you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. And he let's you: because God knows you have a part of himself too.

He's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. He's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. He's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.

"Y/n..."

The music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.

"...Logan"

He walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. They're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.

"What are you doing here?"

He raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".

Your lips purse, and Logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.

"I see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. The outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. They are on display, and Logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.

"I see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. He looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.

You stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.

"Why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.

"What do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. Very stupid, indeed.

You scoff, "delete my number, then"

"You keep on calling" he bites back.

"And you keep answering"

You never shut up. He hates that.

"I may have to stop"

You get closer, way too closer. So much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.

"Try to" you dare.

And he tries, he really tries. But not today.

Not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. You had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.

"You haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.

He picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.

"Why would I?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.

"Because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"

But when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.

"I couldn't" he confesses.

I couldn't, he means, because I couldn't let you go.

But you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start: because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. This isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. Still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.

"Shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.

So he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. He feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.

"Take it" Logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "I know you want it"

He's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. He robs a drawn-out groan out of you.

"So tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. His cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.

"You're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "So big, Lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.

"Just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. No matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".

Hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. You grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.

"Like that, princess. Good girl" you moan at the praise, "I know you could take me, all of me"

He grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.

Before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"

He wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. But making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. Fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.

"Inside me, Lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. Never happened, not in his four decades of life. And that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.

So how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? Who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. He feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.

"Such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"

A broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.

He finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. You can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.

Logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:

"Anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"

Your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.

Then the silence comes, like it always does now.

"Y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. Like a goodbye.

"Don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. But he pulls out, and says:

"It's for the best"

You don't want what's best. You want him.

"Can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. Why?"

You fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "I knew you couldn't say no".

The truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.

[tiredsmashbros]

SMG34: LIPBITE COMIC WIP UPDATE

oh boy... i know a bunch of folks are hyped for this comic... and boy oh boy are ya'll's prayers going to be heard... kind of... butt for the celebration milestone, and granted majority are from this comic, i thought it was best to give EVERYTHING that i have currently.

starting off STRONG with what you freaks most want: the completed pages. andddd yep that's it that all that i have done LMAO. i've been fixated on my own smg4 oc: tsb, and during the end of my summer was unfortunately fucked over by some personal issues that fortunately got resolved last minute good grief the anxiety prevented me from drawing the gays sigh... aNYWAYS LINEART WIPS!!!!

here are linearts i have completed / in the progress of!! want to aim like i did in the past by finishing up lineart first, and then speed through with color + minor rendering. the reason i have a few colored is to test out what it would look polished and my god... i have improved A LOT. THESE GAY PEOPLE GIVE POWER I AM NOT KIDDING BELIEVE ME IM NOT CRAY- anyways onto wip pages!

jumpscare: tsb stickman sketches. oh yeah. this is how i sketch and i blame sensei eiichiro oda /j. and in case anyone is unable to understand it {i don't blame u LMAO}, smg4 wakes up from the dream and is startled to see mario by his bed. they have a short convo before mario leaves, and we get a job to smg4 in the bathroom trying to put up a brave face. until the moment he leaves he's stunned due to seeing smg3 at his front door. will i elaborate more on specifics or unwritten dialogue? NOPE! gotta keep secrets to make it even more enjoyable at the end!!

currently at 13 sketched pages total, but this is probably gonna be reaching towards 20-ish pages, surpassing part two, but it will depend on how i come up with how to end it. additionally to confirm there will be a PART FOUR / chapter 3, to end this story. my goal is to have it done before i finish my senior year, or at least during the summer after i graduate bc good lord who knows whats gonna happen.

and lastly, before i end this crazy update, SCRAPPED PAGESSS!!!!!

CONTENT WARNING : NSFW SKETCHES !!!! PLEASE LOOK AWAY IF YOU ARE A MINOR OR DON'T LIKE THIS TYPE OF STUFF!!!

oh boy... dont draw comics while sleep-deprived at 6am... idek what i was even aiming with this ngl other than just for fun, but i scrapped it due to not being what i had in mind for the story. if it doesn't serve a purpose or narrative, its bye bye YEAH BYE BYE THIS IS THE CLOSEST NSFW UR GONNA GET FROM ME HAHAHAHAHA- i say that despite writing a nsfw jojo wattpad smh im only confident doing it in words good lord. btw not watermarking these bc i gen don't care since they're legit scrapped {left top part was kept and completed} so idk what to do with these. im just throwing it and walkin away

now to end with this update, i can hear your question, "when will this be done?" and to answer that question: i'm not entirely sure due to my heavy focus on my smg4 oc: tsb, but my best chance is postponing my oc lore a bit and complete this before november UOIYGJDSIUHJKDWSXYUGHJKCS but we shall have too see...

if you want to join the ping list comment on this post LMAO [click]

ignore below if you're not from the tsb birthday partydddjdhdhdjd

...

...

...

thurs: smg34 is canon in the tsb universe / au. though most of their encounters are platonic or best-friendy-way, they eventually express their feelings to one another and start dating 3/4’s way of the tsb storyline arc. tsb is a supporter of his friend's relationship and admires and takes inspiration from their relationship heavily to input his future love life. yearning to be in a similar position... to learn what is to really love someone... or what it's truly like to be loved...

[revasserium]

Can I request any windbreak characters (headcanons) of your choosing reacting to their s/o ending up in the hospital beacause if a rival gang targeting them?

reqs are open!

the beautiful and damned

sakura, suo; 911 words; fluff, slight angst, implied bodily harm, lapslock, no "y/n", hurt/comfort kinda i guess?, very!drabble, suo being... suo

a/n: sry i only did sakura and suo... currently i've only got the muse for these two tho i did consider tossing umemiya in there lmao; maybe next time...

falling backwards — sakura

it can take the body up to twenty-minutes to cycle through an average fight-or-flight response though he’s always prided himself in staying for the fight.

seeing you in the hospital bed for the first time was a masterclass in the concept of flight — or rather, in falling. of the ground crumbling beneath him, of his stomach going momentarily weightless before sinking and sinking, of his lungs calcifying inside his chest till it physically stings to breathe.

“i’m alright,” you say, waving him off, but for the first time, his knee-jerk reaction isn’t to punch something — it’s to topple into the chair by the door and bury his face in his hands.

“you’re alright…” he says, his mouth forming around the words like learning to speak for the very first time, and then again, “you’re alright.” the says the words like a prayer answered, like exaltation, like a promise to himself made and broken and mended back again.

you cast him a wide smile, though he doesn’t miss the way you wince and your hand jumps up to the bandage wrapped around your forehead.

“it really looks worse than it is… i just got scratched so they had to bandage up my head but the wound was really shallow so —”

he makes his way over to your bedside and tugs you into his chest, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the harsh, florescent light of the hospital room. for a second, your voice is muffled against his shirt but then you go quiet in his arms, you go soft, and there’s a terrifying moment when he wonders if he’s held on too tight —

“sakura?”

“you’re… alright.”

he slumps down on the bed next to you, reaching for your hands. you let him take them, let him study them. there are a smattering of bruises along your arms, but nothing’s broken, no lasting damage. he leans down to press his forehead to the backs of your hands; you feel the heat simmering beneath his skin, stark and startling against your cool fingers.

