#bubble shapes experiment

[presswoodterryryan]

The Science of Bubbles: Why Do They Float and Pop? 🧪🔬

By Alice Hey, adventurers! It’s Alice, and today, Ariel, Mr. Fluffernutter, and I are jumping into a bubble—literally! 🫧✨ We were outside blowing bubbles, watching them float and shimmer in the sunlight, when Mr. Fluffernutter suddenly asked, “Why are bubbles always round? And why do they pop so easily?” His eyes were wide with curiosity, and the sparkle of the bubbles reflected in them. Ariel…

[himejoshiangels]

I'll never be over the fact that being batman it GYAHHHH! so when bruce becomes batman and makes his vow to get justice for gotham, to make it so that no one else has to experience the devastation and loss he did the night he lost his parents- being batman means well his job, his mission requires overexposure to death crime and tragedy in order for him to prevent it, and like yeah he never truly ever left crime alley, but that wound is constantly being ripped open. Every person, every ally, every one of HIS KIDS especially that he loses in pursuit of this mission makes the injury new and fresh and red.

this isn't news of course but everytime it hits me that because batman is built on grief he's destined to do it forever I just ☹️☹️

[shironezuninja]

178 in total.

[quietwingsinthesky]

you ask even how old they are and they reply with zero hint of irony whether you mean when they were born, how old their body is, or how many years they’ve been alive.

[anauwhere]

The world if cringe fandom from 2012 never went away [insert futuristic city picture with the tombs of Elon musk and all worlds dictators somewhere]

[rememberedbyamark]

I know it's not forever with him and I've known that since the first month of talking to him, but like....it's suddenly very clear to me that we exist only as a temporary bubble of time in each other's life and could not possibly be permanent. There's no version of the future where we make it, that doesn't exist.

Not because either of us have some fundamental personal issue, but because i will never understand the deepest part of him and he will never be able to reach that part of me.

It sounds crazy to stay together when I put it like that. He means so much to me and it does not matter, so why would I do that to myself? You see though, I want this bubble of time so bad that I will burn for it. I want the texts, laughs, secret looks, hidden touches, late night conversations, sex, waking up in his arms, forehead kisses, and history lessons. I want all of it so bad and I can have it! I can have it, and I can have him in my life and he can have me in his, and we can do all of that until the end. We'll be a bad movie montage of young reckless people, and I want every single part of it until the credits roll.

I'll hate myself when it's over but I don't think I'll ever hate him. I think it would've ended that way anyway though

[sceletaflores]

𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐊𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡…

￫ PAIR: Remmick x fem!reader

￫ WC: 1.5k

￫ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, religious (sacrilegious) themes and imagery, nat taking some liberties with the established vampire lore, semi-light gore (in a flashback), murder (also in a flashback), vampirism, vampire/human, monsterfucking, established relationship...kind of, biting, blood play, spit kink, pain kink, period sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), blood drinking, a very obsessive/possessive relationship, corruption, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

￫ MINI NAT'S NOTE: i've contemplated posting this for literally so long and i've ranted about my woke/horny inner turmoil already...but i just can't stop thinking about the sexy vampire man and i just love some southern gothic themes DOWN so i had to. remmick as a character is so complex and interesting to me that i knew it would be an experience to write him, and i was right like this google doc really kicked my ass for a bit. let's hope it's not dog water! also this is totes inspired by @spikedfearn! i absolutely loved and died for under the blood moon and i've been clawing for an excuse to write some depraved period sex of my own so now's the perfect time. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune!

a monster dressed in the skin of a man lurks outside your window...

There's a man outside your window.

You know he’s there even as you face away from the panes. The moonlight casts his shadow along the wall of your bedroom, broad shouldered and still as a tombstone. You don’t move, continuing to lay on your side as you trace the shape of him with your eyes. Cicadas and crickets sing in time with one another, a sweet song that sours at the edges as he stands among them.

The longer you lie still, the heavier the room becomes. The air thickens like soup on the stove, slow to bubble. The shadow raises its arm, all you can do is listen as the sound of nails scratching gently along glass fills the four walls. 

He’s waiting.

He always waits.

You don’t need to invite him in, you haven’t since the first night.

He likes you to.

“Come in.”

When the pane creaks open behind you, slow and careful, you don’t flinch.

You breathe through your nose. The scent that rolls in with him isn’t human—copper and mineral, sweet like decay under sunbaked wood. It smells like the road, like blood, like the belly of something unholy. It smells like him.

“Remmick…”

Even now, as his boots touch your floorboards like thunder soaked in molasses, you don’t turn to face him. You’ve long since learned that looking at him too early gives him the satisfaction of watching your pupils dilate, your breath catch, your pulse flutter like a moth trapped in a mason jar. 

His voice is a rasp, smoke behind your ear. “You been waitin’ on me, honey?”

Remmick steps into the shine of the moon, eyes glinting dark and red-rimmed in the light.

He’s sin stitched in skin. Wears the allure of his very being like a preacher coming to warn you off temptation, but you know better. You’ve tasted temptation, bathed in it body and soul. Let it crawl between your legs and drip from your lips. 

You barely have time to breathe before he’s on you. Calloused hands, cold lips, teeth that drag across your neck but never pierce. There’s blood on his mouth already, you can feel the slickness of it as it stains your skin—it’s not yours, yet.

You watched him once. Stood by as he fed, watched impassively as the man beneath him writhed and choked on the blood flooding his torn throat, arms and legs scrambling in the dirt until the last traces of life finally faded from his eyes. He was left nothing but an empty husk, the color from his skin drained as the last few moments of horror were preserved on his face.

Remmick turned to look at you when it was done, blood drenched and nowhere near satiated. He fucked you for hours that night, right there on the dry dirt. Your face pressed into the earth as he took you from behind over and over again, cunt aching and abused around the ungodly stretch of his cock.

Your fingers shake as you curl them in the sheets, your body already aware of what’s coming. You’ve been craving it. Begging for it in the silence of empty, rotting pews.

Even as your mouth tried in vain to pray the memories away, your hips have been rolling against the mattress all night, slick with more than sweat, damp with more than fear. There’s a scent to it—ripe and hot, threaded through with iron. You’re bleeding. And he knows.

“I can smell you, baby.” You shudder as his lips brush your neck with every word, goosebumps pebbling over your skin as your cunt throbs shamefully between your thighs. Drool drips from the corner of his mouth, thick and hued in a dusty pink as blood melts into it.

Your body screams at you to reach out, to drag your tongue along the filthy mess and make it your own. Your lips part in a soft breath as Remmick smiles down at you wolfishly, sharp fangs catching the moonlight dangerously as it gleams through the open window.

“Sweet little wound. Givin’ it up for me already, angel?”

A broken sound blooms in your chest, caught in the lust and horror forming a knot in your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, soft breasts heaving with every shallow breath as big, frigid hands skate down the offered expanse of your body.

“Christ.”

A dark chuckle rings out over your head. “Trust me, he ain’t here, just me.”

Warmth burns at your cheeks, but the embarrassment has long been worked out of you after all this time.

Remmick likes it best like this. When you’re raw. Unclean. When there’s blood in your panties and God in your mouth.

He slides his hand beneath the thin cotton of your nightgown, and chuckles when he feels it—your cunt already bare, adorned with blood and slick, thick and messy, coating his fingers like oil paint. He brings it to his mouth and sucks them clean, the sound obscene, reverent. 

And the way he moans at the taste—full-throated, low in his chest, hungry and pleased and damn near feral—makes your spine arch. You swear you can feel your blood rush towards his voice like it’s called.

Remmick glides down your body like a serpent curling around the branches of a tree, urging you to bite from the forbidden fruit just as he will.

He never asks permission. Just parts your thighs with the heel of his palms and settles his weight between them like he belongs there—like he was carved from your ribcage in a past life to fuck the God out of you.

You feel it when his hand grazes the inside of your thigh, hot and slick. The mess between your legs has him inhaling hard through his nose, a deep growl tearing its way from his chest. His tongue comes out to wet the dry skin of his lips. Your heart stutters as his breath fans cool over your sweltering heat.

The first lick is obscene. A broad drag of tongue from hole to clit that has Remmick groaning like he’s starving. You think, a bit hysterically, that he is. He always is.

Although, you don’t know what he’s hungrier for—your cunt, or the blood slicking it.

He fucks you open with his mouth like he’ll be judged for it. Hands branding bruises into the soft skin of your hips. Forked tongue licking you until your thighs quake on either side of his head, until your breath hiccups into desperate moans that sound more like confession.

Your shaking hands fist in his hair, back arching off the bed and into his mouth. “God–”

Sharp pinpricks of pain bloom white hot between your legs. Your eyes dart down just quick enough to watch the way his nails pierce your flesh. Tiny trails of blood running in weak streams in time with the helpless pulse of your cunt. Fresh against the drying evidence of his red stained hands stamping their prints over your skin.

Remmick pulls back, mouth soaked. Your blood streaks his chin, his cheeks, his nose. It stains his teeth and tongue. He grins, and it’s terrible. “What’d I tell you, girl? God ain’t coming.”

He spits on your cunt. Thick. Filthy. Blood and saliva and slick mixing on your skin like a sacrament.

Then his mouth is back on your clit, rough and clever. He kisses the sensitive bundle of nerves once before dipping his head, thick fingers spread your lips apart, wide enough to watch your hole convulse and shake for him. A deep, evil sound fills the room as his lips descend onto you once more.

You can feel the blood trickle out as he sucks, feel his tongue move in tandem with the sharp press of his fangs. He doesn’t bite yet. He’s teasing. 

Tempting. 

Worshipping. 

You whimper. He groans. “Keep makin’ that sound,” he pants, voice hoarse. “That pretty little hurtin’ sound. Devil’s listenin’, baby."

You can't help but obey him, a symphony of pathetically sinful noises pouring from between your parted lips like hail mary’s. You writhe on the mattress, twisting the soft curls fisted in your hands tightly as your body trembles. Your rosary swings haplessly from the bedpost, deep red beads gleaming like an omen you’re blind to. 

Remmick pulls back once again, panting as he rests his soiled face against your thigh to peer up at you like a lonewolf stalks a lamb grazing far too close to its den. “Say you missed me, darlin’.”

You did. You hate it. You do.

“Say it,” he snarls, dragging his teeth along the vulnerable skin, breaking it so shallowly it stings.

“I missed you.”

He bites.

You scream.

You come on his mouth with your thighs trembling and your eyes rolled back far enough to strain.

Remmick won't stop. Not until he's drunk his fill, until your thighs are sticky and raw and he can kiss you with your own blood on his lips.

Outside, the cicadas resume their song.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: extra special shoutout to my husband @ebodebo for advocating for the posting of this fic with a near violent enthusiasm, she's to blame for this. thank you so much for reading!