“yeah. i’m alright. and… you’re okay too,” you say, flipping a hand over to cup his face, to lift his head up to meet your gaze. he nods, slowly, leaning into your touch.

“yeah… i think i will be.”

here are the monsters — suo

there are a few things suo hayato knows to be true: he’s a good fighter, even one of the best in the freshman year, that green tea should be brewed at 75 to 80 degrees, and that whoever did this will pay.

“tell me who did this.”

his voice is light, almost conversational, and nothing in his expression betrays the bright red fury curdling just beneath the thin veneer of his calm. you eye him warily, and he smiles sweetly, cocking his head to one side as he waits for your answer.

“hayato…”

“hm?”

you sigh, leaning back in your hospital bed and crossing your arms.

“if i tell you, promise you won’t go looking for a fight.”

suo pauses, considering your words, tallying them against his internal list of truths — he knows of the terrible risk of loving someone more than yourself, of the secret strength it grants you. he knows terror too, the kind that seems endless and dark and ever-expanding, a black hole of nothing that threatens to consume him when he’d first heard that you’d been hurt bad enough to warrant a night in the hospital.

but beneath that terror is something else — something with flashing teeth and shining claws that he does not have a name for but has felt flickering there for his whole entire life.

this is the monster, he thinks, that lives in us all.

the minotaur in the middle of the maze of self.

hungry and lonely and howling for blood.

“fine. i promise,” he says, putting his hands up.

you blink at him for a few seconds before your eyes narrow once more. you know him, and you know him almost too well.

“hayato, what aren’t you telling me?”

“i’ll tell you if you tell me who did this.”

after another second’s pause, you sigh and list off a few names — the perpetrators to this great crime. kids, too, from another school’s gang.

“it’s par for the course, isn’t it?” you say, your voice tightening slightly as suo nods and gets to his feet. he takes his time, stretches, leans down to drop a sweet kiss into your hair, “i knew what i was getting into when i agreed to date you so…” your voice trails off as suo makes for the door, humming lightly.

“where’re you going?” you ask.

he pauses by the door, “for a walk and… maybe a friendly chat with some kids at the school the next county over.”

“hayato! you promised you wouldn’t go looking for a fight!”

at this, suo’s expression shifts ever so slightly. it’s in the slant of his mouth and the sharpness of his eyes, the way his voice is smooth as starlight but his words have all their vowels seeped in cyanide —

“oh i’m not going looking for a fight… but you see, the second they put a hand on you, the fight already found it’s way to me.”

---

@houseofsolisoccasum

[searchingforserendipity25]

like.

lawrence's thing about being clocked by the old pope as a manager and not a shepherd, about being taken as inoffensive and unambitious and politically-unmotivated by most anyone at the beginning of the conclave. is that.

okay, he's a manager, he's the backstage admin making sure the curia goes on, he's a paper pusher. but you can't convince me this guy didn't paper push a whole lot of insane papers.

you don't end up with a reputation for dogged integrity, easily forgotten influence and selfless reliability as the second most influential person in the vatican like that by being boring or normal. or at least boring in a normal way.

innocent xiv in his second first day of office being given the super secret cardinal cvs and nodding along to everything, with a few surprises. until he gets to t. lawrence, dean of the college. and it's just. this gigantic fold out of stapled documents that goes over his knees and keeps unrolling on the floor.

he's merely a manager, alright. it's just that he's been managing literally everything, step by step, all the way up the ladder.

this man could bring down the church in half an hour w a few phone calls. this man could bring down several establishments, and it is not entirely clear, reading between the lines, that he hasn't, indirectly, unveiled a number of scandals in his time.

and it's not that lawrence thinks of himself as a bona fide politician, as anyone influential. it's not that he seeks out power, exactly, that he hunts down corruption on purpose. he's not a detective; he's not a cynic.

it's just that he is competent. that's his calling, in a sense; it has been his calling, to be competent for god, in god's service.

he is very, very, very good at his job, which has, from what the paperwork relies, been that of middle-upper management everywhere he has ever been, from his catholic youth scouting group days, to his seminary years, to canon law teaching, to bishorship, and beyond.

his loss of faith is threatening enough, at the start of the movie, that he has come to a point where he wants to leave his work. he cannot do, without faith, because it is his faith. without prayer to guide him, how can he possible do it?

everything that happens during the conclave is like a nightmare build custom made for him. the culmination of a career built on the foundations of pretending to himself he is keeping well out any undue influence to correct procedure, while in fact determining what correct procedure should look like.

there is a difference, a fine difference, between making sure events and places and concepts as vague and complex as the bride of christ run smoothly; and then there is infighting, which is petty, and political, and not any of his business.

any accountability review process will simply have to wait, and ideally be someone else's responsibility. there's a time and there's a place, and lawrence has lived his life very much keeping to his own time and place.

this determination, as it happens, does not last very long. lawrence has live his life keeping to his time, and place, and that is, unfortunately for his peace of mind, wherever and whenever there is something wrong with the machinal workings of the responsibility in his charge.

the cognitive dissonance + all revealed secrets + the continued choice to take part in the world of politics is at last strong enough to unbalance his belief in his own mediocrity. which had, while being a decisive part of his sense of self, also been chocking him w resentment a bit.

turns out, he is as able of holding a desire as anyone else, just because he refuses to hold to an agenda beyond his obligations.

he is neither beneath nor above; being discreet about the power he holds does not make it any less real, or any less his responsibility to wield it openly to break tradition and make sure there is a structure. checks and balances. that what is rotten is not hidden beneath gilt, that the bride of christ is not cheated or lied to.

that the living principles they swear to are upheld in truth and not just in ideal, that the weaknesses of men in power are admitted. and that includes his own ambitions, his own hypocrisies and human frailties.

he is, after all, a manager. this work is what he is for.

it is possible he is dealing with this growing self-awareness received via exploding sistine chapel to the face with some grace. possible! perhaps not likely.

what is clear, to innocent, is that the church as it stands has been quietly, diligently, unassumingly managed over the decades into the shape of what thomas lawrence's church ought to be. in the image of his integrity, the mark his service leaves behind. no one has noticed; it is possible his predecessor made sure no one noticed.

the late holy father, it has to be said, was quite fond of his secret weapons hidden in plain sight.

a more suspicious man would think that the fact that he went underestimated for so long was part of a deliberate farce.

but no. he's not a great tactical genius, he's just like that. t. lawrence, there it is on paper. through the years, a whole bursting folder of different grains and colours of cheap office paper, a long scroll of good works, of work as faith, all the way to cardinal-dean of the college of cardinals. and now?

and now he's innocent's extremely competent manager to manage, and it is not entirely clear how well the curia might hold on, without him. possibly it might not.

no pressure tho. it's not like he's asked to retire before or anything.

his scouts group is recorded as having organized a fully-functioning food kitchen during his administration, btw. it's still open, and funded by the dean of the college of cardinals. if you even care. innocent cares so much.

[ccwpidsblog]

SAINTS AND SINNERS — iwtv

SUMMARY : Edmée Heart, the dutiful daughter of a pastor, lives a sheltered life bound by rules and expectations. But her quiet world begins to unravel when she catches the attention of Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt, two enigmatic men with dark secrets. Drawn to Edmée’s innocence, Louis and Lestat vie for her affection, each offering her a taste of freedom and danger.

RATING : 18+

CONTENT WARNING: season one spoilers, not entirely accurate to the show but we’re all grown here it shouldn’t matter much, eventual polyamory, heavy religious themes, daddy issues, more to be added

CWPID NOTES 🏹: this is a great way to come back and show how much my writing has improved. redeeming myself from the trash fiction i was writing before. ON A03 N WILL ONLY BE UPDATED ON AO3 (if im not being lazy)

Edmée remembered the Sundays before Louis de Pointe du Lac avoided the sun, somehow, he’d managed to arrive at church after a long night of sin. He was always late, slipping through the heavy wooden doors just as her father’s booming voice began the first prayer. From her family’s high pew, she could see him moving down the aisle, the faint scent of booze and perfume lingering on his clothes—a sinful whisper of the previous night’s indulgences.

He’d take his usual seat beside his brother, his strong frame settling heavily into the creaking wood. His head would bow, his eyes would close, and for the rest of the service, he remained still. Unmoving, like a statue carved from marble. At first, Edmée thought he might be sleeping, but there was something too deliberate about the way he held himself, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression unreadable.

She couldn’t stop watching him. From her elevated view, she memorized the way the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across his dark skin. He looked ethereal, caught between shadows and light, the kind of beauty that left her breathless and guilty all at once. She tried to focus on her father’s sermon, but her gaze always drifted back to Louis.

At the end of every service, as her father stood by the doors shaking hands and offering blessings, Louis would rise with a graceful ease. He’d move through the small crowd, a charming smile on his lips, and when he reached her father, he always made a point to praise the sermon. “Your words speak straight to the soul, Pastor Heart,” he’d say, his voice like velvet dipped in honey.

Then he’d turn to her mother, taking her hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “A vision of grace, as always, Mrs. Heart,” he’d say, his words smooth and effortless.

But when his gaze finally reached Edmée, it changed. He wouldn’t kiss her hand, wouldn’t offer a compliment. Instead, he’d nod at her, a playful, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. That smile—the one that made her feel like the only girl in the world and completely invisible at the same time. If her skin had been any lighter, she knew she would’ve turned as red as the pew cushions beneath her.

In passing, he treated her the same. A quick nod, a flash of white teeth. But she noticed how he greeted the other women—the kisses, the murmured words that made them laugh and fan themselves, the lingering glances. With her, there was none of that.

Only a nod. A smile.

And it made her stomach twist with jealousy. The last time Edmée saw Louis was at Grace’s wedding. The church was packed, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the murmur of joyous chatter. Louis was everywhere that day—his laugh echoing above the music, his face alight with a rare kind of happiness that made him seem untouchable. He was glowing, his usual quiet intensity replaced by something brighter, freer. Edmée stood by the punch table, nervously clutching a glass, when he approached her. She didn’t see him coming; one moment she was alone, and the next he was there, his presence commanding and electric.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Maybe even more beautiful than the bride.”

Her breath caught, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t tell Grace,” he added with a wink, leaning in just enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something darker, richer. Edmée could only nod, her voice stolen by his closeness, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Months.

Many months without seeing him.

The pew Louis shared with Paul and his family remained empty every Sunday, a silent memorial to all that had unraveled. No one dared to sit there now, not after everything. Not after Paul’s tragic passing, not after the whispers.

The whispers.

They followed Louis like a shadow, stretching long and dark through the town. The women at her mother’s so-called “Bible studies” spoke of him in hushed tones, their voices dripping with scandal and sanctimony. “Dancing with the devil,” they’d say, the words lingering in the air like smoke. Edmée would sit in the corner, quietly stitching or polishing silver, her ears pricking at every mention of his name. Her brothers were no better. On Thursday nights, they’d gather in the attic for their card games, their voices low and conspiratorial. Edmée wasn’t allowed to join, of course, but she’d found her own way around that rule. If she sat at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, her father wouldn’t scold her.

There, she could catch snippets of their conversations, each word painting a more vivid picture of the man she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“...seen him with him again...” “...spends his nights where no decent man would...” “...more dead than alive, if you ask me.”

The words made her chest tighten, her heart ache. She couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Louis de Pointe du Lac, the man who nodded at her with that secret smile, who complimented her at Grace’s wedding, couldn’t be what they said he was. Could he?

But her father’s rules were ironclad. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t go looking for answers. The world outside their home was a forbidden one, especially now. Edmée’s days were measured in prayers and chores, her nights spent reading scripture or mending clothes by candlelight. Her father had made it clear: the streets were no place for a proper young lady, especially after dark. The world out there was dangerous, filled with temptation and sin. But tonight, as she stood by the forbidden window, the temptation was unbearable.

The house was quiet, her family long asleep. The window, a heavy thing with rusted hinges, had always been forbidden. “Nothing good comes from looking where you shouldn’t,” her father had said countless times. But tonight, Edmée couldn’t help herself. She pressed her fingers to the cool glass, peering into the moonlit street below. At first, there was nothing. Just the empty streetlamps and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. But then, she saw him.

Louis

He was walking slowly down the cobblestone street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his head slightly bowed. The gaslight caught his face, illuminating its sharp angles, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked different—thinner, wearier, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed closer to the glass, watching him with the kind of hunger she didn’t dare name.

“Not tonight,” Louis said, his voice low but sharp. Another figure emerged from the shadows. He appeared with a startling grace, stepping into the lamplight as if conjured from the darkness itself. His hair gleamed like spun gold, his sharp, angular features both striking and unnerving.

There was a wildness about him, a dangerous energy that made Edmée’s heart race in an entirely different way.

“Louis,” Lestat’s voice purred, low and teasing, the sound carrying up to her window. “Out for another pensive stroll, are we? Tell me, do you plan to sulk your way through eternity, or is this just for tonight’s entertainment?”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Lestat,” he said, his voice soft but heavy with frustration. “Oh, but you never are,” Lestat replied, stepping closer. “And yet, here I am, devoted as ever. You should be flattered, mon cher.”

From her perch, Edmée couldn’t look away. The two men stood in stark contrast—Louis, somber and grounded, and Lestat, all sharp smiles and restless energy. Their connection was undeniable, charged with something she didn’t quite understand but found utterly captivating.

Lestat reached out, brushing an invisible speck from Louis’s shoulder with a flourish. “And speaking of devotions,” he said, his tone turning sly, “you’ve been spending an awful lot of time on this street. Seems that you miss the little church mouse lately? What’s her name again? Edmée?”

She could see the shift in Louis as he seemingly snapped, finally turning to face Lestat. “Leave her out of this,”

Lestat’s grin widened. “Oh, mon ami, you wound me. I only meant to say she’s... enchanting, in her own way. So innocent, so untouched by the world.” He tilted his head, his gaze flickering upward as though he might sense her watching.

Panicking, Edmée ducked away from the window, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breath.

Had he seen her?

Had they seen her?

Who was he?

What was he to Louis?

As she sat there in the dark, the questions swirled in her mind, each one more troubling than the last. And though she couldn’t explain why, she felt as though she had glimpsed something forbidden, something that would change everything if she let it.