[hwallazia]

XMAS DINNER GOES WRONG – 정우영

⋆ synopsis. it seems like your husband can’t keep it in his pants, not even on a fucking christmas dinner with his family. but, as the lovely wifey you are, you gotta give him some relief, right?

pairing. husband! jung wooyoung & fem! reader.

wc. 3,2k

warnings. smut (mdni!), suggestive language, cussing, almost!! getting caught by wooyoung’s mom (oops), pet names (love, babe, my wife, pretty girl & more), nipple play, wooyoung sucks your entire skin (neck, collarbone, tits and the list can continue…), teasing, wooyoung tears your panties to shreds heh, not dirty—NASTY TALK, begging, yn at some point says “stop” but it’s bc she’s far too blissed out; not bc she actually wanted him to stop, this is alllll consensual!!, unprotected sex, praise ofc, squirting, gut-wrenching fluff in the end ‘cause love him too much.

nic’s notes ⋆ first ff of the xmas event yes sir !! i felt some shit writing this istg (๑/////๑ " )

you know holidays, right?

the perfect opportunity for the entire family to gather and celebrate achievements, blessings, and thousands and thousands of other things. cousins, nephews, aunts, uncles, and even great-grandparents were reunited in that cold and windy winter night. an entire feast was splayed on the table for everyone’s delightfulness, different kinds of foods and smells mixing and creating a delicious, toe-curling experience for anyone’s nostrils.

the hours you had spent shopping for every ingredient for each dish, cutting the vegetables, cooking everything to the exact, perfect point and term really paid off once your and your husband’s family were brought together at the large, dark oak table to celebrate your very first holiday — both families now joined together as one.

nothing could go wrong. the chatting flew as calm and joyful as spring water, sharing experiences and old memories pleasingly, smiles spread like the most enchanting disease—as well as the wholesome ambience, and everything was accompanied by a delightful meal, the well-deserved five star bonus of the evening.

so, if everything was meant to go perfectly, then why the hell was your husband staring at you with the most explicit, sluttiest “fuck me” eyes you’ve ever seen?

wooyoung sat in front of you, his two cousins sitting each on his sides. his plate was rather full, and that had an explanation: he was far too gone and busy burying heart-shaped daggers into your eyes while his hand cupped his cheek, head tilting to his right — his tongue glided over his dry bottom lip every now and then. you’d bet that none of his thoughts were in the bible. ‘cause fuck, even his younger brother would guess that something’s odd about him. that that’s not the usual behavior of his dear older brother.

“yn? darling?” the voice of wooyoung’s mother dragged out quickly of your insulation bubble. her tilted head clearly showed that she had been trying to talk to you for a while. a soft, warming hue of red struck your cheekbones.

as you gyrated your head to meet her worried gaze, you replied. “yes! mrs. jung, ‘m sorry. what were you saying?”

“are you doing fine, sweetie? you were gone for a bit.” she stared at you intently, genuinely worried about her daughter in-law. oh that woman was almost a fallen angel—if not one. if only she knew it was his own son who was to blame—the very last person she’d suspect, and oh, how deliciously ironic that was.

the figure of your husband’s shit-eating grin could be seen out of the corner of your eye—a sight that ignited a fiery rage within you, yet one you couldn’t help but savor, lingering on the view as long as possible before responding to your sweet mother-in-law. “oh, it was nothing. i’m prolly just zoning out because of how tired i am. y’ know, spending the entire day in the kitchen was exhausting.” the cherry on top of the excuse was the little, innocent giggle you emitted by the end. the woman gave you the most pitiful, yet endearing look. she lifted her arm, indicating with her open palm the white stairs, the reflection of the christmas-decorated banister lighting up her eyes.

“oh, sweetheart. you should go rest, it’s pretty late after all.” her gesture softened your heart, chest clenching a bit.

this woman was going to be the death of you! … uhm, never mind. first place is taken by wooyoung, who seems quite excited with the idea of going upstairs with you, by the way. take a guess at what his mind is scheming.

you shook your hands in front of your chest, quickly denying the opportunity. “thank you really, but i’m okay. i’ll just go wash my face.” you excused yourself, hovering your leg over the other and getting yourself up. “maybe that way i can wake up completely.” ending with a little giggle, you started walking towards the staircase when suddenly, the voice of your dear husband rang inside your ears.

“excuse me. i’ll go help my wife.” his foxy eyes curved into crescent moons, and his lips stretched wide, forming an upward line. oh fuck, you were done for.

“oh yes, i was about to ask you to do the same. please, son.” she stated, nodding approvingly. oh what a gentleman she had raised.

you resumed your steps quickly, arriving to the second floor in less than you expected. you turned your head, only to be met with an empty corridor. thank goodness he hadn’t gotten there yet.

or so you thought. ‘cause when you refocused your attention to your front, a pair of arms grabbed you by your waist and swung you around the air in a swift motion as he dragged you to an empty room. the last sound heard in the corridor was the slam of a closing door.

your breathless body was pinned against a cold wall, trapped between two quite familiar, tanned arms. simultaneously, your disoriented irises tried to adjust to the darkness of the room and focus on the feverish, hungry eyes standing in front of you.

“wh… what the fuck was that.” you muttered as the remains of your breath flew away. wooyoung seemed enchanted by your current state though.

“heeey, don’t curse at me like that.” his gentle, cocky voice penetrated your mind like a bullet. knuckles crept up the sides of your exposed arms, providing soothing strokes — goosebumps prickled to life in response. he opened his warm palms and reached to your also bare shoulder, massaging them. “after all, ’m jus’ here to help you.” he pulled his secret weapon and started making out with your neck, licking your flesh like a starving man and spreading wet kisses all over it.

“help me? how are you helping me like this?” you uttered as your breath hitched, head leaning to the side at the right angle to give him enough space.

wooyoung sucked that sensitive spot that always made your eyes roll to the very back of your head, dragging a whine out of you successfully. his chuckle and victorious smirk didn’t go unseen by your already blissed-out self. he leaned back a little to admire you. just for a bit, palms not leaving their place. “you’ll know when we’re done.” his hands moved in a swift motion, arms wrapping around your thighs and shoulders, lifting you effortlessly in a princess carry. “for now, just shut up and enjoy it, hm?”

“w-wooyoung—you know we can’t do this now— angh!” your anxious, flustered self made a futile attempt to reason with wooyoung, hoping he’d remember that both your families were gathered downstairs for a fucking christmas dinner—while he, entirely unbothered, seemed more than eager to spend the evening thoroughly ruining you in the bed just one floor above. and that was clearly shown when he threw you to the bed as if you were the lightest feather and immediately crawled to you.

“c’mon, love. i just wanna help you stay awake” his gravelly voice purred gift next to your ear as his taunting hands played with the sides of your dress, fingertips aching and itching to rip it off you.

he had you underneath him, completely flustered and nervous. he knew you were really anxious about the dinner—you’d spent a whole hour straight ranting about how nerve-wracking the preparations were, only to end up feeling physically ill from the overwhelming surge of dopamine flooding your system. but your reddened cheeks were smiling at him and your plump lips were whispering nasty things to him. holy fuck, how couldn’t he be tempted?

he needed to be balls deep in you. now.

his skillful tongue found home in your neck and collarbone, sucking cute love bites all over. but, your body was still tense, too uneasy at the thought of the possible scenario of someone entering the room and catching the two of you in such a compromising position.

“b-babe, please—hmph”

in a sultry tone, he muttered, “already begging. so fucking cute.” a smirk was drawn on his lips before his hands reached to your cleavage and popped your tits out of your low-cut dress. “y’ want me to fuck you? ‘s that what it is?”

before you could even think of an answer, he dived right into your breasts, licking your sensitive nipples as though they were his favorite toy — because they absolutely were.

god, the incessant thoughts that ran through your head and his tongue lapping around your buds were too much. everything was starting to be too much, and he hadn’t even taken your clothes off. with heightened sensitivity, your lips fell open and a beautiful, sweet melody of your moans and whimpers escaped through them — a delightful melody for your husband’s ears.

impatient hands stripped you of your glittery dress, leaving you with nothing but your black, thin panties. wooyoung took a moment for himself — well, more accurately for you, to admire and revel in your beauty as he should. a rush of blood surged to his cock, making it throb even harder than before. he was no more than a man, overwhelmed by desire. “you’re fucking irresistible, y’ know that?” he started down to where your and his crotch connected, brows furrowing when he saw your clothed pussy. “i think it’s time for this to go.”

a sharp rrrrrip! bounced through the walls and brought your attention. “woo did you just—?!” you followed the movement of his hands, which discarded the shreds of black fabric to the floor. “that was my—! hahh” and his thumb flew right to your already swollen clit, stimulating it with circling motions.

“why’re you whining when you know i’ll buy you ten more pairs,” he whispered as he soaked in the unsteady shiftiness of your body — and for that, he posed a strong yet harmless grip on your waist. his fat thumb worked nonstop over your bud, sending sparks right to it. your body jolted upward at the feeling of his middle and index fingers tracing soft lines up your pink folds. the sight of your walls clenching and relaxing around nothing spun him. “ooh, what a greedy wifey i got.” he chuckled under his breath, gaze stuck to his home — and i mean your cunt. “sooo desperate for my fingers, huh?”

at this point, any sense or unsteady thought had already vanished away, completely replaced by a selfish state of mind. you wanted him to finger you, fuck you, drive you insane. and you wanted it right fucking now. and so you mewled, “god, please just do something.”

“got the name wrong, darling.” and with that, he pushed two fingers at once inside your fluttering walls, tugging a satisfied moan out of you. “it’s wooyoung. or hubby” he giggled. he fucking giggled as he rammed those fingers mercilessly, shooting stars and fireworks filling your vision.

“w-wait stop— baby, please— fffuck!” stuttering words and incoherent gibberish spilled from your swollen lips, too red and slick from how often and harshly you’d bitten them; eyes welling up with tears from the intense pleasure overload.

“stop?” a chuckle rumbled through his chest. “fine then” he withdrew his long phalanges, leaving you empty. completely fucking empty, with velvety and throbbing walls already missing him. you cried as you felt the void of your pulsating pussy, but before you could coax a desperate “please” from your lips, wooyoung grabbed you by the waist. you gasped, as he manhandled you, positioning you on top, naked folds grazing his clothed sex.

you pouted and wooyoung laughed. he was finding this shit way too funny. “since you so nicely begged me to stop, then put your back into it, mm?” a loud smack! reverberated through the walls as his heavy palm landed on the flesh of your ass. “fuck yourself on my cock, pretty girl.”

and did he have to tell you twice. desperate, shuddering hands worked on his dress pants, quickly undoing his belt and zipping it down just enough to uncover his rock-hard bulge. you grabbed the band of his boxers and pulled it down as well, his cock springing finally free. with a smooth movement, you took his member and positioned it below you. and just before you sit down on him completely, someone knocked on the fucking door.

the surprise caused you to jolt and lose control, sinking in a faster and sloppier motion than you intended — a loud cry resonating through the thin walls the moment his tip kissed your cervix perfectly. with eyes wide open, you slapped a hand over your mouth, cursing yourself for being so fucking noisy and sensitive and—

“yn? are you in here?” the muffled voice of wooyoung’s mother echoed from the other side of the door.

shit shit shit.

“y-yes, ma’am! i… ’m kinda busy over in here—ugh!” you tried to speak as loud and clear as you could, but wooyoung seemed to be unbothered by your efforts since he grabbed your hips and started swaying your core up and down his girth. up, down, up, down.

you stared at your husband with glaring eyes, stabbing knives into his. fuck, did this man even care about being heard by his own mother? now, with all doubts gone, you’re certain you’ve married a freak.

“are you okay, sweetie? what’s going on over there?”

and you swear you heard the door creaking open, so you exclaimed. “no! everything’s fine!” you yelped, your voice higher-pitched than you intended. “please don’t come in.”

wooyoung chuckled underneath you, soaking in the sight of your nervous self trying to mute your cries as your tits bounced right on his face. he could die right there and then and he’d be happy. “what’s wrong, baby? can’t take it?” he whispered as he gazed directly into your tightly scrunched eyes, your partially open mouth releasing nothing more but silent cries and pleas.

“fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” you hushed soundlessly, yet willingly bouncing up and down his length. the low, manly giggle he uttered spun you. fuck, he had you wrapped up around his finger.