[enviedear]

𓆰𓆪 what a waste, army dreamers

jacaerys velaryon

- ˏˋ 🎧ྀི 1.3k words, no use of y/n, no specified house, childhood friends to lovers, team black victory!au ˊˎ -

in which the war ends in favor of the realms’ delight and life attempts to return back to what it was before the war—only, you pray a naive oath of love—spoken in haste before the fight grew old—still rings true.

the red keep almost feels like a figment of your imagination. the castle, still reminiscent of your first moons in these halls, and shockingly unchanged by the recent war. you met the seasons again and again away from these walls, waiting for the war to end—a mere girl the last you strode these halls, but the memories are as vivid as ever. glimpses of the past seem etched invisibly in the stone around you, coaxing you back to a time when the world was simpler. before the war had upended everything.

your household's return to the capital had been met with all the formalities expected of a family in favor with the crown. your father, newly appointed to queen rhaenyra’s council, had brought you along.

the red keep was your home once more, yet it felt strangely uncharted and distant—much like the young prince you had once known so well. jacaerys.

he had been a constant in your life, his presence as usual to you as the castle itself. you grew together, shared secrets, and once, when the fight was still young, he had confessed something you're unsure you'll ever be able to forget—“i think i’m in love with you.”

it had been spoken so softly, you remember. the same softness you recall him showing when his duties kept him from you. but his eyes, dark and brimming with a genuine kindness unparalleled by any other, are what you remember most.

those words had hung between the both of you, hearts heavy by the sentiment. you had left him that night with a promise to speak on the matter when the war was over. a practical choice, you had told yourself. but the war had taken longer than anyone anticipated. by the time it was over, everything had changed. he had changed. youth had changed—turned into the morbid realities of maturity, and with it, ended your puerile prayers for the prince.

you hadn’t dared seek him out since your return. so much time had passed, too many things left unsaid. Most of all, you weren’t sure you could face him again without surrendering entirely to what might have been. transfigured into a ghost of the past.

despite your efforts, you know that the castle walls are not large enough for you to evade him forever. no matter how hard you try.

you're standing in front of your chamber door, hand resting on the cool brass handle. the day had been long, filled with courtiers and formalities, and all you've yearned for is a moment of peace. still, you stand there, frozen in place by the steady beat of footfalls. undeniably heading your way.

you hadn’t sought him out. wouldn't have dared.

but he had sought you.

the footsteps echo softly from behind you, and you let out a tense breath. you don't have to turn around to know who it is. his presence still feels as keen as your own shadow.

your name falls from his lips, voice low and rough around the edges. you turn slowly, heart hammering in your chest, and meet his gaze.

jacaerys stands there, just a few paces away, his expression a mix of emotions you can’t read. the moonlight from a nearby window casts soft shadows on his face, underlining the sharp angles and his deep, tempestuous eyes. they've always been able to see through your defenses.

“my prince.” you rush, his title slipping out before you can stop it, habit now.

he withdraws, the reaction so slight you might've missed it if you weren’t watching so closely. “don’t.” he starts, voice softer now, almost pleading. “not when it’s just us.”

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. for that moment, everything feels suspended. stuck in that delicate space between what was and what could have been. a space you're all too familiar with.

he takes a tentative step closer, gaze fixed on you as though he fears you might vanish if he moves too quickly. the warmth of his presence is a bright contrast to the cold stone surrounding you, and you find yourself drawn to him, despite the years and the changes that have come between you.

"you're well, i hope?" you ask, the words escaping before you can reconsider. it’s a question laden with too much civility, but it’s all you can manage in the face of his lingering brown eyes.

jacaerys offers a small, rueful smile. "it has been… a challenge." he admits. "but i’ve managed, as has the realm. and now, seeing you here—"

he stops himself as if searching for the right words. you can see the struggle etched across his face, the inner turmoil battling with the calm exterior he tries so very hard to maintain.

"seeing me?" you prompt, gently, eyes softening as you look at him. the years have changed him, but the boy you once knew is still there, just beneath the surface. still sweet and delicate with his words, and playful and jovial in actions.

he exhales slowly, and the breath seems to release the tension in his shoulders, only slightly. "it’s strange." he decides finally. "to see you again after so long. i did not expect—" he shakes his head, frustration evident in his voice. "for it to be this difficult."

the openness in his tone catches you off guard, there's a swirl of bittersweet confusion swimming in your mind.

"it has been difficult for me as well." you confess quietly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "i do not know if you still—"

"still what?" he interrupts, taking yet another step closer. his eyes search yours, filled with a hope that appears fragile and fervent. "if i still care for you?" he finally lets his smile peek through, "i do. i’ve thought of you in every moment and prayed for you in those inbetween."

the sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache, a bittersweet pang that is both reassuring and painful. you look up at him, meeting his eyes with a meld of apprehension and longing.

"i never thought you would." you confide, a hint of a smile touching your lips despite the nervous flutter in your chest. "i conceded to the belief you'd come to forget me."

he reaches out, closing the minimal distance between you, his hand brushing yours in a tender, almost hesitant touch. "i never could." he whispers, voice steadying as he holds your gaze. "i was hurt at the gullet, you know. the maester's said it was the mercy of the gods that let me live." a pause, "but it wasn’t. it was you. i heard your voice, saw your face. no gods, only you. i knew i just had to wait."

your pulse quickens at his words. all at once, you feel the warmth of his hand against yours. such a gentle pressure and still, it seems strong enough to bridge the gap that had grown between you over the many moons apart.

"wait for what?" you question, nearly heady for his words.

he looks at you with a vehemence that makes your heart race, gaze unwavering. "for you." he says softly. "i told you i thought i loved you, and yet it wasn't the truth. i always knew it was as true then as it is now. my love for you seems to come easier than breathing and it always has."

your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, a promise and a confession all at once. the warmth of his hand on yours feels like a lifeline, and for a moment, everything else falls away.

"i don’t know what to say." you admit, voice soft. "it all feels more like a dream."

jacaerys’s eyes soften, and he ambles closer, his hand still gently clasping yours. "it's no dream, issa prūmia." he murmurs, his voice a tender caress. "let me show you that i meant every word. from every moment i spent waiting."

unable to stop yourself, you reach out and cup his cheek in your hand, inclining at the feeling of his warm skin beneath your fingertips. his eyes soften even further at the gesture, a small smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

"i've missed you." you whispered, fingers slipping up to his dark hair. you let yourself card your fingers through the soft tresses—just as you would moons prior.

jacaerys leans into your touch, closing his eyes briefly—as if savoring the moment like a hearty meal. and when he opens them again, they’re gleaming with the same utter adoration you remember so vividly.

[thewulf]

Entwined Realms || Legolas

Summary: Request: So I thought about this idea with Legolas x reader where the reader is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn (which makes her princess of Lothlorien and a very high elf) and she is nervous because its commonly known that Galadriel and Thranduil dont like each other (she is still his superior but you get the point) and the reader and Legolas have a dinner or some council or something together with their parents.

A/N: This was one of my favs to write. Just love everything LOTR... please keep them coming! Thank you for the request @lillisummers

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

In the timeless realm of Lothlórien, you, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, walked among the golden trees with a heavy heart filled with the weight of ancient grudges. It had been many years since you last tread upon these familiar paths, for you had spent much of your time in Rivendell, aiding in the healing of those who bore the scars of war.

As a princess of the high elves, you bore the burden of your lineage with grace. Yet the tension between your mother and Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, weighed heavily upon you. The animosity between them was no secret, and you often found yourself caught in the midst of their disagreements. You were torn between loyalty to your mother and the desire for unity among your people after the war of the ring. Your return to Lothlórien had been sudden, called back by your father during the darkest days of the war. The news of battles raging across middle earth had filled you with dread. Yet, you knew that your place was by your family's side, lending whatever aid you could in the struggle against the darkness.

Despite the discord that lingered between your realms you held onto hope, believing in the power of unity to overcome adversity. The memories of Celebrian's capture and torture haunted you still. She drove your determination to see an end to the suffering that had plagued your people for so long.

As you walked beneath the golden canopy of the trees, you found solace in the familiar sights and sounds of Lothlórien. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the branches. They spoke to you of peace and beauty, reminding you of all that was worth fighting for in this world. Your steps carried you towards a familiar spot. The quiet glade where the gravestones of those fallen in battle lay. The air was hushed. The only sound was the soft whisper of leaves and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby streams.

Stopping by the gravestones, you traced your fingers over each weathered stone, feeling the weight of loss settle upon your heart. Here, beneath the earth, lay the brave souls who had given their lives in service of a greater cause. A cause that you had fought for alongside them. Your thoughts turned to Haldir, the gallant Marchwarden who had stood by your side in the darkest of times. His laughter, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty… they were memories that you held dear, memories that would live on long after he had passed from this world. At one point you were convinced you would marry him but that was before he was taken so suddenly from you.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of silence. A moment to remember those who had been taken from you too soon. Their faces flashed before your eyes, friends, fighters, and loved ones alike. Each one leaving behind an indelible mark upon your soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also hope. Hope for a future where their sacrifices would not be in vain. Where the darkness would be banished for good and the light would shine so brightly once more. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you vowed to carry their memory with you always, to honor their legacy in all that you did.

As you stood amidst the gravestones, lost in memories and reflections, a soft voice broke through the silence. She was calling your name. You turned to see your mother, Galadriel, approaching with a gentle smile upon her lips. Her eyes, always so wise and knowing, held a depth of understanding that eased the ache in your heart.

"Y/n," she said, her voice like the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, "I have been searching for you. It is good to see you home again. You look well my love."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at the sight of her familiar face. "It is good to be home, Mother," you replied, stepping forward to embrace her.

Galadriel held you close, tight. Her arms a reassuring embrace amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "You have been missed, my dear," she said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you pulled away, Galadriel's gaze softened. Her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "There is much to discuss," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But first, I have news that I believe will bring you much joy."

Curiosity piqued, you listened as Galadriel spoke of the upcoming marriage between your niece, Arwen, and Aragorn, the King of Gondor. The news filled you with a sense of anticipation, the prospect of a wedding bringing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded middle earth for so long. "I would be honored to attend," you said. Your heart swelling with love for your family and excitement for the joyous occasion to come.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I had no doubt that you would," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon and begin preparations. There is much to do, and little time to waste." She motioned you to follow her.

With a nod of agreement, you fell into step beside your mother. It felt as though the weight of grief and loss lightened by the promise of love and celebration on the horizon. As you walked the golden light of Lothlórien illuminated your path guiding you towards a future filled with possibility.

Too quickly the day of celebration arrived. The grand halls of Minas Tirith were adorned with banners and flowers, filling the air with a sense of festivity and anticipation. You, dressed in your finest elven attire, mingled with the guests. Your heart was aflutter with excitement and nerves for your niece and the King of Gondor. Amidst the bustling crowd, your eyes scanned the faces of those gathered taking in the sight of strangers and acquaintances alike. And then your gaze met that of a mysterious elven stranger across the ornate courtyard who you did not recognize.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue. They held a warmth and kindness that drew you in, sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment it felt as though the world around you had faded away leaving only you and this enigmatic stranger in a universe of your own making. But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Broken by the sound of laughter and music drifting through the air you tore your gaze away. Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, heart racing with the memory of that brief but electrifying encounter.

Though you knew not who he was, nor what fate had in store for you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this chance meeting was somehow significant. And as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the joyous festivities you couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the mysterious elven stranger who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the celebration unfolded you found yourself standing beside Arwen, basking in the glow of her happiness as she greeted guests and well-wishers. The air was filled with laughter and music. The joyous atmosphere infectious as people celebrated the union of Arwen and Aragorn. But amidst the revelry your attention kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde elf who had caught your eye earlier. He stood amidst a group of guests, his presence commanding and his gaze holding a quiet intensity that seemed to draw you in.

Unable to contain your curiosity any longer you turned to Arwen with a hint of nervousness in your voice. "Arwen," you began, pointing subtly towards the mysterious elf, "who is that?"

Arwen followed your gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she noticed your interest in the stranger. "Ah, him," she said, her tone tinged with mystery. "That is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas. The name echoed in your mind. Though you knew little about him there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to hold a thousand untold stories that intrigued you beyond measure. As Arwen spoke of Legolas' exploits and noble deeds you found yourself captivated by the tales of his courage and valor. And though you knew it was foolish to be so taken with a stranger, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that called to you on a level you couldn't quite understand.

With a grateful smile you thanked Arwen for indulging your curiosity. Though your mind was already consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Prince of Mirkwood. And as you turned your attention back to the festivities you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of the captivating blonde elf who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. You found yourself drawn into the lively conversations and laughter that filled the air.

As if he had known your every thought, he had come right up to you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he offered you a goblet of wine. "Care for some wine, my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and all too inviting.

Grateful for the distraction you accepted the goblet with a smile, the cool liquid soothing the nerves that had been fluttering in your stomach. "Thank you," you replied, taking a sip and relishing the taste of the rich, fruity wine.

As you savored the wine, Legolas took a seat beside you. His eyes alight with curiosity as he extended his hand in introduction. "I am Legolas," he said, his tone warm and genuine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You felt a rush of excitement at the sound of his name, "And I am Y/n," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness that you quickly tried to mask.

Legolas smiled warmly at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised his own goblet in a silent toast. "Well then, Y/n, here's to new acquaintances and delightful conversations," he spoke.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Legolas. His easy charm and quick wit putting you at ease. Despite your initial nervousness you soon found yourself laughing and chatting with him as if you had known each other for years. With each passing moment you felt yourself growing more and more enchanted by Legolas. His presence filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time. Not since before your sister had set sail. And as you shared stories and laughter with the captivating Prince of Mirkwood you couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay in store for you both in the days to come.

When the topic turned to your family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension, unsure of how he would react upon learning the truth. "Your parents must be proud of you," Legolas remarked, his voice sincere as he glanced around at the grandeur of Minas Tirith. "To have a daughter as kind and courageous as you."

You smiled, touched by his words. Though a part of you hesitated to reveal your true lineage. "Thank you, Legolas," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "My parents... they are indeed proud, though our family is not without its complexities."