“oookay? uhm, do you know where my son is? is he there with you?”

he grinned. that shit-eating grin you hated so damn much appeared all across his face. “c’mon pretty, tell her the truth. tell her how good i’m fucking you, how good you’re taking my cock, hm?” he growled into your ear, his voice low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine. the sound was intoxicating, clouding your thoughts and turning your mind into mush.

your throbbing walls clenched around him subconsciously, his head rocking back in reaction. “he’s… he’s here with me, h-helping me like he said he would.”

wooyoung seemed utterly satisfied by your answer, his grin only spreading wider. “that’s my wife. so beautiful.”

“perfect then! i’ll see you in a bit then.” after those words, no other sound was heard — other than the wet clapping of your flesh against his hips.

“‘s she gone?” your half-lidded eyes stared down at your husband, who was hugging you by the waist, face deeply buried in your bobbing, soft tits. your hands flew to the back of his head, cupping his neck whilst caressing his raven hair fondly. at your words, his head lifted, and took a glance at your divine expression.

“baby, i didn’t care, not even a second, if she was hearing or not.” his intoxicating, dark irises sent love letters to yours, utterly drunk in love. “i jus’ wanna cum inside your sweet pussy.”

skillful fingers crept to your hardened, overstimulated nipples and all the way down where your bodies collided, positioning right on your clit. his left hand stroked your firm nipple and played with one breast, letting wooyoung’s tongue take care of the other whilst his right hand shifted rapidly over your bundle of nerves.

he fell in love with you again as he saw your back arching into a perfect crescent moon. “good girl.” your loud whines and moans only encouraged him to keep going. “so responsive to me.” he exhaled breathlessly. “fuck, are you about to cum, baby?”

“y-yeah, fuck— woo, i-i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna fucking cum” you yelped as your bounces became sloppier, more desperate and more reckless. wooyoung motivated you by whispering sweet things and heart-melting praises right into your ear.

“cum, baby. cum for me, milk me dry.” and with one last bounce, you sprayed your juices all over him, soaking his pants and white shirt even more.

exasperated grunts and exhales left your husband’s mouth at the sensation of your folds clamping down on him — you definitely understood the assignment of milking him dry. ‘cause your pussy received the hot ropes of cum that his dick spurted out with great pleasure, sucking the life out of his poor, now softened length.

you crumbled down on him, your weakened core landing on top of him with his dick still inside you. your head found home in the crook of his neck as his hand reached to your back, wrapping your waist safely whilst the other provided soothing ministrations to your face. with your last ounce of strength, you pulled the sheets over your naked bodies, an even warming sensation drowning the both of you.

“fuck” was all you could mutter. “how’re we going to get back there, they’re waiting for us.”

wooyoung hummed thoughtfully, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and brushing against your skin. “we could pretend we fell asleep. with that, they shouldn’t suspect a thing.”

“hey that’s actually a great id—“

the door creaked open and your bodies jerked softly. the both of you knew exactly what to do, so your eyes flew shut. wooyoung even started snoring quietly to add a spec of realism to the scene.

the sound of your mothers’ voice echoed through your ears. “she said wooyoung was helping… her” wooyoung’s mom immediately lowered her voice as she took in the scene. an almost soundless aww escaped your mom’s lips.

“well sure he was helping her.” your mother sighed at the wholesome moment she had the luck of appreciating.

“i think he was massaging her. ‘cause when i knocked on the door, i could hear like— muffled sounds, that seemed like moans.” she stated, and you froze in place — well, not like you could move an inch. “at first i was confused, but then she clarified that wooyoung-ah was helping her “like he said he would”” she remarked your words as if she had studied them.

“oh i see.” your mother spoke. “i think we should let them sleep. my poor yn had a long day.”

and with that, the door shut closed with a soft click.

wooyoung giggled under the covers as your face burned from the embarrassment.

“massaging? well, that’s a way to put it.”

“wooyoung, babe, as much as i love you, please shut the fuck up.”

he laughed wholeheartedly, a gut-wrenching sound that never fails to make you smile. “you embarrassed, my love?”

you slapped your open palm against his exposed chest as you whined. “stoppp.”

his small, soft giggle buzzed inside your eardrums before he left on the top of your head a kiss full of fondness and affection. “cutie.”

| masterlist

[presswoodterryryan]

The Science of Bubbles: Why Do They Float and Pop? 🧪🔬

By Alice Hey, adventurers! It’s Alice, and today, Ariel, Mr. Fluffernutter, and I are jumping into a bubble—literally! 🫧✨ We were outside blowing bubbles, watching them float and shimmer in the sunlight, when Mr. Fluffernutter suddenly asked, “Why are bubbles always round? And why do they pop so easily?” His eyes were wide with curiosity, and the sparkle of the bubbles reflected in them. Ariel…

[milksnake-tea]

━━ fear not the road untaken .

Sunday hadn't spent long with the Stellaron Hunters before boarding the Express, but the memories he'd made with them were priceless. One quiet day in the Express's cabin, while reflecting on his experiences with the Hunters, you appear to visit him.

astral express!sunday x gn!stellaronhunter!reader

contains: sunday used to be a stellaron hunter, teasing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE WRITTEN SO FAR, SUNDAY IS DOWN BADDDD AS HE DESERVES TO BE BITES FIST I MISSED THIS SO BADDDDD, not established relationship sunday just has a massive crush on you

word count: 2.06k

a/n: happy drip marketing yall. you all get a sunday fluff piece. as a treat. also yes i am completely and totally sane. (THIS IS THE MOST SELF INDULGENT FIC IVE EVER WRITTEN I AM SO SORRY GUYS)

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo

“Sunday, we’re going out to Belobog for a bit. Wanna come with?”

Heeled boots still in the midst of a step. Feather-like hair shifts and tousles as he turns his head. At the invitation, gold melts, sapphires glitter, and a gentle smile warms his lips.

March is a blessing, he thinks. She is bubbly, kind, and always manages to light up whatever room she steps into - in that regard, she is not too unlike his beloved sister. Although her ability to plan ahead leaves much room for improvement, he cannot deny that it was her presence that made his transition into a Nameless much easier than it would’ve been.

Although, truthfully, he’d expected more resistance from her - out of everyone, she seemed to be the most traumatized by the Charmony Festival Disaster, and she also had more of a distaste for Stellaron Hunters than the others. But surprisingly, she’d come around to him, and welcomed him into the Express with open arms - and a lot of food. He swears, every time she’s come back from a trip, it’s another sweet or drink shoved into his arms - not that he’s complaining, though.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he begins, then rests a hand over his chest as a reflex. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse. The last expedition has left me rather exhausted - and as you know, I don’t fare well in cold weather.”

Dan Heng nods in understanding. He’s never been a man of many words, and for that Sunday appreciates him. He rather likes straight-forward people, who aren’t afraid to say their mind - perhaps that’s why he’s grown to adore both the Express and the Hunters so much.

“Is there anything you want us to bring back?” pipes up the Trailblazer, dog-like eyes shining as they lean over March. “Like, sweets or whatever?”

Sunday bites back a chuckle. Somehow, word had gotten around that Sunday had quite the sweet tooth. He doesn’t know who started it or how they found out (he has his suspicions on March), but ever since the trio has been dragging him around to various planets and encouraging him to try the local desserts.

He wonders if he’s gotten cavities yet. He hopes not.

Maybe he should check again, at a later time.

“That Rye Bread Iceberg you brought last time was rather enjoyable. I’d like to try it again.”

March and the Trailblazer brighten at his words. “Okay, on it!”

Dan Heng only hums his acknowledgement before turning to leave the parlor car. “Let’s go,” he advises the others. “You know Seele doesn’t like to wait.”

Sunday has never personally met this Seele (the Trailblazer describes her as a crass but kind-hearted warrior), but her fury is enough to whip both March and the Trailblazer into shape. It isn’t long before the trio is waving him goodbye as they descend into the frozen planet, and he also bids them farewell.

And then it is just him, and the conductor.

A small sigh leaves him as he sits down on one of the many couches. He wasn’t lying when he said he was exhausted. Fighting - or any physical activity, for that matter - isn’t exactly his strong suit. Even during his time with the Hunters, he’d stayed behind the front lines, acting as a pseudo Kafka with his carefully crafted words and tuning abilities.

That’s one of the few things about the Hunters that he prefers over the Express - they didn’t force him to hike through deserts and jungles and mountains and Xipe knows what else. All they did was throw him off a skyscraper in the name of the script (he’s pretty sure Elio just wanted to see if he’d actually fly or not).

Sunday blinks, realizing just what had just passed through his mind. Then he sighs with a smile, leaning back into the red plush of the couches.

Only a few months since his fall, and he’s already beginning to think as weirdly as the rest of them.

“Sunday, are you alright?”

Sunday glances down to see the conductor waddling by his feet.

Pom Pom is… strange, no doubt - for whatever reason, Dan Heng fears them and has advised Sunday to not anger them at all costs. Their past is shrouded in mystery, but Sunday finds himself drawn to the conductor. Perhaps living most of his life in a fever dream like Penacony has warped his perception of what is normal and what is not.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He shifts on the couch to make room, but the conductor shakes their head.

“Are you sure? Pom Pom saw you laughing to yourself,” they fret, tapping their nubby hands together anxiously. “Have you been sleeping enough?”

Sunday crosses one leg over the other, and rests his hands over his knee. “If you’re concerned about my transition from Penacony to reality, be at ease. The Hunters have practically beat a proper sleep schedule into me.”

Pom Pom yelps in shock. “B-Beat?! They beat you?”

“Not literally,” Sunday hastes, instinctively reaching out a hand to calm the conductor. “It was more akin to… ominously threatening checkups. Although, there was this one time-”

He sees the look on Pom Pom’s face, and decides to stop it there. He fears they might break out sobbing if he continues.

“Nevertheless, rest assured that I am sleeping at an appropriate time,” he finishes reassuringly. His practiced smile pays off as the conductor gradually calms down, albeit worry about the Hunters’ methods still lingers.

“Alright, if you say so, Sunday.” They look around uneasily. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Sunday waves his hands hastily. “No, I am alright, thank you-”

“He’ll have some tea.”

Pom Pom jumps with a shriek and Sunday’s wings puff up. A familiar laugh ghosts his ear, and immediately Sunday’s face brightens.

“What- What are you doing here?!” Pom Pom quickly hides behind one of Sunday’s slender legs, hugging it like a lifeline. Sunday places a hand on their head to calm them as he turns to the hologram with a warm smile.

“At ease, conductor, they’re a friend.”

Your holographic form glitches in and out of reality. There’s a thin blue filter over your appearance, but other than that, everything is the same as he remembers.

“Hey, angel,” you coo, leaning your elbow on his shoulder as you sit besides him. Its weight is not the same as it would be in reality, but the presence is enough - a small, barely noticeable tingle that has his heart fluttering and his wings following in suit. “How’s life as Nameless? Do you miss us yet?”

Sunday laughs gently. “It has only been two weeks since I left the Hunters. I’m afraid I haven’t had the time to miss you all.”

You pout playfully, sticking out your tongue.Even though parts of you chip away and reappear, and your form isn’t stable, Sunday can’t help but be as captivated by you as he was when he was still among the Hunters’ ranks. Where the projection fails, his tinted memory fills in.

“Silver Wolf misses you, although I doubt she’d actually say it,” you say, taking a lock of his hair and twirling it around your finger. “Has she visited you yet?”

Sunday stutters a bit before weakly batting your finger away with his wing. “No, I’m afraid she hasn’t.”

“Hm.” You smile at his attempt to brush you off. Letting go of his hair, you instead opt to tug lightly at his cheek, earning a squeak from the Halovian. “That’s weird. Maybe she was too shy to speak up.”

“I-” Sunday rubs his cheek when you finally let go. Embarrassingly, his wings jump to shield his face, an unfortunate reflex he’d yet to curb. “I suppose she was…”

He hears you hum, and he lifts a wing to peek at you. His cheeks feel hot - no, that’s an understatement, the entirety of his body feels as if he’s in a fireplace.

“Give her my regards,” he finally breathes out, thanking the Aeons for his training in keeping his composure. Sure, it ultimately fails whenever he looks at you, but at least he’s able to fix himself quickly enough… or at least, he hopes that’s what it looks like.

“You didn’t answer my question though.” Propping your elbow on his shoulder again, you rest your cheek in your palm. “How’s the Nameless life treating you?”

“It’s chaotic,” Sunday admits with a fond sigh. He relaxes into the couch once more, feeling himself sink into the plush. Briefly, he’s tempted to lean his head on your shoulder, but given that you’re a holograph, he holds himself back. “But it’s fun. The Nameless have been kind, and the planets I’ve visited… It’s nice, to see the universe as someone other than a wanted criminal.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Sunday would apologize, but considering that it’s you he’s talking to, he doesn’t feel the need to. After all, you’ve said worse to him, and him to you.

“You know what I mean,” he chuckles. “To be honest, though, the Express and the Hunters aren’t so different.”

He hears Pom Pom squawk indignantly, and again he ruffles their fur to calm them. Turning ever so slightly to your hologram, he gazes at you with adoration and fondness swelling his heart.

“To the both of you, I am forever grateful. If it weren’t for your kindness, I’d be rotting away in an alley somewhere. I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

All distaste for the Hunters fades from Pom Pom as they giggle bashfully. “Aw, Sunday… You don’t have to thank us. We were just doing what the Nameless do.”

You nod in agreement, reaching through his wing and poking his cheek again. “Conductor’s right. No need for thanks, birdie.”

“Still-” Sunday makes a sound like a startled bird as you poke his cheek harder, squishing it against the rest of his face. Underneath his coat, his primary wings strain with the urge to flutter and twitch, while his secondary wings are held back by sheer willpower. The only sign that they want to flap so badly is with the tiniest of tremors.

“None of that,” you chide him gently, tapping him lightly on the plush of his lips. “We’re just glad you’re happy - right, bunny?”

“Who’re you calling bunny?!” Pom Pom protests, steam puffing out of their head while steam threatens to escape Sunday’s face for completely different reasons.

Before you can reply, however, your form begins to glitch out, flickering in and out of reality at a higher frequency. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you stand up.

“Looks like Silver Wolf isn’t happy,” you comment, brushing off imaginary dust from your clothes. Taking one step so that you’re fully in front of Sunday, you lean in so that your projected nose barely brushes against his. “I have to get going now. You have my number, so text me if you need anything, okay? Or if you want to catch me up with your travels, you can always call me.”

Sunday’s voice feels lodged in his throat. With a subtle gulp, his Adam’s Apple bobbing ever so slightly, he manages to speak with an even voice.

“Okay,” he whispers, his voice almost a whimper. He wants to explode.

You smile fondly, and duck in to peck at the corner of his lips. The buzzing of your holograph morphs into electrifying lightning, surging into his veins, puffing up his feathers and making all of his hairs stand up and sending his already tapping heart into a frenzy. His body freezes into a statue, and all coherent thoughts melt away into a haze that is both ecstatic and shocked.

By the time you pull away, his wings are flapping erratically and his entire body is dyed in a rosey red. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, but all words die on his tongue and he is left blabbering like a fool.

You laugh again, eyes crinkling so beautifully he swears he’s ascended.

“If that’s how you react, I wonder how cute you’ll be when it’s the real deal.”

And then you’re gone, vanishing like a sweet dream in a flurry of pixels, leaving Sunday there to dazedly touch his lips, and then where you’d kissed him.

And then he smiles, giddily, and his halo practically glows as soft, love-stricken giggles begin to leave him.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[shironezuninja]

10 out of 18.

[preciouslandmermaid]

burned within like a dying star (anakin x f!reader)

rating: e (sexual content!) tags: smut, fem!reader tho no descriptors are use, no use of y/n or l/n, sex pollen, smut, p in v, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, desperate anakin, light praise, vaginal fingering, oral (m/f receiving), nipple play, anakin has a big dick, set during clone wars tldr: anakin & reader fuck nasty on the floor of his spaceship wc: 5k of pure filth lol

summary: You spent the last ten years perfecting an artificial pheromone to save an alien species from extinction. And you've almost perfected it when a Separatist force ambushes your research station, destroying your samples, and placing yourself and the Jedi, Anakin, in the crossfire of it's potent fumes.

// READ ON AO3 // 🌟

Anakin's body writhed over yours in a tangled, sweaty mess of limbs. Your spine slid across his smooth, slick chest. His cock nudged deeper and deeper as he pinned you beneath him against the cold, metal floor, where your fingers scrambled for purchase and your breath wheezed from your lungs in short, desperate gasps.

Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back into your skull and Anakin grunted a low, lewd curse into the shell of your ear.

“Don't stop," he rasped, though he had all the physical power in this situation, his cock buried deep within your folds, his hands locked tight around your hips as he drew you back into him with forceful, short tugs.

A string of saliva trickled from the corner of your mouth and suddenly Anakin's gloved fingers were pushing between your lips, his index and middle smearing over your tongue, and pulling your jaw open with the curl of his fingers pressing into the blunt edge of your teeth. You suckled on his fingers, groaning around the solid, soft digits and he released a low, primal hum of approval.

He dragged his wet, gloved fingers from your mouth, across your throat, and between your breasts before he found the sweet spot between your legs and began swirling his two fingers across your peaked, throbbing clit. You moaned, loud and reckless, the hollow-sound reverberating across the cockpit as Anakin Skywalker made you burn from within like a dying star.

“Anakin, please," you choked the words free from your tight throat. your walls convulsed wildly around his thick, heavy cock, attempting to pull and squeeze him deeper, as your release hit you in a shock wave of buckling pleasure.

You would've face-planted onto the metal floor if Anakin hadn't caught you with the slight, mystical touch of the force. He guided your face down slowly and you pillowed your head upon your folded arms, your sweaty body pulsing and jerking forward with every one of Anakin's deliberate, fast-paced thrusts.

All of this from a mere pheromone sample?

A delirious laugh bubbled in your throat, but it was swallowed and replaced with a drawn-out moan as you felt Anakin swell and spill inside of you.

8 HOURS EARLIER

Though the war threatened to swallow every quadrant of the universe, you refused to cower and abandon the precious experiment that you had spent the past decade perfecting. The planet below, Decuurr Gamma, was a lush, humid planet teeming with great rocky mountains, rich in mineral deposits. But, more importantly than the resources, was the nearly-endangered Vux species.

The Vux were an intelligent, humanoid type species: larger than humans (the average male height was nearly 7ft, and the average female was 6 and a half), with their skin color ranging from ashen gray to smoky twilight. Their eyes were small and black, and they had ears shaped like a Chadra-Fans', only slightly smaller.

And they were dying. Not due to war, or famine, or disease, but an extremely low-birth rate and medical difficulties with Vux's carrying offspring to term. You had been tasked with the daunting responsibility to help the Vux.

A third of your research had focused on their mating habits and patterns. The Vux differed from humanity in the sense that they had a biological imperative that bonded them to a specific sexual partner. An offspring could only be born if the Vux became intimate with the correct partner. The Vux had attempted to circumvent this issue by engaging in intercourse with non-mates, but the pregnancies wouldn't reach their full cycle and the chance of a live birth was slim. 

Another half of your research went into discovering the how and why this mating prerogative existed. After serval dead-ins, threats to remove funding, you had discovered that the Vux's natural pheromones weren't releasing the right 'signals'. Rather than a 'come hither' message to their kin, pinpointing their mates like a tracking beam, the pheromones produced were pushing potential mates away.

And everything had been going well...until the Jedi arrived.

He walked into your brightly lit, white and chrome laboratory, his curly hair framing his handsome face with slight sheen of glistening sweat on his brow. After introductions were made, his voice like velvet over your ears, Anakin revealed his reason for the impromptu visit.

“Why would the separatists care about this planet?!" you demanded, “we're all the way in the outer-rim."

“The Vux don't have a strong military presence anymore, do they?" Anakin asked, though you suspected the question was rhetorical.

Once upon a parsec, the Vux had an impressive starship fleet, a strong military power that ensured their planet remained unharmed by junk-dealers or criminals operating in the outer-rim. But...these past ten years had changed the fabric of the galaxy- including Decuurr Gamma. Their population couldn't risk becoming involved in conflict.

“And the separatists need resources," he said as he looked from your large, observatory window facing the tall, impressive mountains in the distance.

Your brow crinkled. "then...then I’ll -" You fumbled for the correct decision. Your research was almost complete. The vials, beakers, computerized files, and technology surrounding you were proof enough of that fact and the latest, perfected batch was set to be tested tomorrow morning. You couldn't leave.

“I’ll arrange for my team to evacuate," you struggled the words out, a hard knot twisting in your throat. "but, I’ll stay here."

Anakin turned toward you and you were forced to meet his stubborn, darkened blue gaze. His eyes reminded you of the misty, fog-covered mountains in the early blue-gray dawn.

“With all due respect, I don't think that's wise." He shook his head. “You should take your research and come to the inner-rim. it's safer there and the republic--"

You anxiously cut him off, “And how will the Vux survive? I doubt they'll let me re-enter the planet with all this." You gestured with one arm towards your lab as your other arm remained secured around your midsection.

Anakin frowned.

“If they go for an all-out attack then--" he stopped and something imperceptible crossed over his intense gaze. A bright and blaring alarm cut through the research station and his body drew taught as his hand flew to his lightsaber.

“Get down!" he yelled as the doors hissed open and two droids trotted into the room, blasters screaming through the air, and crashing into your equipment. You screamed: in fear, in anger, in distress. Your knees ached as you crawled behind the pristine white work benches and glass shattered over your head.

The droning hum of a lightsaber cut through the air in melodic, swooping arcs. Another terrifying, awful shatter of glass and the blaster-fire echoed through your ear drums. A fine, lilac-hued smoke clung to the air, causing your eyes to smarten and water. It took your frazzled mind a second to realize what the droids had hit. Oh. Oh fuck. Oh no. This was bad. Very, very bad.

You risked popping your head from behind its cover and shouted roughly to the young Jedi, “Don't breathe it in!"

“Is it deadly?!" he yelled in return as he force-pushed a droid away with a quick shove of his hand and deflected a blaster-beam with his lightsaber. You shook your head and clammy sweat prickled at the back of your neck.

“No." You coughed. “Won't kill us."

You couldn't and didn't study the effects of a Vux pheromone supplement on a human body. Your research focused on the Vux themselves; their bodies, their chemicals, their minds. Many of their organs mirrored humans, but they had a few biological differences besides their 'mating scent'. The Vux child bearers could carry two separate pregnancies and the entire species had a brief refractory period, lasting only a few minutes at most according to your research.

Your experiment had taken all of this into account. You measured for it. The artificial pheromone chemical you produced was designed for a sexually-developed Vux. A creature much larger than you or Anakin. You tugged your stiff, clean lab coat from your arms and sweat bloomed over the dewy surface of your skin. Your logical mind tried to cut through your reeling, impulsive thoughts. Could you flush out the fumes? 