Legolas cocked his head with curiosity shining bright in his eyes. "Complexities?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. "My parents are Celeborn and Galadriel," you confessed, watching closely for any sign of recognition or judgment in his expression.

To your surprise, Legolas' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his gaze softening with understanding. "Galadriel," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "The Lady of Light herself. And Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien."

You nodded, relieved by his reaction. "Yes, though our family is not without its challenges," you admitted, your voice growing quiet. "There are... tensions between my parents and certain others in Middle-earth." You knew he knew, and he knew you knew. The two of you were dancing around your parents disdain for the other.

Legolas' expression grew somber. A shadow passing over his features. "I understand," he said, his tone tinged with empathy. "My own father, Thranduil, can be... difficult at times."

You felt a surge of empathy for Legolas knowing all too well the challenges that could arise from strained familial relationships. "It seems we are not so different after all," you said. A small smile playing at your lips.

Legolas returned your smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "Indeed," he said, his voice gentle. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to bridge the divide between our families."

Touched by his sincerity you could only keep grinning at him like a fool. "I would like that, Legolas," you replied. Your heart swelled with gratitude for the bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the night wore on into the wee hours of the morning you and Legolas found yourselves drawn deeper into each other's company. The hours quickly slipping away unnoticed as you laughed and talked beneath the starlit sky. The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. A bond of friendship and understanding blossoming into something deeper and more profound. Unfortunately, the celebration began to wind down. You found yourselves reluctant to part ways. The prospect of saying goodbye filling you with a sense of melancholy. "Perhaps we could extend our stay in Minas Tirith," Legolas suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of worry as if you wouldn’t accept. "There is still so much more to see and do. I have not seen this city without war disparaging it."

You nodded eagerly, the idea of spending more time with Legolas filling you with a sense of joy and excitement. "I would like that very much," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There is still so much more we have yet to see. You distracted me tonight."

And so, you and Legolas remained in Minas Tirith for longer than planned, seizing every opportunity to steal away moments alone together amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Whether wandering the streets hand in hand or sharing quiet conversations in secluded corners. Each moment spent in Legolas' company felt like a precious treasure, a memory to be cherished for eternity.

As your extended stay in Minis Tirith came to an end the bond between you and Legolas deepened further than you could have imagined. Your hearts intertwining in a dance as old as time itself. One evening beneath the stars after your going away dinner the two of you sat together in the quiet solitude of the gardens, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of crickets. The words you had been longing to say spilled forth from your lips.

"Legolas," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there is something I must confess to you." It truly was now or never for you did not know the next time you would see the elf that had captured your heart so quickly.

Legolas turned to you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Yes, Y/n?" he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"I know this is quick,” you began, your voice soft and hesitant, "And we tend to do this slow, but I must admit... I really like you. More than a friend would."

You glanced away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you awaited his response. But when you dared to meet his gaze once more you found Legolas looking at you with a tender smile. His eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored your own feelings.

"Y/n," he said softly, reaching out to gently take your face in his hand, "your honesty means the world to me. I too have come to care for you deeply as well. As more than a friend would."

Your heart soared at his words. A sense of joy flooding through you at the knowledge that your feelings were reciprocated. And as you sat together in the quiet beauty of the gardens you knew that your bond with Legolas was something truly special. It was the beginning of a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

You didn’t want the night to end so you kept your wandering through the gardens. "Legolas," you began, your voice tinged with concern, "what do you think about... our families?"

Legolas glanced at you. His gaze thoughtful. "Ah, our esteemed parents," he replied with a wry smile. "Stubborn as ancient oaks and twice as difficult to move."

You couldn't help but laugh at his analogy, feeling a sense of relief at his lighthearted approach to the situation. "Yes, that's one way to put it," you agreed. A smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"But," Legolas continued, his tone turning more serious, "I believe they will come around in time. After all, love has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I hope you're right," you replied, leaning closer to him. "I just want them to see... how much we care for each other."

Legolas placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. "They will, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "And until then, we'll just have to prove them wrong together."

As your time in Minas Tirith drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was time for your parents and Legolas to meet. Despite the tension between your families, you were determined to show them that love knew no bounds, and that their differences could be set aside in the name of happiness.

On the morning that both of you were to depart you knew what you had to do. "Legolas," you began. Your voice tinged with nervousness, "I know it's unconventional, but... what if you and your father were to visit Lothlórien?"

Legolas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your suggestion. "Visit Lothlórien?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. "It's an... intriguing idea, Y/n, but I'm not sure how my father would feel about it."

You nodded, understanding Legolas' reservations. "I know it's a risk," you admitted, "but I believe that if he could experience the beauty and hospitality of Lothlórien for himself, he might begin to understand... and perhaps even appreciate our way of life."

Legolas considered your words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "You may be right, Y/n," he said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Let's extend the invitation to my father and see what he says."

With a renewed sense of hope, you and Legolas set about preparing for Thranduil's visit to Lothlórien. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to show both him and your parents that love could conquer even the deepest of divides. And so, with hearts full of anticipation and determination, you bid farewell to Minas Tirith. You knew that a new chapter of your journey was about to begin.

As Legolas and an initially reluctant Thranduil arrived in Lothlórien, the tension between them was palpable. Thranduil's expression was stoic and reserved, while Legolas wore a strained smile who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. You greeted them warmly, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but even your efforts seemed to fall flat in the face of the lingering animosity between your parents. The initial interactions were awkward only filled with polite but strained conversation and forced smiles.

But as the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely the atmosphere began to shift. Your parents, Thranduil, and Legolas found themselves gradually relaxing in each other's company. The rigid barriers between them slowly melting away under the influence of hope after the war and shared experiences. You watched with a mixture of joy and relief as the tension dissipated, replaced by laughter and genuine conversation. Thranduil who had initially been so guarded found himself opening up. He began to share stories and jokes with Celeborn and Galadriel as if they were old friends.

And Legolas, too, seemed to come alive in the warmth of his father’s acceptance. His smile growing more genuine with each passing moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders finally allowing him to truly be himself in their presence. He chuckled at one of Thranduil's jokes and clinked glasses with Celeborn, a genuine smile gracing his features.

In the midst of the conversation Legolas turned to you, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Meleth nin," he said softly, his voice filled with utmost warmth.

As Legolas inadvertently uttered the Elvish endearment, my love, the words hung in the air laden with the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart skipped a beat at his slip-up, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

"Really?" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened with surprise and utmost delight. For a moment you almost forgot that your parents and Legolas' father were present too caught up in the rush of emotion that swept over you.

Legolas blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized what he had said in front of the parents. "I... uh, I mean..." he stammered, clearly flustered by your reaction.

But before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft chuckle. The elvenking’s eyes twinkling with amusement. "It seems our children are more than just friends," he remarked to your parents. His tone surprisingly light-hearted.

You turned to your parents with a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess we should have mentioned that sooner," you admitted feeling a surge of relief as you saw their understanding smiles.

Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged knowing glances before Celeborn spoke up. "Love has a way of revealing itself in unexpected ways," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We are happy for you both."