Anakin approached you, helping you to your feet by gripping your elbow, and then he stumbled into your body with a dazed, glazed look. He pressed his damp forehead against yours.

“What's happening?" His tongue darted out to wet his lips and you longed to pull his mouth down onto yours

“They blew up my research," you said sourly, gripping the tense, solid firmness of his shoulders. “We're breathing it in...it's going to cause...ah..." You struggled to get the words free as another ripple of heat pooled within your lower abdomen. It's causing us to behave like mated-Vux, you wanted to explain, but the words wouldn't come. 

“Master Yoda mentioned that your team." His nose bumped into yours. “Was assisting in...fertility research?"

“Something like that, yes," you replied, breathless and aching. “This will pass." You hoped it would, anyways. A paired Vux mated for hours, another biological drive to ensure offspring was produced, but, this couldn't last that long, could it?

“We need to go. C’mon."

You nodded numbly, foolishly enjoying the warm dance of air on your lips from Anakin's mouth. He was a Jedi. The Jedi didn't...well…they didn't have wives, or husbands, or lovers, or even families. Everyone knew that. And you were grateful that Anakin was stronger than you. Once you arrived at his ship, you’d hide away in one of the bunks and wait to sweat this out like a bad fever.

Anakin cleared a path to the docking bay and managed to send a message to the Republic, but you both knew there was little chance of rescue for the Vux people. This ambush was won by the separatists. They’d take Decuurr Gamma by force and have the Vux at their mercy. And there was nothing more you could do…

Your limbs were locked into motion by sheer adrenaline and several, desperate thoughts of what Anakin's muscled back looked like beneath his robes. He pulled you by hand into his ship and threw himself into the pilot's seat. You clenched your thighs together as you watched at his gloved hands flying with familiarity over the controls.

You never imagined you'd nearly cum just by watching someone in their element--but fuck, there was a first time for everything, wasn't there? Embarrassed, you turned your hot, sweaty face away as small, wrecking shudders pulled through your body.

Anakin, misreading you, asked, "you alright?"

“Hate flying,” you grit out as your fingers clenched over the armrests.

It wasn't until the ship lulled into a quiet auto-pilot that you unclenched your fists and opened your eyes. And Anakin was there. He was kneeling in front of you, breathing heavily, his hair matted with sweat and dripping into his pupil-blown eyes.

“What's. Happening. To. Me." He met your eyes and set his jaw in a painful, agonized clench. “The thoughts I’m having...the things…I want..."

“It'll pass," you repeated as your fingertips left the armrest and came to cradle his face and Anakin sagged into your touch like he needed it. You licked your lips.

“The Vux are a unique species," you said as Anakin's trembling fingers reached up to unclasp your safety belt. “Who can only conceive if they're with the correct mate."

His hands settled on your thighs and burned through the fabric of your skirt.

“They don't engage in sex for pleasure." You scooted forward and braced your knees on either side of Anakin's broad chest, your skirt bunching as it rode up your thighs and hugged your hips. “But the pheromones they were releasing naturally weren't sending the correct signals..."

“And your artificial one did?"

“I don't know.” You shook your head, feeling dizzy. “We hadn't released it. It wasn’t done.” You drew your lower lip in-between your teeth, a stab of sadness cutting through the haze of lust. “Now, we'll never know."

The last ten years were lost. Burned. Ruined. You had always secured and saved your notes, but it would take years to replicate the formula. And the Vux didn't have years to wait.

Anakin's thumb touched your lower lip, drawing it free from your teeth, his pupils blown wide and hungry.

“Come closer," he said, a slight hitch to his deep, masculine voice. and you were in no state to deny him nor did you want to. Your lips dragged tentatively over his. Once. Before he pushed his hands under your skirt and slid his tongue between your waiting, eager lips. His kiss was fluid, but sloppy and impatient. His hands tugged your underwear from your legs and tossed it somewhere within the cockpit.

You barely had a second to breathe before Anakin wrenched your legs apart and buried his face into your pulsing, sensitive cunt. You yelped, one hand gripping his hair, as your hips jolted into his face with a hurried jerk of a motion. His tongue ran velvet-smooth licks along your folds before he closed his perfect mouth around your clit and suckled until your spine arched from the back of your seat and your thighs clamped around his sweat-matted head.

“Don't stop - mmh- fuck," you whined, bucking into him, all previous thoughts of Jedi lacking the skills (or desire or interest) in sex immediately forgotten. Anakin's tongue played against you like your moans were his favorite, sweetest song.

Your head thrashed to the side. “Please."

Anakin's inner chaos quieted once he had you on his tongue. You quivered around him, begging him, tugging at his hair as you rocked your hips into his face.

You had explained that his emotions were tied to the chemical pheromone that your team had manufactured and although he didn't fully understand how the chemical worked, he did understand on some primal level that he needed you like nothing else. He needed you all over him, mouth, hands, everything. Everything you'd give him, he'd greedily take, like a back-alley junk dealer looking to swindle tourists.

You came, shouting his name, and Anakin drew back and wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hands.

“Take it off," you whined, grappling for the front of his Jedi robes.

He snatched your mouth with his and pulled you both onto the floor, placing you in his lap, and rocking his clothed, tented cock into your wet core. You gasped sweetly and dragged your folds over him in rhythmic, desperate little motions. The air thickened with heat. Your intelligent eyes went glossy and glazed. Your nostrils flared as you tried to contain your needy pants. You were gorgeous and insatiable and he wanted to lose himself with you. Forget the Jedi Council. Forget the tragedy that happened on the planet below. He wanted your wet heat enveloping him. He wanted his name to fall from your lips. 

He reached up and yanked open your shirt and sent its tiny fastening buttons pinging like rain across the metal floor.

Your breasts were perfect. Beautiful. And he needed to touch you. He needed to taste you until his tongue went numb. He needed to fill his ship with the sounds of your pleasured cries.

He tilted up halfway to draw one of your sweet, peaked nipples into his mouth and relished in the surprised, luscious sound you made as you cradled his head to your chest. His tongue laved over the bud, sweeping and suckling, flicking it and molding kisses along the tops and undersides of your flesh.

“Fuck," he grunted, holding your hips steady, and enjoyed the friction his clothes provided against your warm cunt. Time stretched, lasting forever, lasting for seconds. He kissed you. Strong and firm. Nothing else existed beyond your tongue between his teeth and your body gyrating above his.

“You can't take me yet," he moaned when your hand snaked down his chest to feel him through his clothes.

“Someone's confident," you said with a breathless laugh, though the mirth died in your throat when your palm touched the hard, large length of him. You worked your fingers down from shaft to base and choked back your astonishment. Anakin's eyes glimmered with satisfaction. You slithered your hand beneath his robes and pulled him free, lowering yourself as he parted his Jedi robes to reveal the smooth, cut expanse of his chest. You kissed lightly across his stomach and Anakin moaned your name at the first touch of your lips upon his cock.

You ran your tongue across the salty, masculine heat of him, up and down, until he was slick with your salvia before you attempted to close your lips around his head. Anakin practically growled from above you, one hand tight on your shoulder, the other in a fist at his side.

You slowly drew his cock into your mouth, your tongue flat against your jaw, and a quake of pleasure ran down your spine like an electric live-wire. Everything within you pulsed with sheer, primal desire. You wanted to please him. And you wanted him, in every position, on every surface. Whatever functions to your logical brain had been turned off. All that mattered was muscles, and limbs, and quenching this bottomless thirst within you.

Anakin groaned, arching his neck and exposing the vulnerable column of his throat as his dark, curly hair fanned out around his anguished, tortured expression. You drew him out of your mouth, licked him in slow and teasing strokes, gifting him with little soft kisses over his shaft before you repeated the cycle over and over again.

"'m close--" Anakin shuddered, his grip on the back of your neck almost painful, though he didn't trap you to him. You worked your fist over his slick cock, feeling him pulse in your palm, watching him writhe through your lidded eyes. He finished with a loud keen and his warm seed spurted and spilled across and over your breasts.

Anakin gasped, bright-eyed and flushed, before he pulled you by the arms toward him and devoured your mouth in hungry, satin kisses.

Your head spun, delirious with pleasure. He tore your shirt from your shoulders and ripped the bunched black skirt from your hips with little effort, bearing yourself before him like a statue of a divine figure.

He laid back. His brown Jedi robe sprawled beneath your naked bodies like a picnic blanket. A boyish, cheerful light sparkled through his eyes, so light and carefree that your chest clenched.

“Anakin,” you whispered as a prickly chill danced over your skin. You pressed your bare, aching breasts to his chest and squirmed against him, attempting to meld your bodies into one.

He pulled one glove free and licked his bare fingers before he dragged them across your cunt and plunged two fingers into you. You spasmed, fingers clawing into his chest, as he pumped two fingers in and out of you with a controlled, measured pace.

“Faster, please, Anakin," you whimpered, hips shifting in an effort to speed him along.

“No, mhm-nn.” He toyed with your earlobe between his soft, teasing lips. “Not yet." His thumb circled your clit and you stopped arguing as the slick sounds from between your thighs became obscenely erotic. You couldn't remembered ever being this turned on, this wet, for anyone before. Was it the chemical? Or was it Anakin? But, you didn't have the brain power to solve that particular puzzle.

“More." You were close. Close already?! From nothing more than his mouth on your neck and his fingers pumping into you. Stars, save you.

“More?" he echoed, a third fingertip teasing your cunt.

“Please, Anakin." You nuzzled into the side of his face, breathing deeply, perhaps taking a full breath for the first time this morning. Anakin blessedly chose to indulge you and coax a third finger into your hole.

You adjusted to the slight discomfort, your body stretching and welcoming, your skin prickling with anticipation. He gripped your ass with his gloved hand, holding you close and tight, while his bare fingers stoked a roaring inferno in the lower pools of your stomach.

“N-need you ready," he whispered huskily, "you're so wet. so close. wanna - oh - fuck.” He pressed his lips together, his control unraveling as you squeezed his fingers. “Be s-so deep inside you. feel you."

"yes, yes, yes," you babbled, "yes, please. everything."

He tucked face into your chest, leaving hot, suckling kisses along the sensitive skin, bruising and marking you with the blunt edge of his teeth.

You came so hard that your teeth clacked together as your body seized and a thunderstorm of pleasure tore through you. Anakin muttered in approval and praise, his voice its own aphrodisiac.

The aftershocks barely passed before you wordlessly gripped the base of his cock and lined him up to your aching, still-throbbing entrance. You watched his adam's apple bob when he swallowed. You met his gaze and nodded. And he nodded in reply.

You slowly sank onto him. "O-oh.” He let out a strangled moan. “Like that, yes."

“Yes," you agreed, your face pinching with pleasure as the full girth of him speared between your folds inch by delicious inch. Every inch of you was filled by him like a lost key sliding into a forgotten lock. He bottomed-out and your shoulders shuddered with exquisite, cloying satisfaction.  

“You look nice like this," Anakin said, his words slurring as if he was drunk, "backlit by starlight."

You craned your neck behind you to see the viewport at your back and the wide, brilliant expanse of stars. Anakin told the ship to lower the cockpit lights and dipped you into semi-darkness: intimate, quiet, with nothing but the star-spun space beyond and the humid space between your damp bodies.

You brought your mouth tenderly and appreciatively to his as your inner walls fluttered around him. Anakin started slow, merely rocking into you, as his arms wrapped around your torso. The heat within built at a rapid, concerning pace. You shouldn't be able to finish again so quickly, so soon, but the Vux pheromones ran wild and unchecked through your veins. You wiggled one hand between your legs and rubbed tight, firm circles over your sensitive clit, gasping every time Anakin withdrew a little further than the last.

You tossed your head back, grinding into Anakin and touching yourself in tandem with his shallow, controlled thrusts. Your mingled panting breath and hollow, deep groans filled the circulated air as your knees pressed into the hard, metal floor. His heavily lidded, dark eyes watched you hungrily, never leaving your face, soaking in your raptured bliss as if it were his own. 

Your orgasm hit you in slow, syrupy waves, a slower and deeper pleasure than you would've expected and your walls snugly wrapped and quivered around his throbbing cock, pulling another shuddering, sharp gasp from your lungs. Your inner thighs were soaked. But, there was no time to care, or feel embarrassed, because Anakin cupped one of your breasts and lightly circled the nipple beneath his index finger, sending little shivers into your core. 

“More, please, I need you," he breathed and braced his knees upright.

You settled your palms on his chest, for leverage and stability, as Anakin wrapped one arm around your back. Your body relaxed. Unfolded. The muscles gave into him like wet sand against the rushing ocean as Anakin withdrew his cock and plunged back in with a hard, swift thrust. Your body jolted, but he held you firm, and he took you like a man lost on a desert planet without hope of an oasis.

Your eyes squeezed shut, short gasps pushed from your diaphragm as he pounded into you with hungry, feverish motions.

“Yes, yes, oh fuck, yes." Anakin whined into your ear. “So well. taking me- fuck- well. so well. come for me again. come for me." he repeated your name over and over again, burying his face into the side of your neck, pleading with you to let him fill you again and again. “Let me feel everything."

Your ass bounced, your skin jiggling from the sheer force and rapid desperation of Anakin's movements. Somewhere in the haze of pleasure, his mouth found yours, and he drank in your every sound as if they belonged to him. Your walls tightly gripped him, though there was little room to do so, as his big cock filled you to the brim. You'd feel him after this. Your muscles would remember the fullness and satisfying ridge of his cock-head teasing your lips before he sank into you.

“Say you're mine," he gasped, his cock hitting the deepest point within you and causing the backs of your eyelids to flash with stars.

"m yours."

“Again." The sound of your skin rapidly slapping together overwhelmed your senses as he took, he took, and took everything you gave him. 

“Yours, Anakin."

He grunted, a low, deep sound, before he gripped your hips and slammed you onto his pelvis. You felt him swell from within and fill you. A needy sound escaped from your lips as you abruptly followed him off the edge and gushed around his twitching cock.

He trembled beneath you, gasping your name, and rocking his hips slowly as his orgasm faded into a fuzzy, blurry background. Some of the terrible, burning heat finally seeped from your skin, a promising sign of relief. Perhaps the artificial pheromone was waning?

You wiped your damp face with both hands, smiling for a moment, before Anakin rolled you over beneath him. “I don't want to stop," he said, his thrusts slow and unhurried. “Do you want to stop?"

“No!" you blurted and you quickly looked away in embarrassment. "it feels—”

“Too good?" Anakin guessed before he captured your lips in a searing, almost angry kiss. You made a soft noise of agreement against his mouth. Anakin tugged free his other glove, revealing his prosthetic limb, and he cradled your jaw. The metal was wonderfully cool against your feverish body. He trailed his fingers down, eliciting a rush of excitement, as he gently tweaked one of your nipples with his cold fingers.

Your head arched back, your hips thrusting in time with his, as he toyed with your nipple and brought the other into his waiting, warm mouth. He alternated the sensations, teasing your nipples until they throbbed and glistened with his salvia. Your eyes clenched shut. Your fingers sank into his soft, curls and molded against the shape of his skull. Every dance of his tongue across the sensitive bud created another pulse through your inner walls, hugging his cock and begging him to go impossibly deeper.

"Ana-kin," you cried. Another flash of lightning sparked across your eyelids as Anakin worshiped your breasts and your thighs quivered around his narrow, sculpted hips. 

Time stopped (if it mattered at all within the vacuum of space). You and Anakin driven by a biological impulse that was not fully your own. You had thought the Jedi handsome when he stepped into your lab, but that initial attraction would never have blossomed into this under normal circumstances and you didn't have the mental energy to ruminate upon what would happen to you after.

You laid boneless and exhausted upon Anakin's broad warm chest and listened to the steady strong rhythm of his heart. He draped his cloak over the lower halves of your body as his metallic fingers trailed lazy circles over your upper back. For a long while, neither of you spoke. Your lips were puffy and kiss-swollen, your eyelids heavy.

Anakin's neck and chest were covered in your enthusiastic love-bites and dotted his fair, muscled skin in pink splotches. You recalled the moment with a brief, saccharine smile. You had been in his lap in his pilot’s seat and after enjoying the ravenous noise he made when you sucked his collarbone, you made a mental commitment to hear that noise from his perfect, bowed lips again and again. Your little activity lasted only until Anakin clutched the nape of your neck and pinned you against his shoulder before he drove into you with a punishing, desperate pace. You had screamed out in agonized pleasure, slick with sweat and release, and Anakin had then slowed, coaxing you through the final, intense waves of your - fourth? fifth? (you had lost count) -  orgasm. 

“Can you resume your research within Republic’s territory?" Anakin asked.

You closed your eyes. “I can try."

“If not, then I’m sure the republic's forces will do all they can to reclaim Decuurr Gamma.”

You lifted your head to study the planes and angles of his face. In the low, quiet humming light of the spaceship, Anakin looked carved from stone, as beautiful and untouchable as the figures within ancient mythology. His blue eyes, no longer swallowed and darkened by lust or battle, were shadowed by a slight, thoughtful furrow in his brow.

“Will they?" A note of skepticism entered your voice. “Forgive me, Master Jedi, if I lack your optimism."

“It doesn't make sense for the republic to allow the separatists to keep control," he said, "they took it with a small force and they wouldn't waste their stronger warships on a planet with such a small population." His eyes brightened. “We could take it back with a handful of soldiers."

You settled back onto his chest. “Just because the pheromone reacted with our physiology doesn't mean it'll have favorable results with the Vux." You sighed. “Despite my efforts, I must consider myself back at square one and prepare to start over."

“Wow." Anakin chuckled. “You're a pessimist."

You hummed. “I’m merely being realistic considering the grim circumstances. but..." You lifted your head to meet his gaze again. “If the republic does reclaim Decuurr Gamma…”

“You'll be the first to know," Anakin assured you. He brushed his lips over yours, stirring the embers of desire into a sparking, sharp heat that traveled down to your bare toes.

“In the meantime..." he mumbled before pressing his lips firmly to yours and losing himself in the delirious pleasure of your kiss as cold starlight streaked across the viewport.

bonus author's note:

The entire time I was writing this I was like "where's padme. i love padme. how do i explain anakin's lack of yearning for padme?" and you know what...I still don't have an answer. So. AU, Padme?? isn't here?? Padme and Anakin aren't in love?? I don't know.

anyway. i had this idea in my head for days ever since i started watching the clone wars animated series so here we are!!! my first ever anakin fic, so i hope i did him justice <3 also!! the name of the species + planet were created via a random generator online and have no ties (to my knowledge) of actual Star Wars canon :)

[luvether]

STAR-SHAPED BRUISES ✦ he who once felt the cold touch of death before, so why did it matter if he risked it again? Only that it did matter, to you, and your yearnings for him felt so warm it almost made him want to be selfish.

anaxagoras x gn!reader. angst? & fluff! content. hurt with comfort (?) tensions and arguments. yearning and hidden pining. cerces playing matchmaker. might be ooc + anaxa character study. written before 3.2 and spoilers for the 3.1 story! [2.4k wc]

tagging @rainswept @eterjie @kazucee !!

“You seem troubled today, more than usual.”

The thin-layer of soundlessness is quickly replaced by the tamed billow of Anaxa’s tone, one that seems like he’s questioning for the sake of curiosity and not because of empathy. Looking up at how busy he looked, his eyes maintained upon his alembic that bubbled a violent cyan-gold hue, any second and you’re sure it’s gonna fulminate from the vessel.

You shift from your seat, feigning skittish. “Did my morose pique the curiosity of the grand performer? Or are you simply worried?”

“Neither.”

“What a benumbed reaction, Anaxa—“

“—goras.” He finishes for you. Usually, whenever he’d add on your behalf, you’d combat it with a snide but today, he’s left with nothing but silence. This made him look up from his instruments and papers, your lack of reactions made him forgo his current experiment.

It made him almost worry, almost.

He sighs instead. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“You’re quick to lie to me,” Anaxagoras is now facing you, laying a hand on his hip. “That seems like something.”

The way he conducts his questions is making you want to be defensive with your petulant behavior. “Even if something is on my mind, I don’t see why I should be telling you about it.”

“Maybe you should, because if I can find some way to help, your mood would lift, no?”

“Since when have you cared about my moods?”

Silence then.

“Are you aware of what the principle of correspondence is?” Anaxa mutters out and you have the urge to exhale.

“Please spare me a lecture…”

“As above, so below, as within so without.” The professor starts nonetheless. “Everything around us is a mirror that reflects a projection on both our inner and outer manners, think of the relationships as interconnected roots of trees or simply dendrites. It’s the simple work of magic tricks—human behaviors more so than divinity at play.” Anaxagoras approaches you, the chains of his eyepatch filling the slowness of the room.

He levels his face with yours and from your position, you can clearly anatomize the fullness of his eye from here—the hollow of mint with a cut of boysenberry in the center, glowing beneath long lashes.

He continues, “even if I’m half-dead as what that titan said, I can still feel your vibrations and stress, an internal conflict, it’s making shoddy trembles of my glass flasks on that desk.”

“How does that even—“

“Your feet.” Anaxa finally says. “You were unconsciously tapping your feet.”

Oh.

You lay your palms flat on your knees, an unconscious manner.

“I apologize.”

“So you have the decency to apologize and yet not speak your mind further?”

The silence is indefinite yet present. It shallows over at every retort that spills in between both your stubborn tongues.

You shake your head. “You’re difficult.”

His eyes narrow. “You are the one being difficult, actually. I offered help, you refused, I asked about your well-being, you dismissed me.”

“You should consider how your candidness makes it exceptionally hard for me to be open to you, maybe think about that.” You bite back at him, the tension threatening to spill over. “You’re the last person I’d want to go to whenever I have worries, so just simply drop it for today. I’d have to apologize for my lackings, I'll provide you with better companionship and arguments when I’m feeling well.”

“…Truly, I didn’t mean to come off as heartless—“ but you’d already brush past his shoulder before he can fully explain himself like he’d always have, leaving Anaxa to his bubbling vessels, untidy scrolls and a heavy sigh.

Much to his dismay instead of the privacy that he wishes after that argument, Cerces appears just as you vanish from his sight, a liquidy chuckle slipping past their lips. “Sometimes, I even wonder if your heart died along with you, child of humanity.”

“I’d rather you keep silent while I work.” Anaxagoras distastefully returns back to his apparatuses, more quiet and solemn than before.

“You should give chase.” Cerces suggested instead. “That child was simply worried.”

“Worried?” He finds the titan’s words as credulous. “Did you not see the flush of anger directed at me? Besides, I’m preoccupied right now.”

“You say you’re preoccupied and yet it’s you who seem quite distracted. Are you curious about their source of trouble?”

“It’s nothing new, arguments like that. We’ve known each other long before you ever knew me on my deathbed so back off.”