Thranduil let out a small chuckle. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Young love," he said before shaking his head in mock exasperation. "It seems like only yesterday that Legolas was just a boy chasing after butterflies in the woods."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully at his father's comment. "I assure you, Ada, I have grown up a bit since then," he spoke. His tone teasing but affectionate.

Celeborn chuckled softly his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice warm. "But some things never change." He motioned to you with a knowing grin.

And as the tension melted away completely, replaced by laughter, and shared understanding, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of your parents. With their blessing and acceptance, you and Legolas knew that your love story was only just beginning. You were finally destined to have a beautiful and unforgettable journey filled with laughter, joy, and the sweet promise of a future together. You had waited a long time for this. A very long time.

As the night grew deeper and the fire crackled softly, you and Legolas found yourselves immersed in a comfortable silence. The two of you basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Legolas turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, taking your hand in his. "Well, my dear, it seems the hour grows late," he remarked, his voice soft and warm.

You nodded feeling a surge of affection for the elf beside you. "Yes, it does," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

With a gentle tug on your hand Legolas rose to his feet pulling you up with him. "Allow me to escort you to your room," he said. His voice filled with gentle sincerity.

You followed him, the touch of his hand sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you reached your door, Legolas turned to you. His eyes sparkling with mischief. "Until next time, meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before turning to leave.

A faint blush coated your cheeks at his actions. “Until next time, meleth nin.” You repeated. You watched him go with a smile playing at your lips as you realized that no matter what adventures lay ahead, you would face them with him. Oh, what a life.

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[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 2

Tim, as a child, went to a party/gala with his parents and ended up getting dragged into an Oiji board session when he was shoved off to go join the other kids.

It somehow escalated to a "bride of Satan" ritual but instead of Satan they chose the "king of ghosts" just to see if anything replied. Tim didn't believe in ghosts at this point and was goaded into being the bride. They thought the ritual failed after the flames of the candles turned green then purple then green again before blowing out entirely.

After Jason dies Tim makes a wish/prayer to anyone who could hear him. He desperately wanted his hero, his Robin, to live.

Phantom died at four and became the king of the Infinite Realms at 7. He was often lonely and hid his halfa status from everyone outside of the Far Frozen where he was raised. Both he and the Yetis guarded this secret zealously. Still, he craved contact from other humans and knowledge of thier world that was so different from his own. So naturally when he felt someone willingly sacrificing themselves to be his spouse? He only hesitated a moment before agreeing. Then he just needed his fiance to wish for something and thier engagement would be set.

Cue Jason Todd waking up in his casket.

Nothing really comes of it until Tim gets his first major injury from a bad guy as the new Robin and Tim wakes up to a giant nightmare fuel skeleton monster just chilling on his ceiling watching him. It had mandibles like a beatle made from fingerbones woven into one another and its face seamed the same save for the artistic inclusion of opals, pearls and other small bones that Tim couldn't identify. Its body looked like a mass of bones both human and animal while its many, many arms kept it stuck to the ceiling where dark empty eye sockets stared down at him. Two human skulls protruded from the creatures back, one watching the window and the other watching the doorway.

Tim screamed.

Danny just hoped his fiance liked his new bodyguard. He made it himself special order, he called it a BoneKeeper.

----

Much later

Batman, Zatanna, and Robin: *tries to summon ghost king*

Phantom: omg my fiance wants to meet me!

Phantom: I cant go like this! I want to meet him while looking my best!

Phantom: *sends note through in his stead stating to call back at a specific date and time*

Heroes: wtf? Is this a trap?

Day comes

Heroes: *summoning*

Phantom: *appears looking nice and very much a child* Are you my fiance?

Batman: ...oh god thats a child

Zatanna: ...oh god thats a child

Robin: *same age as Danny and unbothered* Whats with the bone monster?

Phantom: I made it to protect you! I heard that you guys used fear as a weapon. Is it scary enough?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Tactics of Persuasion

Phantom dreams

Story-telling

Tailored pitches

Source credibility and authority

Social consensus and social identity

Scarcity

Information control

Self-generated persuasion

Commitment

The rationalization trap

Phantom Alternative

An option that looks real, is typically superior to other choices, but is unavailable (Pratkanis & Farquhar, 1992).

The key to selling a flimflam (i.e., the selling of pseudoscience, fringe science, and other questionable claims) is to sell the phantom as real and possible and something that can be obtained with the right belief, effort, and, of course, money, but, in reality, it is a false dream.

The sale of a phantom begins by creating ostensible solutions to satisfy our most basic needs and desires.

As such, phantoms often purport to provide things such as:

Health (quack cures, diets, “healing” rituals, mental health pseudoscience, psychic surgery, faith healing).

Wealth (get-rich-quick schemes, lucky lottery numbers, investment fraud).

Social popularity (weight loss regimes, love potions, dating and romance fraud, becoming an “expert” with “secret” knowledge about UFOs, the Loch Ness Monster, and the moon landing).

Fear of death and the end of our existence (séances, life-after death claims).

Reduction in the anxiety of life’s uncertainties (advice given by horoscopes, astrology, psychic mediums, and other means, phrenology, psychic detectives, conspiracy theories that “make sense” of the world and the desires and feelings of those who spread them).

It is relatively easy to create a phantom since it does not actually need to solve these needs, but just appear to do so.

Compounding the problem, it’s often difficult to spot the real from the fake course of action without the needed knowledge, expertise, and critical thinking skills.

Although a phantom dream is imaginary, its impact on our behavior is quite real.

Story-Telling: The Invented Ruse

To allay our concerns, the seller of flimflam invents a ruse or story to make the fake look real (Bell & Whaley, 1991; Clark & Mitchell, 2019)

A good narrative:

helps to guide our thoughts (e.g., the cure is natural and traditional),

determines the credibility of information (e.g., as a natural cure, this makes sense), and

ultimately directs evaluation and choice (e.g., it works for Native Americans and Quakers, why not me?).

As such, stories cement information in our mind and tend to persist even in the face of strong, discrediting information (Anderson et al., 1980; see Pratkanis (2007) for the use of stories in influence).

Tailored Pitches

Fake healers can use the technique of pre-show to gather needed information.

For example: Before the healing event, attendees can fill out prayer cards with their healing requests and other information.

During the service, the fake healer can call out names and appear, by purported divine intervention, to know the person’s illness and personal life story.

Typically, the fake healer will “cure” shills (plants who fake illnesses) and those with painful health problems for which the pain can be overlooked in the excitement of the moment. The prayer cards (along with Googling and social media) provide the needed information.

Source Credibility and Authority

Two of the most robust research findings in social psychology are as follows: (a) we tend to listen to those who are credible (expert and trustworthy) sources (Hovland et al., 1953); (b) we tend to obey authorities (Milgram, 1974).

The merchant of flimflam leverages these 2 basic human tendencies by creating a persona as a credible authority and then using that persona to hawk a phantom.

Social Consensus and Social Identity

Flimflam merchants will use our social relationships to sell their phantoms by employing the influence tactics of social consensus and social identity.

When we see other people doing something, we are more likely to do the same through the conformity created by social consensus – if everyone is doing it, it must be the right thing to do.