When he’d state his intentions clear, the Titan of Reason—unfazed in their countenance—leaves the professor to his own bearings and he finally has room to breathe.

Your relationship with him has always been rocky. Arguments and walking outs weren’t new, you used to debate about claims and theories a multitude of times back in the Grove, it was part of your dynamic, but every time he realizes belatedly how his string of words had cut you deep beyond the usual shallow jabs thrown on a daily, Anaxagoras cannot help but feel like his hollow chest is being twisted upside down.

In some way, maybe it mattered because despite the clashes and quarrels, you’d stay. You’ve stayed by him for years even after he was ridiculed as a blasphemous fool or a heretic—you’d stay even longer, waiting for him to finish lectern speeches or classes without so much as an ounce of complaint. A simple gesture that he’d been grateful of and even he admits to himself that seeing you being upset with him and his words were the least satisfying things to behold.

It did bother him but admitting that aloud to that titan was the last thing he’d want.

So after an hour or two after he knew you’d calm down, the professor drops his vials and walks down the distasteful and boisterous streets of Okhema in search of you—or more specifically, cruising over to Hyacine and asking for your whereabouts to save him the trouble of turning the Holy City upside down.

It was tempting, for the sake of bringing an irate reaction out of that woman and her golden threads, but his sick body and rational mind stopped him so.

“You are here.”

Anaxagoras has finally found you in some remote corner of the city, you were sitting shiftless above limestone, carving names upon ordinary stones. There was a spare moment in which his dull eyes sought down to you—he’d noticed how your hair is wind-swept and how strands of it stick to your forehead and the skin of your neck. The leaves of your collar are strewn as well, showing the barest hint of collarbones and almost immediately Anaxa shifts his eyes away, he’d asked what you were doing to distract himself from his own keen observations.

“Nobody will remember each scholar that perished fighting the Black tide. I’m merely writing companions I remember that I used to do thesis with, those that don’t have families here in Okhema to remember them…”

Anaxa observes you again, then after a long silence you feel him approaching closer, his shadow stretching before you. Your mind stirs in alertness, noticing what he’s up to—but Anaxa is always two steps ahead of you, before you can cease the pen laid by your side, he has already swiped it. You tried your best to wrestle it from him but Anaxa held it out of reach from you, causing you to sneer.

“Give that back. I forbid you to write your own epitaph!”

“And why not? I’ve done it once in the Grove—“

“Well, this isn’t the Grove—!“ You've paused quickly, noticing that you interrupted him. You waited for an ire to come throttling down at you but when you gaze back at him, Anaxagoras merely raises a brow at you, a faint sheet of amusement in his expression.

“Give me a stone.” He’d ask.

“No—“

“Stone.”

Your shoulders deflate at his tight tone, accepting defeat with petulance and a huff.

Stubborn man, you curse in your head. Stubborn and hard-headed and mean…You digress, ending up giving him one, laying the stone harsher onto his open palm than you intended but his expression remained amused.

When a balance of tamed silence settles, Anaxagoras is the first to speak again after writing an elegy onto the stone, changing the subject with ease.

“It's getting late, you should retire for today.”

And in response, you turn away with a quiet huff of breath. “I‘m…still not used to the Holy City's constant daylights, and I should be saying that to you, the moment you were given apparatuses to quell your complaints, you’ve been doing nothing but your experiments since you’ve arrived from your fight in Castrum Kremnos.”

“Well, thanks to your concern this ill-stricken body has been recovering. Besides, I have nothing much to do, especially when that woman’s threads are all over the place.”

“You almost died.” Your statement held more bite than necessary. For you it showed him your true feelings and for Anaxa—the answer to today’s dismay.

A laugh breaks from his lips.

“Is this why you’re upset?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. “You’re upset that I got hurt back at the Grove.”

You rise from your seat, meeting him tooth for tooth, jab for jab. “Is it truly hard for you to comprehend that there are people that care whether or not you’re doing well—?”

Despite your anger, Anaxa is distracted for a moment, watching the sneer on your lips shaping vowels and long consonants, almost as if you're baring his teeth at him. The sudden urge to lean down, kiss you quiet and taste those angry syllables on his teeth stirs in his mind.

The Nousporist sage is anything but a romantic, but temptation truly is a humanistic sin, what is he to be shameful for such selfishness?

“It’s not that.” He answers your spite with dullness. “My field of study has made it easy to forget about one's well-being. You of all people know that very well.”

“Anaxagoras, you could’ve died again and—“

He never wanted for you to concern yourself with him like this. Anaxagoras knew he was risking himself, the nuances of alchemy and the splitting of his soul. So how come—observing the way your expression creases with a certain type of pain that makes it seem like you were the one that felt it, not him.

“If you continue like this, I would go through the same grief of losing you like I did the first time around.”

“Don’t say that, as a Chrysos heir it’s bound to—“ Anaxa is surprised when you reach out to touch him, to dare touch him so freely and yet rebuttals fall flat on his heavy tongue. The warmth of your fingertips that brush over the coolness of his own palm, you bring his hand up to cradle your cheek with utter delicacy like you’re holding glass, it makes his mind go numb.

He is aware of the way his skin dances with the plush warmth of your cheek, strands of your hair he wishes to tangle between his long fingers—to give into temptation and drag his hand slowly down your jaw, the expanse of your neck, down your arms…

“You really should start taking care of yourself more.” Your lips murmur onto his open palm. “Maybe not for yourself, but for me and Hyacine.”

He swallows. ”…I cannot keep promises.”

And you’d feel a faint tug on his end—and that fissures the tension. You let go and he quickly lets his own arm fall back to his side immediately. There’s a part of you that was terrified at the thought of offending him, you never got into Anaxagoras’ bubble without permission, your relationship stayed at a mere arm’s length. Only quirked lips with tongues of appraisals and maybe the occasional longing stares from across large rooms were exchanged between the two of you, no shoulder brushing, hand-holding, breaths upon goosebumped necks—this was your first time ever touching him, his numbed, cold skin against your own.

Maybe your sudden approach shocked him from his nonchalance and arrogance, you’d know because for the first time since you’ve known him, Anaxagoras’ frown is an inch too deep and there’s a concerned fold on his brow.

He clears his throat, his eye looking anywhere but at you. “I need to go, I have to meet with the other Chrysos heirs at the baths today.”

Anaxa looked quite adamant to join the meeting, despite his distaste of the baths and Chrysos heir meetings.

He spares you one last look, “after you’re done with your business, you really should try to rest.”

You frown at his dismissive behavior, nodding your head nonetheless. “Alright, best of luck then.”

He’d merely nod stiffly at your reply and quickly turn on his heel. You would have let out a heavy exhale and scold yourself for touching him without prior permission—if it weren't for a certain titan that appeared before you, their brown curls turning gold under Kephale’s dawn.

“He’s quite provocative, that Nousporist sage, don't you think so too?” Cerces spares you conversation, their voice honeyed with light teasing.

“Anaxagoras’ probably born to be spiteful, so I cannot fault him for such a character flaw, we all have one.”

“You’re fond of him, aren’t you?” Cerces states and heat furnaces upon your cheek at their bold claim. Before you can find some excuse to defend yourself, they spoke again.

“So is he to you. I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around, he’s reduced to a passive child. His tongue is barely glib when you try to put him in his place and the way those sharp eyes soften, oh it reminds me of my lover all too much. It’s an endearing exchange.”

Cerces spoke their affections and you could do nothing but listen to them with a credulous expression. Anaxagoras being endeared by you? You’d try to wrack your mind of instances where you capture such a manner, but all you can remember of him was his sassiness, his dullness, his casual dismissiveness. There was no softness, endearments, fondness.

Despite being called the Titan of reason, you find their reasoning hard to comprehend.

You wouldn’t have believed them, that is until you gaze back at Anaxagoras’ retreating form in the distance and watch him closely, and closely you watch when you catch him moving his hand that you held so closely,

Observing how he flexes his fingers by his side.

[beansprean]

Finishing a s6 rewatch is always an experience

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: a supernatural doodle dump. 1a. Waist up of season 1 dean leaning up against the wall outside the motel room door, smoking a cigarette. 1b. Sam suddenly opens up the door and leans out, starting to say "So get this-" In a panic, Dean shoves the entire cigarette into his mouth to hide it. 1c. Full body of Dean with his back turned, one hand on the wall while he hunches over gagging and retching. Sam confusedly pats his back at the farthest distance possible. 2. Waist up of Soulless Sam relaxing with one arm perched on the back of his chair and the other holding up a teeny tiny steaming teacup. He is wearing a flannel over a white tee shirt that says "caution: unmasking". He grins condescendingly at the viewer with one eyebrow raised. His speech bubble says "something incredibly bitchy and uncalled for". 3a. Shoulders up of Dean, colored green, and Crowley, colored red. Crowley instructs, grinning, "Give Bobby Singer a kiss for me." Dean is leaning back away from him with an exhausted expression and only grunts in reply. 3b. Shoulders up of Dean and Sam, who is colored orange, mid-hunt with blood splattered over their faces. Dean has his phone held up between them on speaker phone, from which Crowley is saying "Give Bobby a kiss for me." Dean raises an eyebrow at his phone and Sam just stares at it with mild interest. 3c. Shoulders up of Sam walking toward the viewer, Crowley standing in the background. He calls out with a grin, "Give Bobby a kiss for me." Sam glances back with a frown, perturbed. 3d. Shoulders up of Dean and Crowley, Crowley leaning into frame from the side with a grin and saying, "Oh, and give Bobby a-" Dean interrupts, rolling his eyes toward the sky and throwing his hands up, shouting, "Oh my god! Kiss him yourself!" 3e. Small shoulders up of Crowley nervously pressing his index fingers together and staring at them with big shiny eyes. He mutters sadly, "He won't let me..." A little broken heart floats next to his head. 4. Full body of Castiel, colored blue with a water reflection pattern, standing doing nothing and squinting to the side. He is glowing slightly and has a glowing halo and crown shape floating over his head. Text pointing to him says 'guy who did nothing wrong ever in his life.' /end ID

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Jacaerys returns to Dragonstone after spending some time in Winterfell. He comes back looking differently…and has learned some new things 😏👅🐱

Request: 9 for Jacee ‘’Where have you learned to do that?’’

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), slight fingering, assumption of cheating

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Months have gone by since the prince Jacaerys left for Winterfell to gain House Stark and the North for the cause of his mother, Queen Rhaenyra. His visit should have been a short one, but Cregan Stark insisted he spent more time in the North. According to his letter, Lord Stark had taken a liking to him and wanted Jacaerys to get a true experience of the North. He said that getting closer to the northmen would help gain their support. 

Life on Dragonstone was lonely without him. A part of yourself was missing. 

You spent time with Baela and Rhaena, helped Lucerys get more confident with his dragon, played with Joffrey when no one would. You were in the early stages of a civil war, the adults didn’t have much time for the young boy. The Queen was grateful for your help. 

A few days ago, after you got back from riding your dragon, a raven came from Winterfell — a new message from Jacaerys saying he should be expected to return in the late afternoon. 

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. 

Rushing to your chamber, you didn't want to greet him smelling of dragon. You shed your riding clothes as a handmaid helped you fill your tub with hot water. She added rose oil to make your skin soft and you made sure to scrub extra hard with the brush. You wanted to look nice for Jacaerys. 

After bathing, you put on a clean dress and asked Baela for help with your hair. She was the best at braiding. 

‘’Do you think he missed me while he was away?’’ 

Behind you, Baela chuckled as she twisted your braids and pinned them. ‘’I wouldn't doubt it, Lady Y/N.’’ 

Hearing a dragon's roar, you jumped and went to your window. The air was gloomy, making it difficult to see through the horizon. You bit your lip, searching for an olive green shape. Although he was a small dragon, Vermax’s red wings were easy to discern in the skies.

You glanced over your shoulder to Baela. ‘’They’re here.’’ 

She finished your hair, ensuring every strand fell perfectly in place, and you descended the stairs with Baela on your tracks. 

As you reached the great hall, you saw the Queen and her children standing near the painted table, accompanied by a hubbub of voices. Lucerys talked animatedly about sword practice while a very excited Joffrey was jumping on his feet, excited to see his big brother. Rhaenyra told them to quiet down and give Jacaerys some air, which made you laugh. 

The sound caught their attention, and Jacaerys' eyes shifted to you. 

He had grown since he left — his shoulders broader, his stature more commanding. His once pin-straight hair now cascaded in soft curls that framed his face perfectly. He looked nothing like a Targaryen anymore. 

‘’Jace,’’ you whispered, a smile lighting up your face as you approached him.

For supper, a small feast was held in his honor. Daemon and Rhaena joined you for the meal, raising their cup to Jacaerys’ return. 

When the hour started to get late, you and Jacaerys retired to your chamber. Half-way there up the stairs, he pulled you into a corner of the staircase and kissed you the way he had been dying to since he got back. You pulled a moan out of him when your teeth glided against his bottom lip, and circled your arms around his neck as his hands were gripping your hips with a strength that was new. 

A voice came from the staircase below — probably one of the servants —, prying the two of you apart. You giggled against Jacaerys' shoulder. 

Once you reached the privacy of your chamber, Jacaerys shut the door and drew you to him again as he kissed along your jaw and down your neck. You moaned under the touch of his mouth, melting against him as your fingers worked on each other’s clothes, pulling at the laces and buckles until they fell off your bodies and onto the floor.

You tried to not step on your dress as you walked back to the bed, then let your shift slip down your shoulders and pool at your feet, leaving you fully naked. 

‘’Gods.’’ 

You blushed as Jacaerys followed down your neck to between your legs, taking his time to admire your body. You had never felt truly desired before him. Only objectified — as were all women in Westeros.  

‘’Do you like what you see, my Prince?’’ you asked, his eyes finding their way back to yours. 

Jacaerys didn’t respond. All he did was gently push you down into the bed. 

You expected him to get on the bed too, but to your surprise, he kneeled at the end of it and pulled you close to the edge. A frown drew between your eyebrows as you looked down. You opened your mouth to ask what he was doing on the floor, but the words got caught in your throat as Jacaerys kissed the inside of your thighs. 

It was something new, but not disagreeable.  

Then, he pushed your thighs further apart and pressed the sweetest kiss right over your slit, causing you to squirm. 

‘’Jace, what are you—’’

Your question died on your tongue as he peaked out and flicked your clit, sending a jolting sensation up your core. Jacaerys didn't stop there — he was far from finished with you. He laid his tongue flat and licked a fat strip up your entrance to your clit, stirring a gasp from your lips. 

Your reaction made him smile, encouraging him to pursue. He took a second lick of your cunt, then captured your clit between his lips to suckle at. You let out a mewl of pleasure, your hand traveling down your body to clutch at Jacaerys's soft hair. He alternated between sucking and licking at you, the room filling with obscene noises as your legs tightened on each side of his face, caging him. 

Releasing your clit, Jacaerys slid his tongue between your folds, tasting your arousal on his tongue. You've had his fingers inside you, but never his tongue. Arching your back, you pushed against his face, asking for more. And Jacaerys was happy to give it to you, adding a finger to the mix and pushing deeper inside you.

With your free hand, you clutched the sheets, biting your lips and holding back the moans that wanted to slip out. Had Lucerys’s bedchamber not been so close to yours, you would not have held them back. But y0u didn’t wish to scar his young ears. The poor boy would not be able to look you in the eyes again. 

Jacaerys withdrew his tongue and added a second finger, moving the former back to your clit and making a slobbering mess all over you. 

The rush of pleasure filling your body intensified and you rolled your hips into his face with abandon as your orgasm snapped. Your husband’s name left your lips in a delicate whimper, throwing your head back as he lapped at you, taking everything you were giving him. 

Easing your hands off his hair, you slowed your hips down. 

Jacaerys took the cue and left your pussy alone. 

‘’Where did you learn that?’’ you asked, looking down between your legs as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He rose to his feet and fell back on the bed with you. ‘’The North.’’ 

Your heart sank, and a knot formed in your stomach. Thoughts raced through your mind, thinking he had bedded another woman. You would have never thought that he would commit infidelity.

Seeing the concern etched across your face, Jacaerys reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. ‘’No,’’ he said softly, his eyes searching yours for understanding. ‘’Not…’’ He shook his head. ‘’Never.’’ 

His words washed over you like a wave of relief.

‘’Northmen, when they get drunk, they talk a lot. About their hunts, about their horses, about the things they do to their women in bed. I didn’t know women could be kissed there, but I wanted to try it. Did you…did you enjoy it?’’ 

A smile curled on your lips as you looked at him. His physique may have changed while he was in the North, but inside, he was the same nervous boy you wed in the spring. 

You nodded slowly. ‘’Can you do it again?’’

—

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[slushycoookie]

You almost died...

All because of a flower across the frozen lake.

The brightly colored pink shape blooms amongst the white snow, catching your eye instantly. You don’t think Sukuna has it in his garden.

You wanted to show it to him, maybe see if he can grow it to add color amongst the vastness of white. The only problem is that the flower was on the other side of a frozen lake. The bridge nearby was broken and the contractors were slowly taking their time rebuilding it.

On first examination, the lake looked sturdy enough. You were just going to tip toe across and back, no harm no foul.

“My Lady…” Your servant clutched on to your sleeve, “You shouldn’t go. It’s not safe.”

“I won’t be long.” You reassure, “I’ve crossed plenty of frozen lakes before. I have experience.”

“Still, I don’t think it’s wise-”

You give a gentle shush, “I will be okay.”

That’s what you said.

After a slow trek where you were holding your breath the whole time, you managed to grab the flower. The excitement rose in your body as you couldn't wait to show your husband.

Suddenly, cracks from the ice occurred before your feet. Before you could hurry and get to safety, you fell in.

A garbled shriek escaped you. There was a strong cold surrounding your entire body, the chill going straight to your bones. Bubbles escaped your lips as you swam up immediately to try and claw out of the hole you fell in. The flower was nowhere to be seen, but you couldn't worry about that now. Your vision getting blurry with every movement, the extreme cold slowing you down.

Was this supposed to be your fate? Dying in a frozen river all because you wanted to show your husband a flower? Would Sukuna even miss you? He wouldn't. You were just a toy. Someone to entertain his boredom.

Right when you're about to accept your endless demise, a hand breaks through the ice and grabs your arm. You're pulled up and out of the frigid water when you're met with those signature red eyes.

“What were you thinking?”

His shouts go through you. You're spewing up water, lungs burning with each cough and shivering as the clothes stick to your skin.

“I-I w-was-”

Sukuna holds you close to him while sprinting his way back to the estate. It's almost nauseating how fast he went. How he burst open the doors to the bedroom and barked commands at the servants. Your soaked clothing were hastily removed. Towels dried off your quivering body and new clothes were replaced.

A gigantic hearth at the far end of the room was lit. Sukuna didn't hesitate to place you in front of it, so close to the heat. Tea was served to you not long after. Your husband ordered Uraume to watch you drink while he went to go change himself.

A momentary silence befell the two of you. The tea was doing it's best to warm you up on the inside and the fire was on the verge of making you sweat with how close you were to it.

“I messed up…”

“Continue to drink, my Lady.”

You frown, cradling your cup, “He’s going to be upset with me, isn't he?”

Uraume's immediate silence told you everything you need to know. Your best bet was to finish your tea and wait for him to come back.

Sukuna, dressed in his own warm, comfortable kimono, glared at you upon his arrival. Uraume quickly said their goodbyes and left you to fend for yourself. It's clear you've gotten too comfortable under Ryomen Sukuna’s presence. No need to watch out for any danger when you were constantly surrounded by one. Why else would you pull this kind of stunt?

You hope your empty tea cup, paired with that soft smile he likes is enough to lessen his anger.

“What you did was idiotic.”

“I know-”

“No, you do not.” He folds his arms, “Otherwise you wouldn't have walked across that frozen lake in the first place.”

“Sukuna, I have done it plenty of times before-”

“Well, your luck had run out. You would've been dead if I didn't save you.” He starts pacing, two arms still folded, his other hands fiddling with the string on his robe.

“I know.”

“Do you know how troubling the ceremonies are for marriage? Do you think I wish to go through that again?”

“No…” Sukuna grunts and you can clearly see that you messed up. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you-”

His pacing stops, “You did not scare me.”

You blink, unsure if you heard that correctly. Not when the entire time your husband has been berating you, his fingers mess with the string, fraying the piece of clothing. His muscles taut as if they couldn't relax at all. Not when you're safe and by his side.

“I'm sorry, really.”

Sukuna waves you away before moving closer to you. His eyes inspecting your frame for any imperfections.

“Why were you crossing the lake to begin with?”

“You’re going to be mad if I say…”

“I am already furious with you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “It was for a flower…”

All four eyes stare you down, brows lowered as if he was trying to comprehend your words.

“A flower? A tiny, small living thing? That was the reason?”

You're almost afraid to say yes, unsure how mad your husband will be when you confirm. But it was for him. Would that make it better?

“Yes, but-”

Sukuna abruptly stands, shaking his head furiously. You couldn't say the true reason when his heavy footsteps and frustrated aura overlap you.

“I have brought you too much comfort. No wonder your brain has gone soft. Before we wed, you could comprehend that crossing a frozen lake is dangerous. That it would destroy your frail, weak body.”

“I am not those things.”

It's your turn to stand. This is the point where you'd argue with him. Push and fight that he's overreacting and that he needs to relax. But you know why he's really like this.

You walk up to him and slide your arms around his waist. A gentle kiss to his closed maw before you bury your head in his chest, tightening the hug.

Sukuna’s arms move as if he wants to hug you back, but not yet. They remain by his sides.

“The last thing I'd want to do is make you worry.” You say against his chest, “You hardly show your emotions and a part of me thought you wouldn't care if I died-”

“A foolish thought.”

“I know…” Your eyes connect with his and you see his face soften with each moment that passes by. “But I see now that I scared you and I don't take that lightly. I truly am sorry.

Sukuna huffs when his arms finally wrap around yours. You hold in a giggle when he picks you up and nudges his face along yours. Your cheek was still a bit cool in contrast to his warmth. He held you close while rubbing your back, his heavy breathing going back to normal.

“You are forgiven, but if you do anything like that again I will not save you.”

“Okay.” You hold his face to give him a gentle kiss. Sukuna accepts the embrace, not once loosening his grip. He can't let you go just yet.

“This flower…” He starts, “What did it look like?”

“It’s pink and beautiful. It reminded me of you.”

“We have plenty of pink flowers in the garden.”

“I know, but this one was different. It grew in the snow. I wanted to show you to see if you can maybe grow it-”

Sukuna’s chest rumbles in amusement, “I may know which one. There aren't many pink flowers that grow where the snow resides.”

Your lips purse as you tried not to get annoyed at yourself. You could've just asked him the whole time without the whole lake debacle.

No wonder he was upset with you.

A/N: Would I cross a frozen lake to show my man a flower? Maybe-