Social consensus engages 2 psychological processes that promote conformity (Deutsch & Gerard, 1955):

information or social proof (“if other people are doing it, it must be correct”; Cialdini, 1984) and

normative influences or social pressure to agree or go along with the group (“I don’t want to be different from the group”; Asch, 1951).

The seller of flimflam will manufacture a false consensus (or take advantage of an apparent one). Quack remedies, astrological readings, unproven Covid treatments, get-rich schemes often feature testimonials of people who speak to the “value” of the product.

Once we become engaged with a flimflam, it can provide us with a desired social identity or a sense of who we are based on our reference group memberships, whether they be real or aspirational (Abrams et al., 1990; Kelley & Volkart, 1952; Tajfel, 1981).

Scarcity

Another social influence tactic to make a flimflam look desirable is to make it look scarce (Cialdini, 1984).

Given that phantoms are generally rare, this is rather easily accomplished.

As an effective social influence tactic, scarcity:

plays on a rule in our head, “if it is rare, it must be valuable”;

creates a sense of urgency and panic that we need to act now and feeling of frustration (reactance) when we do not obtain the phantom; and

inflates our feelings of uniqueness and self-worth when we obtain something that is rare (Pratkanis, 2007).

Information Control: False Accusations, Projection, and Doubt Campaigns

The sellers of flimflam often encounter scientists, journalists, magicians, lawyers, informed citizens, and other “do-gooders and crusaders” who use evidence and reason to point out false claims made in selling the phantom.

If left to stand, these criticisms can cut into sales and deflate the entire scheme. As such, the flimflam merchant needs to control the information environment and can do so using at least 3 techniques:

First, the peddler of a flimflam can falsely accuse the critics. Such attacks can be effective because it can result in a negative impression of the target of attack, undermining their reputation (Wegner et al., 1981). In addition, such allegations set up a chilling, coercive effect as others may become fearful of speaking out.

A second information control tool for the flimflam merchant is a variant of the false accusation known as the projection tactic – accusing others of the misdeed you are doing (Rucker & Pratkanis, 2001). In research, we find that a projection attack: (a) focused attention on the accused and away from the person making the accusation, (b) increased the blame placed on the target of projection, and (c) decreased the culpability of the accuser, making the accuser look good and moral for raising such issues. The effects of projection persisted despite attempts to raise suspicions about the motives of the accuser and providing evidence that the accuser was indeed guilty of the deeds.

A third approach to controlling the information environment is through a doubt campaign (Michaels, 2008; Oreskes & Conway, 2010). The purpose of a doubt campaign is not to convince someone of something (say, the value of the flimflam) but instead to raise doubts and confusion about the facts with the goals of (a) making it difficult to know the truth, (b) creating the impression that there is a controversy (when there is little or none), and (c) forestalling any action until the “controversy” is resolved. The doubt campaign was pioneered in the 1950s and 1960s by tobacco companies seeking to dissuade consumers that their products were harmful, but now is used to create doubt and confusion on such issues as climate change, the efficacy of vaccines such as those preventing childhood illnesses and COVID-19, the value of masks for limiting the spread of COVID-19, and evidence against various conspiracy theories.

Self-Generated Persuasion

One of the most effective means of influence is to have the target generate arguments in support of a position and thereby persuade her- or himself (Boninger et al., 1990; Lewin, 1947).

Self-generated persuasion is effective because in essence it asks the target to think up good reasons for a proposition and to refute any counter argument.

This self-generated message comes from a source that is considered credible, trustworthy, respected, and liked – ourselves.

Commitment

In order to establish continued advocacy and use of a flimflam, the seller needs to secure a commitment, especially a public one, from the target.

With a public commitment, a person is linked to a behavior or course of action – in this case, advocating for and using a flimflam.

Breaking this binding produces a negative tension of not living up to one’s promises and a concern that one will look inconsistent and untrustworthy (e.g., a need to save face). As such, securing a commitment increases the likelihood that the target will comply and perform that behavior (Brockner & Rubin, 1985; Salancik, 1977; Staw, 1976).

Commitments are strongest when the behavior is public/visible, irreversible, and perceived to be freely chosen.

One method for securing a commitment is through the use of the foot-in-the-door tactic (Freedman & Fraser, 1966).

Flimflam is rampant on social media, and we can easily see why.

Social media, with its emphasis on engagement (liking, reposting, posting, commenting, posing, arguing) provides many opportunities to make public, irreversible, and freely chosen commitments (as well as to allow those commitments to be used to create the appearance of social consensus as to the value of the flimflam).

While making a commitment increases compliance, it also results in perhaps the most important ingredient in selling a flimflam: setting a rationalization trap.

The Rationalization Trap

Once a person is sold on a flimflam, and especially when he or she comes to purchase and publically advocate for the phantom option, it changes the way a person processes information.

No longer is the goal “to find things out” but instead to defend and justify the beliefs and actions in what can be called a rationalization trap (Festinger, 1957; Pratkanis & Shadel, 2005; Tavris & Aronson, 2007).

When a person holds 2 discrepant thoughts, what social psychologists call cognitive dissonance, it results in an aversive tension state with painful implications for the self.

In such a state, we are highly motivated to reduce the dissonance.

Of course, one way to reduce the dissonance is to admit a mistake – I was wrong about the cure – and to take responsibility for one’s actions by alerting others and rejecting or, at least scrutinizing more carefully, the source of the disinformation about the quack COVID-19 treatment.

While a mature response and what science requires (Feynman, 1985), it is often difficult to take this route to dissonance reduction, especially when we have made public commitments, self-generated arguments, and linked our social identities to the flimflam, in this case, the quack cure.

Admitting a mistake often is taken to mean – to ourselves and to others – that we are not a good and capable person.

After all, we were unable to see through the deception and then told others to do something that might damage their health.

Unfortunately, an all-too-often course of action is to dig in our heels further and to rationalize and justify our behavior.

Some common ways to do this include:

deny the evidence (“the data showing the ineffectiveness of the cure is made-up”),

take some irrelevant aspect of the disagreeable research and pretend that it is damning (“the study was only done in New York”),

derogate the source (“that’s from the biased media and the doctors’ union”),

derogate others who expose the quackery (“nurses and doctors don’t care about people”),

perform a selective information search (search out and spread any study or claim no matter how unreliable that supports one’s position),

keep repeating discredit research as if it is true, bolster one’s own self and one’s intuition as a way of knowing (“I can see through the media; I did my research unlike those duped by big pharma”),

derogate other forms of knowing, particularly science and reason (“science is a limited way of knowing unlike my intuition”),

use whataboutism (“what about the time Fauci might have said something wrong”),

seek external justification (“a cure that might work is better than having to wear a mask”), and, perhaps worst of all,

self-censorship of putting ourselves in an information bubble where we only hear agreeable information and anything disagreeable is either not heard or ridiculed.

Obviously, a rationalization trap is a very effective means of selling a flimflam.

Once we are in the trap, we will continue to buy the flimflam and advocate for the phantom option in an attempt to justify ourselves in the face of failing evidence.

A key component of being an active truth-finder is to have a plan for evaluating and making decisions about claims.

When we do make a mistake, the honorable thing to do is to admit the error and take responsibility for our actions.

Source ⚜ Reading Scientific Articles ⚜ False Claims ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs