#these are one of the first ducks to come back in the spring

[abirddogmoment]

Beautiful pair of northern shovelers

[littlelamy]

       for some reason you don’t even remember calling him. one minute you were sucking down your third spiked strawberry snowcone—because the pink ones were your favorite, and also because they went down too easy and tasted like nothing except melted popsicle—and the next, your head was spinning, heels were off, and your phone was pressed to your ear, rafe’s name glowing on the screen.

“bun?”

you must’ve got his voicemail the first time. because now, on the second try, he answered.

you hiccuped. “hi baby.”

“where are you?”

you giggled, “at the bunny barn!”

he tries to remember where you told him you were going before you left earlier, “you mean your sorority house?”

“uh-huh,” you slurred, flopping back onto a bean bag chair that someone must’ve dragged into the yard. the sky was spinning or maybe your tummy. “we’re celebratin’. spring..something. i dunno. my sisters said i had to drink because i’m a legacy and legacies are fun!”

rafe exhaled hard on the other end. you could picture him already—shirtless, pissed, leaning over his steering wheel with that annoyed twitch in his jaw. “are you inside or outside?”

you squinted. “both..i think i’m outside the inside. the grass is cold, but my toes are pink.”

“stay put..i’m coming.”

“you’re coming?”

you gasped, “like right now?”

“yes, right now.”

you clutched the phone tighter, legs kicking a little. “ohmygod you’re my hero. you’re gonna rescue me like a hot knight with pretty eyes..rafe?”

“yeah?”

“don’t hang up. m’gonna forget where i am if i close my eyes.”

“i’m staying right here, bunny. just talk to me.”

“okay,” you breathed. “um. i saw a duck. it was waddling near the keg. i named him tater tot. do you think he wants a pledge pin?”

you don’t remember what you said after that, only the smell of jungle juice, the imaginary feel of warm grass on your thighs, and the sound of rafe’s voice cussing someone out in the distance.

“bunny,” someone's rough and sexy voice growls out. you blinked, slowly opening your eyes. rafe was standing above you, chest rising and falling under a thin white tee, hair messed up like he’d driven with the windows down. he crouched beside you, knelt on the lawn, scowling so hard and beautiful. “you called me drunk,” he said, low. “you never call drunk.”

“i misssed you,” you whispered, arms stretching up like a little kid who wanted to be carried. he didn’t hesitate and scooped you up, tucked your face into his shoulder as he started walking back toward his truck.

“i only had four drinks,” you mumbled.

“i can tell.”

“they were pink and sparkly.”

“of course they were.”

you nuzzled into his neck. “are you mad?” he didn’t answer for a second.

then mumbled out, “i’m not mad.” he pauses, a lazy smile spread on your face, but the smile is gone in an instant. “i’m fucking furious.”

you whined, “aw rafe, don’t yell at me.”

“i’m not yelling.”

“you’re growling. your mad growl.”

“you called me at midnight, drunk and alone. barefoot in the fucking grass with god-knows-who leering at you. what if i hadn’t picked up?”

you sniffled, “but you did.”

“yeah,” he muttered, setting you down gently in the passenger seat. “i did.” your thighs stuck to the leather. your short dress had bunched up even higher. you tried to tug it down, but your coordination was shot.

“baby,” rafe warned, already buckling you in, “if you flash me one more time in this dress, i’m putting you over my knee the second we get home.”

you pouted, “i just wanted to see my sisters.”

“and now i’m seeing way too much of you.” you hiccuped instead of replying.

he climbed in on his side, started the engine, and peeled out of the lot with one hand on the wheel, the other gripping your thigh. he was glowing under the bright dash lights. jaw clenched, knuckles tight, mouth twitching every time you made a little drunken noise. even though he's gorgeous, and you wanted to cry.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered. he didn’t look at you, but his thumb did stroked your thigh.

“you should’ve called me sooner.”

you blinked, “so you aren’t mad?”

“i was never mad at you,” he snapped. “i’m mad you were out here without me. mad you thought it was okay to party at some house full of girls in tiny dresses without backup.”

you blinked down at your tiny dress. “do you not like this one?”

his hand slid higher. “i love it.”

you smiled, “then why are you being so grouchy?”

“because i spent twenty minutes picturing you passed out on the lawn while frat boys took pictures.”

you giggled, “nooo, i was fine. tater tot was guarding me.”

“who the fuck is tater tot?”

“the duck.” he stared at you as you grinned. teeth still pink from the snowcones consumed throughout the event.

he groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

you leaned over, kissed his shoulder. “but i’m cute.”

“dangerously.”

he carries you inside when you get home. you protest a little, mumbling something about being able to walk, but then your ankle wobbles and he says “uh-huh, bunny, sure,” and keeps carrying you bridal style all the way up to your room.

he sets you down on the bed, starts unlacing your sandals.

you stare down at him, in awe. “you’re so good to me,” you whisper.

“not good,” he mutters.

“yes, you are. you take care of me even when i’m annoying.” he pulls off the second sandal, tosses it aside. you tug his shirt. “rafey?”

“yeah?”

“will you stay?”

he doesn’t hesitate, “yeah, baby.” he helps you out of the dress. wipes off your sticky makeup with warm water and one of your strawberry-shaped cotton pads. pulls one of his old t-shirts over your head and tucks you in.

he’s quiet the whole time until you’re curled up, half-asleep, whispering into the collar of his shirt. “i didn’t kiss anyone.”

he stiffens, “what?”

“at the party. i didn’t flirt. i didn’t… i mean, some people were being silly, but i just waited for you..like a good girl.”

his hand strokes your hair, “i know.”

you peek up. “you do?”

he nods, “mhm you’re mine,” he says. “even when you’re drunk and stupid and barefoot in the grass. still mine.”

you smile. “even when i smell like jungle juice?”

“especially then.”

❤︎ tags below

@rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows @emluvsuxo @rafestoothbrush @cadhlabear @st8rkey

[dixons-sunshine]

What Ifs | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While cuddled up in bed one night, Daryl springs a question onto you, one that made you think. After seeing Daryl truly caught up on the ‘what ifs’, you took it upon yourself to reassure him as best as you could.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria

Warnings: None, other than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it allusion to past sexual activity.

Word count: 1.1k.

A/N: This one’s for my Daryl lovers! Yes, I am very much still writing for Daryl, even though I’ve started writing for Joel lol. I haven’t forgotten my roots. Anyways, I had this idea and (kind of poorly) executed it (also please ignore how meh the summary is. I struggled coming up with one). I hope y’all like this!

“D’ya think we would’a been together? Under different circumstances, I mean?”

The sound of Daryl’s surprisingly soft, tentative question filled the quiet, blissful air. The room was dark, the only source of light being that of the moon that trickled in through the window and spilled past the barrier of the curtains. The hour was late, probably nearing midnight, with owls hooting in the distance and crickets chirping outside the window. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, but the archer’s question kept you awake.

“What do you mean?” you inquired in a voice just as soft, raising your head from its position on his shoulder to peer down at him. Your fingers trailed over the bare flesh of his chest, being extra gentle whenever you came across one of his many scars. Blankets covered you both, tugged over you by your partner after a night of pleasure.

Daryl did not answer. Not at first. He stayed silent, his eyes—blue like the water in the ocean—looked anywhere but at you at first. The door, the dresser, his crossbow leaning against the wall, the curtains, until finally they landed on you. His gaze was uncertain, insecure, like he was scared his question would make you mad, and your heart ached.

“Daryl,” you began, making sure to keep your voice soft, gentle, almost honey-like, “it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Inhaling shakily, Daryl ducked his eyes down again. He drew lazy circles over your hip, hoping to anchor himself before he got lost in the abyss that was his mind. Despite his build, he looked so small in that moment, so vulnerable, and it made you want to hug him tightly and soothe his troubles away.

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Daryl started slowly, swallowing at the lump that threatened to form in his throat. “Jus’... if we met under different circumstances, maybe earlier in life or in a world where none’a this bullshit ever happened, would we still be here today? Together? Or…”

Daryl couldn’t finish the question. He didn’t want to finish the question. Voicing this worry out loud made him feel foolish. Why did it matter? You were with him now. You were his woman, and he was your man. You loved each other. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

You took a minute to ponder over his question. You wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t say that for sure. Thinking back, you and Daryl lived two completely different lives. You had a job, an apartment, a life that seems like a pipedream compared to the one you led now. Daryl… his life hadn’t been that simple, and he never truly had any roots. If you had met in a world where the apocalypse never happened, would you have spared him a second glance? Would you have asked him out, introduced him to the people closest to you, done all the things couples did back then?

Then there was Merle to consider, the life Daryl lived with him before the outbreak. Would that have hindered Daryl from keeping in contact with you if you two met in a world where the outbreak didn’t happen? Would he have tried to break free from Merle’s shadow and live his own life, a life that wasn’t dangerous to have you involved in?

The answer wasn’t as simple as saying yes or no. There was a lot to take into consideration. You both lived very different lives before the apocalypse, but would fate have come into play? Would you still have ended up together? You couldn’t say.

“You want my honest answer?” you asked after a good minute of silence.

Daryl’s heart dropped at that, fearing the worst, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I want to say yes. I want to believe with my whole heart that destiny would have brought us together regardless of how or when we met, but I can’t say that for sure.” Laying your head back down on Daryl’s shoulder, you kissed his pulse point, smiling to yourself when a shiver rolled over his spine. “But I choose not to think about that. You wanna know why?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because I have you now.” You pressed a string of soft, loving kisses against his neck, before continuing. “In a weird way, I’m grateful that the apocalypse happened because it led me to you.” You paused. “Although I definitely wish we didn’t have to lose so many people because of all of this.”

Many different faces flashed through Daryl’s mind when you said that. “Definitely could’a gone without all the losses.”

You nodded in agreement. Willing your mind away from thinking about all the friends you lost since the quarry, you spoke up again. “But my point is that it doesn’t matter. The ‘what ifs’. We have each other now, despite everything we had to overcome. So what if some alternate versions of us don’t end up together? We are together in this universe, and that’s all that matters. And for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be yours. I love you, Daryl, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say. He had never been good with words, and no words would ever perfectly convey just how much Daryl loved you, how grateful he was to have you in his life, to be able to share his life with you. You deserved the world, and for as long as Daryl was alive, he would try to give you that.

“I love ya, too,” Daryl finally whispered quietly, his arm that held you to him tightening slightly, pulling you even closer. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh. Don’t talk like that. Of course you do.”

He didn’t address everything you said. He didn’t need to. You knew he had heard everything you said, knew he appreciated it. Daryl was a man of few words, but his eyes showed it all, and you saw everything in those beautiful blue pools. You knew he appreciated what you said. Would that feeling—one he had for reasons you didn’t know of just yet—of his go away after one speech? Most likely not, but thankfully, you had time to show him just how much you loved him, and that he didn’t have to get caught up on the ‘what if’ scenarios.

“Daryl?” you said after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I know you now. There’s nobody I’d rather take on the apocalypse with.”

Daryl chuckled at that and tenderly kissed the top of your head. “Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.”

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Alpha male reader with omaga mikey and they are with each other and Mikey heat comes Unexpectedly ♦️

Pairings: Mikey x male reader

Warnings: Alpha male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom/omega!Mikey, lots of pet names, clingy sex, public sex, biting, heat, knotting, brief mention of pregnancy, reader is called "sir + master"

It's a crisp, spring day and you are a humble alpha taking his little omega boyfriend out to the park. As usual, Mikey's first move is to find the food stalls and buy a snack to eat while you take a stroll. Something sweet, obviously. Because what's a daytime park date without a little sugar?

If you're lucky he might even share a bite with you (!!!!!!) without you asking! Your lips linger around Mikey's fingers for just a few seconds longer than they need to, and the omega feels a flush of warmth hit his body from the inside. He shrugs it off though, and your date continues over to a bench by the water.

“A lot of ducks here today, huh?” you comment. Eyeing the feathered creatures as a dozen or so glide along the water's surface.

Mikey looks at you with a raised eyebrow, “I didn't think anyone seemed that rude… that one kid even smiled as we passed them.”

You returned his puzzled expression with one of your own, until it clicked, and you snorted as you corrected him. “Ducks, Mikey,” pointing towards the water in front of you. “not dicks. You've got a dirty little mind today, dont'cha?”

“What do you mean?! That one mistake doesn't make me some pervert, like you think I am!” Mikey pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and swiveling away from you.

Your boyfriend's childish nature is adorable sometimes (and annoying at others…) — huffing while he avoids eye contact, even turning his body away from you so he can pretend to be mad. Such a cutie~

“Uh-huh, sure.” you said sarcastically. “Don't think I didn't see the look in your eyes when I "accidentally" sucked on your fingers earlier. Your mind went somewhere very naughty, and we both know it~” Your teasing turned the tips of Mikey's ears red in an instant, filling his mind with many ideas. In that moment, all the blood in his body rushed downward, causing his soft shaft to slowly swell and rise—creating a small bulge in the front of his pants.

As you turn your attention back to the natural world surrounding you, a soft whine makes your ear twitch. You glance over and notice the deep red taking over Mikey's cheeks and nose, and the way his fingers dig into the wood of the bench you're sitting on. “M-Mikey…?”

The utterance of his name sends another jolt straight to his cock, filling him with an unbearable heat that spreads to every last corner of his body. He's wheezing now, mouth open as ragged breaths come out and his chest heaves. You stare at the sudden new state of your partner in shock — is he getting a fever?! Is this spot too sunny?!

“Hey, babe, are you– are you alright?” you touch the back of your hand against his forehead, and it almost feels like Mikey got a terrible sunburn. “You're burning up! Uuuhh… should we move somewhere with shade?!”

“Lower… touch me lower pleeeaasee~ ” he whines. His thighs tense, rubbing together a bit as he tries not to let a glob of precum spill from his dick. “Please, sir… I need it– mMFhjkD–!! I need Master's touch…”

Wow. Ok, this is embarrassing! As your eyes scan your immediate surroundings, you find that most of the people are over towards the center of the park, or by the entrance. There are still a few people nearby though, and they could probably see or hear you if you do anything right here–

“Mikey, wh– are you…?” you're cut off by Mikey grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand into his pants, unzipping them so that you can fit your whole hand down there. His tiny cock has swelled so much, and the insides of his clothes are soaked already! There's a wet mess sliding down his thighs and pooling underneath his ass.

While you try not to alert any other park-goers, you discreetly palm your boyfriend underneath his clothes, rubbing at his entrance and nearly easing a finger in there. This alone causes your balls to tighten, and you sense something a bit more primal bubbling towards the surface as Mikey whimpers and thrusts his hips wildly — like an animal in heat.

“Mikey, why didn't you tell me your heat was coming on? We could have stayed home — taken care of this properly. The park could've waited.”

“I-I didn't– gnngh-! I didn't kn-know… I swear!” he stammers between noises of ecstasy. “OoOOohh mm~ yeah~ I didn't feel any-thiiing aaAhhH!! A-anything until after we got here… hnngh…” you have to quickly cover your boyfriend's mouth, lest he moan any louder and draw someone's attention.

Well, now that you're less concerned about his health, and you know why Mikey is red and a million degrees, now you have to make a quick decision — how are you going to take care of this? You could try to take him back home, where you'd have all the privacy possible to fuck him silly until this heat subsides. But, looking at the state your boyfriend is currently in, you don't see that working out very well. He's too far into this to walk that far… The park bathrooms aren't private enough, plus they're not all that clean. You guess…

“Pl-please please please please– it huuuurts…” Mikey cries, prying your hand away from his lips and trying to get both of your hands down his pants.

“No — zip these back up, quickly–”

“NONONONONO PLEASE—I'LL DO ANYTHING FOR YOU, MASTER, PLEASE–!!!” Mikey screams, clinging onto your arm like a child would to their parents when they don't want them to leave.

You slap a hand over Mikey's mouth again, nearly flying off of the bench to shush him. “SHH! Be quiet! I'm GOING to, but we can't do it right here! It's bad enough that someone probably saw us already… we're in public, Mikey! We can't just do it in front of an audience!”

Another pitiful whine reverberates into your palm, and the blond's black eyes well with tears as he reluctantly zips up his pants, feeling lonely without your hand on him.

“Get up, hold on to me if you need to.”

Mikey stumbles as you begin walking somewhere, wrapping his arms around your elbow and nuzzling his nose into the exposed skin. That little inhale of your scent has him clenching his legs together for a moment as a dribble of precum leaks out of his tip.

That whole display only causes your hormones to kick in further, bringing an uncomfortable wave of heat to your body now. It's all you can do to lead Mikey along until you come to a rather large hedge on the outer edge of the park, barely covered by a few trees and a fence on one side.

“Why are we… over here?” your little omega asks.

Before you answer, you scoop him up and lay him down on the grass. “Fixing our little "problem"—fuckin'… nngh-” you growl impatiently, “Look at what you did to me, honey…” the very obvious dick-shaped bulge in your pants made Mikey drool. His hands dig into the grass and dirt below him, and his legs spread instinctually.

“That's a good boy, but you gotta take your clothes off first, yeah?” you remind him. In a flash, your boyfriend has his pants and underwear off, only draped around one ankle. At the same time, you unzip yours and pull them down just enough to free your aching, throbbing cock.

“Ready for me?” Mikey nods vigorously, and you quickly line up your cock, pushing against his entrance with a bit of resistance. The slick coating his insides and sliding down his inner thighs helps greatly, though it is still a tight fit. Not that you're complaining, exactly — that tightness feels damn good for both of you.

The little omega opens his mouth to moan—or maybe scream—but not a sound comes out. Instead, his eyes simply glaze over while you bottom out in one thrust. “OoOOohH fuck-! Tight… so fuckin' tight for me…”

Instincts take over as you start humping Mikey's wet hole, already overwhelmed by having his soft, warm insides hug your cock. Primal as this all is, you also desperately cling to your boyfriend—overtaken by a primal love for him too. One hand combs through his hair, pushing it out of his face, while the other slides to the small of his back. “Mhm~ You feel so gooood, baby- ah! ah! ah! Fu-uck y-yeah–!” you drawl to the rhythm of your thrusts. Plowing Mikey's ass so hard that it kind of hurts your hips too.

The omega wraps his arms around the back of your neck, pulling your face closer until your lips brush against his skin. You nibble on his earlobe, and Mikey lets out a cute whimper as his eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment. Nibbling turns to nipping at his neck, which then turns into sucking on the tender flesh — all while the blond moans louder than he probably should.

“Fuck! I'm gonna- hnngh–!!” Before you can even finish your sentence, a flood of thick, creamy cum fills up Mikey's hole. Painting his insides white as you bite down on his shoulder to stay quiet.

“M-more! Moremoremore~! Need… Alpha's cum~💛” his voice fades towards the end, and his small body slumps all at once as the last drops of cum spill into his unprotected hole.

You're barely able to hold yourself up, but you try to, so you don't crush your precious omega with your weight. Though your vision is spotty, you can still appreciate the sight of your darling boyfriend in his blissful state. You assume he's half unconscious already; until you start pulling out and Mikey perks up, whining out “Noooo… isss'not enough yet… need master's cock~”

A knot is already formed at the base of your shaft, and you're honestly not any softer even though you pumped a bucket load of semen into him. You certainly can't walk home like this…

“Yeah? Is this what you're needing, honey?” you ask, bringing one of Mikey's hands to the knot and letting him feel it. He gropes it, strokes it, and begs for you to put it back inside in such a loving voice. It's enough to make you feel bad about even thinking of stopping here.

“Anything for my baby boy~ Haah… wanna push it in yourself?” Mikey nods tiredly, guiding the rest of your dick back into his hole. Once the knot reaches his entrance, he holds onto your hips, and you begin thrusting again. “A little harder—here, I'll help ya.” you take Mikey's waist in your hands and pull him towards you as you thrust in.

The speed of your thrusts picks back up, and with enough effort from both of you, your knot eventually squeezes past his fucked out rim. “Oh god-! It's in! Fffuuck, Mikey… s'tighter than before-!!” As your bulky cock stretches his ass, you can already feel another orgasm coming.

Mikey pulls you down by the neck again, clinging to you—his lifeline, his sunshine, his stars, his galaxy, his entire world—and you return the embrace. His small body takes everything you have to offer as you greedily hump him, creating just enough friction to unload another round of cum into his womb. “Shit! Cumming! Mmhm, gonna breed you, Mikey~ Gonna breed my sweet omega–!!”

“Breed me! Please… mMMhgNm…” his muffled cries turn into whimpers as you up the ante with your breeding talk–

“Oh fuck-! Gonna knock you up, yeah? Fill your little tummy with kids?” between every powerful bump against Mikey's body, you affirm his deep-rooted desires. “You'll be a daddy after I'm finished with ya, sweetheart~”

—

You're not sure how many minutes pass, but what you are sure of is the fact that your knot hasn't gone away yet… it's still swollen, tethering you and your omega together and preventing you from leaving your hiding spot.

Mikey is all but passed out under you, and it's still early enough in the day — it's not like you need to rush out of the park, sooooo… you guess you're just going to lay here until you can safely pull out.

In the meantime, what's the harm in admiring your boyfriend while he naps? After all, his soft features look even prettier after you had them twisting in pleasure~

[steveseddie]

rush

written for the @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event & the round one main card | prompts: start & store | rating: g | wc: 2,4k | tags: different first meeting, post season 3, coworkers steve and eddie, pre relationship, fluff

read on ao3

“So, when does the new guy start?” Steve asks, spinning away on the chair behind the counter while Robin restocks the candy display.

“Friday,” she says, nearly dropping a Snickers bar.

Steve stops spinning abruptly, going a little dizzy. “We have the closing shift on Fridays,” he says and Robin makes a vague noise of assent. “Does that mean I’m stuck on closing duty with the new guy?”

“Yes.”

Slumping back on the chair, Steve groans. “Robin!”

“What? It’s not my fault my dad is dragging us out of town to visit his family, dingus!” She snaps, throwing her hands up in the air. The Snickers bar lands on the carpet. “You know I hate my dad’s side of the family, I will be miserable too.”

Steve sighs. He’s heard enough stories about Grandma Buckley to know that Robin is telling the truth. “It’s just that the thought of working an entire week without you is–”

Robin cuts him off with a strangled, “Uh.”

“What?”

“Did I say one week?” She asks sheepishly. Steve narrows his eyes at her. “More like, two.”

“Robin!”

**

Friday comes much too soon.

It’s not that Steve has ever been excited to go to work, but knowing that Robin won’t be there makes this shift seem ten times worse. Especially when he knows he has to show the ropes to some high school kid who wants to be there probably even less than Steve does.

As he drags himself through his morning routine, he weighs the pros and cons of quitting but ultimately decides against it– he enjoys free movies and working with his best friend far too much.

Eventually he makes it to Family Video, ten minutes before opening time and finds that Keith left behind a mess like he always does. There are empty Cheez Balls bags behind the counter and half finished soda cans, one of which got knocked over at some point, spilling soda on the carpet.

Grumbling, Steve crouches down to pick up the other ones before they end up spilled over too. While ducked down behind the counter, the door to Family Video opens and the bell chimes.

“Greetings!” A vaguely familiar voice says.

Steve checks his watch. Five minutes till ten. “Sorry, man, we’re not open yet.”

“Actually, I work here,” that same voice says. Right, Robin’s replacement. Steve totally forgot about him for a second. The voice sounds deeper than he expected, not that of a high school kid and it definitely sounds familiar.

Standing up, he realizes why when he sees–

“Eddie Munson, reporting for duty,” the guy says, offering Steve a dorky soldier salute.

Steve blinks. Eddie Munson isn’t who he expected at all. He doesn’t know him personally but he knows of him. Still in highschool, despite being older than Steve. A nerd. A metalhead. Can be found selling drugs in the woods behind the school. Likes to stand up on tables and complain loudly about The Man. Not necessarily the poster child for a stellar employee.

Steve’s nose scrunches up. “I thought you sold weed, not movies.”

Eddie snorts but Steve’s bitchy tone doesn’t seem to affect him. “I’m branching out,” he says with a shrug. Then he leans his elbows on the counter. “So what’s first, boss?”

“First,” he starts, grabbing a spare vest from behind the counter. “You put this on.”

Now it’s Eddie’s face that scrunches up. “Do I have to?” He asks, eyeing the green piece of clothing like it personally offended him.

Steve’s lips tug up at the corners. He shrugs. “Company policy, Munson.”

With a sigh, he reaches for the vest and shrugs it on. It definitely doesn’t go with the metalhead look he’s got going on but it doesn’t look bad either, in fact–

“Green looks good on you,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Jesus Christ, why did he say that?

Luckily, Eddie takes it as a joke, glaring half-heartedly at Steve. “Fuck off, Harrington,” he says, shaking his curls out. “Okay, what now?”

Steve ignores the sudden urge to reach out and smooth down Eddie’s curls and gestures at him to follow him to the return bin. “Now we start by processing overnight returns.”

“Fun!” Eddie says with feigned cheerfulness, trailing behind Steve.

“You gotta make sure the right tape is in the case and separate those that are rewound from the ones that aren’t. Think you can do that?”

“Piece of cake, Your Majesty,” Eddie says, throwing a wink over his shoulder that makes Steve’s stomach flutter a little.

He brushes it off and leaves Eddie to it, focusing on cleaning Keith’s mess and doing his best to ignore his new coworker’s humming.

**

Steve walks Eddie through the rest of their morning routine– logging the returns into the system, restocking the candy display, facing tapes. He teaches him how to use the rewinding machine and the cash register. All of that before a single customer comes in.

“Is it always this dead?” Eddie asks, sticking another tape into the rewinding machine. He got the hang of it pretty quickly and Steve was happy to let him take over, even if he’s determined to be annoying about it and make weird noises with his mouth while the tape is being rewound.

“Mornings usually are,” Steve says, looking away from Eddie’s mouth and back to the computer where he’s supposed to be logging tapes in. “We’ll probably get a small rush around lunch.”

“How do you pass the time then?”

“Uh, by working?”

“Bo-ring!” Eddie loudly says, making Steve jump. “You work at a video rental, Harrington, don’t you guys watch movies?”

“Well, most of the time Robin and I can’t agree on one.”

Eddie leans back against the counter and looks Steve up and down. He tries not to squirm under his gaze. “Mm yeah, you look like you have bad taste.”

Steve scoffs. “How do you know it isn’t Robin’s movies that are bad?”

Shrugging, Eddie turns his attention back to the rewinding machine. “I just do, Stevie.”

Stevie.

The name has Steve blurting out some lie about being out of plastic bags and heading to the backroom, his cheeks pinking up.

He stays there for at least five minutes trying to make his blush go away.

**

Steve’s gotta hand it to Eddie– he handles the lunch rush pretty well.

It’s not the same as working with Robin but it definitely beats working with Keith, who disappears into his office for most of their shift, even during the busiest hours.

Despite doing his job well, Eddie still insists on being annoying about everything he does. He starts arguments with customers over which movie they pick, steals candy from the display when he thinks Steve isn’t looking–

“Steve! Help, the cash register is stuck!”

Excusing himself to the elderly couple he’d been helping, Steve steps behind the counter where he smacks his hand against the cash register, making it work again.

Eddie huffs out a snort. “Thanks, big boy,” he says, and a shudder travels down Steve’s spine.

That’s another annoying thing. The names.

Stevie. Big boy. They make his face flush, his stomach flip flop and his tongue trip over its words.

“Uh, sure, yeah. It’s– uh, no problem.”

Jesus Christ, he used to be smooth. Then again, he used to be the one doing the flirting.

Not that Eddie is flirting with him.

For some reason, that thought makes Steve’s stomach twist again, this time with disappointment.

**

“I saw that,” Steve says when Eddie grabs a Snickers bar from the candy display in what he thinks is a subtle way. It’s not.

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You keep stealing candy.”

Shrugging, Eddie pulls back the wrapping and takes a bite. “I’m just making use of my employee discount,” he says through a mouthful of chocolate.

Steve snorts, leaning on the broom he’s using to clean the mess a kid left behind when he opened a bag of chips and they exploded. “That’s not a thing.”

“Well,” Eddie says, waving his chocolate bar. “It should be.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Keith,” Steve says sarcastically before going back to sweeping.

Eddie goes back to cleaning the sticky counter where another kid spilled his soda. “What about movies?”

“Mm?”

“Do I get a discount for renting movies?” He asks, scrubbing away at a particular stubborn stain, his tongue peeking out in concentration. Steve’s eyes get stuck on it and he forgets he’s supposed to be sweeping and that Eddie just asked him a question.

“Oh, well, technically no, but no one will know if you take it with you and return it the next day,” Steve says with a shrug.

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. “Didn’t take you for a rule breaker, sweetheart.”

Steve’s fingers tighten around the broom handle so hard he worries it might snap, his stomach filling with what feels like a swarm of butterflies.

God damnit, he thinks. He can’t get a crush on a coworker again.

Especially when things wouldn’t go any differently with Eddie from how they did with Robin.

**

“So what’s the deal with you and Buckley?” Eddie asks when they’re alone again after the afternoon rush. He’s shamelessly munching on a string of licorice since Steve has long since given up on stopping him from stealing candy. He’ll just tweak the inventory later, it’s fine.

What’s not fine is that Eddie’s lips are tinted red from sucking on the candy, which makes them incredibly distracting for Steve.

“What?” He asks, having completely missed Eddie’s question.

“I said– what’s the deal with you and Buckley? Are you guys together or something? You talk about her a lot, dude.”

“Oh, no. No, man. No way.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “She’s not cool enough for you?”

“Actually she might be cooler than me,” Steve says with a fond smile. “Just don’t tell her I said that. She’s– she’s my best friend but she’ll still be insufferable about it.”

“So you don’t like her?” Eddie asks curiously. “Like like her?”

Steve can’t help but snort. “I know you’re still in high school, Munson, but really? Like like?”

Eddie simply rolls his eyes.

“I don’t, not like that,” Steve says, shrugging. “I kinda did when we worked together last summer, but she didn’t like me back.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up in his face. “She wasn’t interested in you?” He asks and when Steve shakes his head, he adds, “Damn. Maybe Buckley’s the one with bad taste, after all.”

Steve cocks his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” Eddie quickly says, taking a bite from the candy before holding it out to Steve. “Want some?”

Steve’s eyes follow Eddie’s tongue as he licks over his red lips, leaving them wet and shiny.

Boy, does he ever, he thinks, the words dangerously balancing at the tip of his tongue.

Luckily, a customer comes in and Eddie’s attention drifts elsewhere but it takes a little longer for Steve to snap out of his thoughts of tasting the candy straight from Eddie’s lips.

**

A girl walks up to the counter but Steve doesn’t notice her until she waves her hand in front of his face and says, “Hi.”

He was too busy watching Eddie as he gestured wildly at a group of nerdy teens that asked for a movie recommendation.

“Hi, welcome to Family Video,” Steve says sheepishly, turning his attention to her. “What can I help you with?”

The girl asks for a recommendation too but it’s clear that she’s just using it as an excuse to talk to Steve, probably hoping that he’ll ask her out. She’s pretty and nice, and Steve would probably enjoy taking her out, but as of seven hours ago, he’s had his eyes set on someone else.

Someone who, once the girl and the teens leave the store, walks up to Steve, ruefully shaking his head.

“Damn, Harrington, no wonder you’re single,” Eddie says, leaning his elbows on the counter.

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“That chick was obviously interested in you!”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking over Eddie’s shoulder at the girl as she gets into her car. “I guess.”

“Why didn’t you ask her out?”

Steve simply shrugs. He can’t exactly admit that he doesn’t feel like asking anyone out unless it’s him.

Eddie rolls his eyes and huffs. “Unbelievable.”

“You can go and ask her out yourself if you’re so offended,” Steve says bitchily, though the words come out sounding a little more bitter than he’d like.

With a sarcastic laugh, Eddie says, “First of all, she wouldn’t want to go out with a guy like me. Second of all, I wouldn’t want her to.”

“Not nerdy enough for you?” Steve asks, resting his elbows on the counter too, their faces only a couple of inches apart.

It gives him a good view of Eddie nervously biting on his bottom lip before he says, “Not guy enough for me.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

He sees Eddie almost imperceptibly gear up for whatever Steve is going to do next. He remembers Robin doing the same thing once, and can’t help but think about what this means. That he might have a chance with Eddie after all.

“Well, I’m sure a– a hot guy will come around that you can ask out,” he stammers out, feeling his cheeks warming up– from the proximity, the anticipation, the way Eddie’s eyes dart down to his lips and back up again, his mouth ticking up at the corners–

“You might be right, pretty boy.”

**

Closing time comes faster than Steve expected.

Eddie actually proves very helpful, and in no time, the two of them are done and walking out of the store.

Eddie hovers as Steve locks the door. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, shoving his hands into his jacket.

“You better,” Steve says, bumping their shoulders together. “Don’t leave me hanging, Munson, weekends are busy.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here. I actually had fun working with you, Harrington.”

Steve’s stomach flutters. “You weren’t so bad yourself.”

Eddie laughs as they reach the parking lot. Steve can see Eddie’s van parked in the opposite direction of his Beemer, but instead of heading that way, Eddie scruffs his feet against the pavement. “You know maybe we, uh, we could take a movie home sometime and watch it together?”

Oh. Now Steve’s stomach fills with a million butterflies, at least. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Eddie bites his lip around a smile. “Alright, pretty boy. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

With a two fingered salute, Eddie whirls around and starts walking towards his van. Steve walks over to his car with a smile.

He’s actually excited for the next two weeks. Who would’ve thought?

[ghostedgwen]

the one to beat | j.potter

note : yaaay! finally finished the marauders soulmate list! now time to continue working on the t.s + marauders playlist. thinking of making a new masterlist yet again, idk

warnings : slytherin vs gryffindor, houlse rivalry stuff - quidditch too, some alcohol and mentions of parties, nothing too angsty but james overthinks a lot lol, pretty much fluff if u ask me

James Potter thinks the world is playing a cruel joke on him when he finds out that his Soulmate is a Slytherin, to make it worse— they’re the captain of the Quidditch team

Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark, show me the places where the others gave you scars.

James Potter had always known his soulmate mark would be a name he recognized. He just hadn’t expected to hate it so much.

He turned seventeen on a cloudy Tuesday morning in late March. The dormitory windows were fogged over when he woke, the air still heavy with sleep and spring rain. And there, stark against his collarbone, was the name that made his stomach twist.

____ ____.

Slytherin. Quidditch captain. Rival in every way that counted. He'd spent the last two years arguing with you across the pitch, dodging Bludgers you’d probably told your Beaters to aim a little too close, and trading barbed insults every time Prefect meetings forced you into the same room. You were smug and brilliant and always, always in his way.

And now, permanently inked into his skin.

He stared at the name in the mirror, half-hoping it would vanish before he blinked again. It didn’t.

The ink didn’t lie.

He didn’t tell anyone at first.

Sirius would laugh. Remus would look too closely. Peter would ask too many questions. And James. . . James wasn’t ready to admit it - not even to himself as the ink glared at him in the mirror.

That night, the Gryffindor common room exploded.

Someone (probably Lily, though she'd deny it) had conjured red-and-gold streamers to swirl from the rafters - always a penchant for expertly casting charms.

A cake shaped like a Snitch hovered dangerously close to the fireplace - in courtesy of Remus Lupin who bribed the elves, and there was a charmed banner blinking out “HAPPY 17th, JAMES POTTER!” every thirty seconds with increasing enthusiasm.

The banner was of course the handiwork of one Sirius Black - Peter helped set it up.

He tried to duck away from the crowd after ten minutes, after the cheering died down. Didn’t work - not with the company he keeps.

“Oi, birthday boy!” Sirius shouted, dragging him into a hug that nearly cracked three ribs - Sirius was always on par with him when it came to that Quidditch physique. “Seventeen! You know what that means - ”

“Legally an adult in the Ministry's eyes?” James offered, but that wasn't gonna get Sirius bloody Black to bite.

“No, you twat. Soulmate day.” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. “So . . . who is it? Come on. Spill.”

James laughed - forced, a little too quick. “Haven’t looked.”

“Haven’t looked?” Remus gave him a look. “You expect me to believe you’ve waited all day and haven’t checked your body for any new tattoos?”

James lifted a butterbeer to his lips. “Too busy being smothered by all this. . . festive affection.”

Peter leaned in eagerly. “It’s not Evans, is it?”

James choked on his drink - Merlin, that crush on Evans barely lasted during his third-year and til now they have never let him live it down.

Which, frankly, was convenient - they can assume he's sulking. No one pushed after that.

But still - every laugh, every clap on the back, every offhand “Wonder who it is, eh?” made him flinch. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d hoped it wouldn’t be you until it was.

And now, you were a secret he had to wear beneath his clothes - fucking hell.

You didn’t know yet. That much he was sure of. Your birthday was still weeks away.

But every time he saw you - on the pitch, in the corridor, sauntering into the library with that smug Slytherin swagger - he felt the weight of it.

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t want the pull in his chest when your laugh drifted over from across the common room during a joint Prefect meeting. He didn’t want to notice the way your hair curled behind your ear when it rained. And he definitely didn’t want to wonder if you felt it too.

Because if anyone could ignore a soulmate bond, it was you.

The night before your birthday, James Potter forgot how to chew.

Dinner in the Great Hall was usually one of his favourite parts of the day. Food, laughter, Sirius being a menace with mashed potatoes, flinging it at Peter who did a poor job dodging - what wasn’t to like?

Except tonight, he barely touched his roast chicken.

He kept glancing down the Slytherin table. At you.

Not that he was staring. Of course not. He was checking. Casually. Briefly. Every five seconds - barely lingering but enough to actually look.

You were laughing at something one of your housemates had said, chin tilted back, mouth curling at the edges like you were trying not to smile too hard.

You looked relaxed, golden in the flickering candlelight, your green tie loosened a little after a long day of classes.

Tomorrow, you’d wake up with his name on your skin.

James Potter.

He was going to throw up.

“You alright, mate?” Sirius asked, frowning at him over a bowl of peas. “You’re eating like a sad Victorian orphan whose mother got the flu.”

James snorts. Very creative and descriptive.

“Yeah,” Peter chimed in. “And you’ve barely looked at Evans all week. Something’s off.”

James blinked. “I’ve never looked at Evans.”

Remus raised a brow. “You wrote poetry about Evans.”

“Years ago,” James muttered, pushing his food around his plate, trying not to pout. “I’m evolved.”

Sirius leaned across the table. “Wait - is this about your mark? You’ve been twitchy since your birthday.”

Remus paused. “You did get a mark, then.”

James regretted everything, he was quick to shut them down. “I’m fine. Just nervous for the Quidditch match next week.”

“You’re playing Hufflepuff,” Sirius deadpanned.

James shrugged, stabbed a carrot - the action made the three boys exchange curious glances. “They’re scrappy.”

Remus gave him a long look. “Okay.” he drew out the vowel on his tongue.

James didn't meet his eyes. He looked back down the table again, his chicken has never looked so stale.

You were already gone, having already left the hall to head to your common room in the dungeons.

You woke on your birthday with the hazy disorientation of someone who’d stayed up far too late and hadn’t expected the morning to come quite so soon -

You overdid it again, chugging butterbeers with the other snakes as an early celebration for your coming-of-age. Had you been out of school, it would be a proper gala.

Pureblood customs, your family would be holding a ball at their estate and all the other pureblood families would be invited. Instead, it's butterbeers at the common room and laughter.

The curtains around your bed were drawn shut, the dormitory still dark except for the faint greenish glow of a Lumos charm someone must have left lit on their nightstand.

You rubbed your eyes, already wincing at the thought of the noise, the teasing, the elaborate plans Rosier and Mulciber and the rest had whispered about all week - all the while you acted oblivious to their surprise plans.

There’d be no peace today. No hiding, either.

You sat up slowly.

The air was thick and still, muffled by spells to block out the morning chatter in the common room below. A few of your roommates were still asleep. A few were faking it, waiting to pounce.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed.

And froze.

The moment you moved, your dressing gown slipped, and something sharp and ink-dark caught your eye in the mirror across the room.

Two words. Stark against your skin.

You stared.

Then looked again.

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You just sat there, knees knocking together, staring at the name etched into your skin like it had always been there, just barely concealed - on your shoulder blade. Like it belonged there.

It didn’t.

It couldn’t.

It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t ironic. It wasn’t even poetic.

It was him.

You felt your breath stutter, shallow in your chest, and carefully, carefully pulled your dressing gown closed - hoping the sheer cover could conceal the new tattoo.

Merlin.

There was a knock at your door before you could even think to respond to the rush of thoughts swarming your head.

“Oi,” came Rosier’s voice, full of smug delight. “We know you’re awake, birthday girl. Don’t make us break down the door.”

You didn’t answer.

But you stood.

Because what else could you do?

James Potter was so sure you'd pretend not to know. That you'd ignore him, purebloods were known to ignore soulmates if it did not benefit the lineage.

And yet.

You were the first to speak the day you turned seventeen.

You’d shown up to Quidditch practice late, your expression unreadable. James had stayed behind on the pitch, not because he knew your birthday was today (he did), but because something in him needed to know.

You landed your broom with a thud, gaze flicking over him once. The silence stretched.

"So," you said eventually, voice dry as ever, "the universe thinks this is funny."

He swallowed. "You got it too, then."

You nodded, tugging at your wide-neck collar to reveal your shoulder. His name was there, written in looping script. Faint, already fading at the edges - having been branded with the name of the enemy.

It shouldn’t have hurt. But it did - a slight sting.

James exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You think it’s a mistake?"

You didn’t answer right away. "I think it’s a test."

He blinked - that was unexpected, he thought he was going to get rejected by his soulmate - the second girl ever, since Evans back in third-year. "Of what?"

"Whether we’re brave enough to try."

Trying wasn’t easy, you knew that. Trying was so much harder than doing, but you offered anyway - bearing all the courage that a Gryffindor was supposed to have.

You still argued. Still glared at each other across the pitch, still fought during patrols, still rolled your eyes when he made a joke in Transfiguration. But things changed.

Little things.

He started noticing the books you carried, the way you always had ink on your fingers. You started waiting up for him after Prefect rounds. Neither of you acknowledged the slow shift, but it was there.

James caught himself staring too long. You stopped correcting him when he called you clever, even quipping to return the compliment without a bite.

The ink on your skin didn’t fade as fast as it should have.

Sirius cornered him one night in the Gryffindor common room, swearing to put an end to all the nonsense.

"You keep looking like someone hexed your broomstick. What gives, mate?"

James looked up from his parchment, startled - of all people to tell him off for acting off was Sirius Orion Black - wow. "Nothing."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Is it about your mark? You haven’t told us who it is."

Remus looked up from his own essay, interest piqued. Peter perked up as well - giving up pretending like he was making sense of his Potions essay.

James hesitated. Then: "It’s ____ ____."

The silence that followed was swift - Sirius black breaking it with a loud bark of laughter.

"The Slytherin captain?" Remus asked, the one only to have found his voice.

James nodded.

Sirius let out a low whistle once his laughter died down. "Well. Didn’t see that one coming."

"Me neither," James muttered. Glaring at his best mate who is treating this like the funniest punch line ever.

Peter blinked. "Are you going to. . . you know. Do something about it?"

He didn’t know how to explain that he already was, so he started from the very beginning and let it all out while the boys reacted to every scenario he went over.

It was safe to say, no essay was finished.

You met under the Quidditch stands one night, both pretending it was a coincidence.

"You always this broody after hours, Potter?" you teased.

"Only when my soulmate’s a Slytherin," he replied.

You laughed, soft and surprised - you found no problem with what he said, taking it all in good nature.

And when you kissed him, it didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like coming home, like he was the destination you didn't know you had been dying to reach.

You didn’t go public. Not right away - you mutually agreed.

James liked having you in secret. Liked the thrill of brushing your hand as you passed in the corridor, liked sneaking glances at your fading mark and wondering if yours would last longer if he held on tight enough.

A silent race to see whose ink would fade faster - a million theories came and went but no one really knew the explanation for the ink fading and why, or when.

You liked letting him in. Liked seeing the side of him no one else did - not the prankster, not the captain, but the boy with ink on his collarbone and fear in his chest - reserved just for you.

The ink never fully disappeared. Not from either of you - not yet.

Maybe it never would.

Somehow, you didn't mind being branded by his name - you were his.

You stood together after the final match of the season, bruised and breathless, your teams clashing behind you.

"So what now?" you asked, voice low.

James brushed your fingers with his. "Now we stop pretending we hate each other."

You arched a brow. "You sure you’re ready for that, Gryffisnor?"

He grinned. "If you are, Slytherween."

And when you kissed him on the pitch, the stands fell quiet.

Because some names don’t need to be tattoed to be known.

And some soulmates could choose each other twice.

end.masterlist

[breelandwalker]

Pink Moon - April 12 2025

Prepare for the blooming season and make sure you take those allergy meds - it’s time for the Pink Moon!

Pink Moon 🌸

Named for the appearance of spring flowers, in particular the early springtide ground phlox (also known as moss pinks), the Pink Moon often coincides with the first bloom of the season, with trees and fields in flower and a profusion of color returning to the world after the long bleak greyness of winter. Despite the name, the moon itself does not turn pink to match.

This year, the Pink Moon is a micromoon, occurring when the moon is approaching it's apogee, the farthest point in its' orbit from the Earth. The moon may appear slightly smaller or dimmer because of this when it reaches peak illumination at 8:22pm EST this Saturday.

North American indigenous names for this moon include Breaking Ice Moon (Algonquin), Budding Moon of Plants and Shrubs (Tlingit), Moon When The Ducks Come Back (Lakota), Planting Moon (Tunica), and Frog Moon (Cree). Alternate European names for the Pink Moon include Egg Moon and Budding Moon, and some modern pagan traditions call it the Awakening Moon.

The April full moon is also sometimes known as the Paschal Full Moon, being the first full moon after the spring equinox. The Christian Easter holiday, which has a floating date, occurs on the first Sunday after the Paschal Moon.

Farmer’s Proverb: A full Moon in April brings frost. If the full Moon rises pale, expect rain.

What Does It Mean For Witches? 🌸

The Pink Moon is a time for reconnecting with yourself and the world around you. The world is giving a good yawn and stretch after a long winter’s sleep and so can we! Get outside if you can and get some fresh air. Explore your area, especially if there’s something or someplace new you’ve been meaning to try. Revisit old haunts and discover what’s changed since the last time you were out and about.

Take a moment to assess your current goals and mark your progress. Celebrate your growth and learn from your setbacks. Assess your boundaries as well. Are you making enough time for yourself? Are you letting things or tasks or people intrude where they shouldn’t? Is there anywhere that you should be standing firm but aren’t?

Balance dedication to your work with playtime and relaxation. Remember that you are not required to set yourself on fire to keep others warm. Take time to care for your own needs and address those “I’m Sure It’s Nothing” health concerns you’ve been putting off.

What Witchy Things Can We Do? 🌸

By the time the Pink Moon comes around, there’s either one more cold spell working its’ way through or the first true warmth of spring beginning to appear. If the temperatures are rising to sunny pleasantry in your area, it’s the perfect time to start planting your garden.

Whether you have a few pots on a patio or a fully-planned plot or just some well-beloved houseplants, get your fingers into the dirt and transfer those seeds and sprouts to a nice fertile home. You can work various kinds of magic as you do, for growth, fertility, prosperity, tenacity, resilience, protection, whatever seems needful. (This can also be done separate from planting if you're not growing a garden.) If you grow your own plants for your magical practice, you can also bless them for their intended purposes.

If you don’t garden (and not all of us do) but still want to work some plant magic, you can grab your field guide and pruning scissors and go foraging. You can pair last month's Dig Through The Ditches exercise with some foraging and harvesting of the wild weeds growing in your area.

(This month's episode of Hex Positive addresses this exact topic!)

For a fun and easy full-moon spell, set out some gallon jugs of potable water to make Pink Moon Water. This will be excellent for watering your garden…and yourself! (Rainwater isn’t safe to drink these days, and water collected from wild sources is dicey even if you boil it, but drinking water works just fine.) You can also cast spells for creativity, change, fertility, happiness, adaptability, and growth. Use whatever methods resonate with you and remember that the most important component of any spell is the witch who casts it.

The earth is blooming, so let’s bloom with it!

Happy Pink Moon, witches! 🌕🌸

2025 Witches Calendar

Bree’s Lunar Calendar Series

Bree’s Secular Celebrations Series

Pink Moon Magic: The Thrilling Full Moon of April 2025, The Peculiar Brunette.

Pink Moon: Full Micromoon of April 2025, The Old Farmers Almanac.

Witchcraft Exercise - Dig Through The Ditches, Bree NicGarran.

Wild Weed Harvests, Bree NicGarran.

Easter and the Paschal Full Moon: Determining the Date of Easter, The Old Farmer’s Almanac.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

Image Source: NY Post, April 2024.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[stellaspectral]

Can I request a rottmnt Raph x Female-Reader? I was thinking about a first encounter were Raph falls in love with the Reader at first sight (I’m picturing a very adorable/shy and girly reader who likes pink and cute stuff because I am like this, but you can make it more vague so that more people can insert themselves in her if you want) but he’s very insecure about it because 1) it’s the first time that he has a crush 2) he is a mutant turtle while she’s human 3) he told her that he was wearing a costume so she doesn’t know that he is not human. I don’t know if it’s enough for a request, I hope it’s okay! Thank you, have a good day! <3

A/N: Hey, anon! No worries, this is definitely enough for a request. I really enjoyed the idea of Raph falling head-over-heels at first sight, and writing the insecurities that come with that. Especially given the whole ‘mutant turtle’ situation. I also tried not to make it too angsty and attempted to stick to a mix of shyness/sweetness and a bit of awkwardness in their initial encounter.

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

This Fluttery, Warm Thing (fluff/mild angst)

❤️ ROTTMNT Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, meet cute, awkward banter, mild angst, hopeful ending. All characters are aged-up.

The late afternoon sun casts an orange and gold glow on the sidewalks of New York. You’re walking home, humming a little tune, clutching your favorite tote bag that has embroidered flowers and a stitched patch featuring a cute cartoon mascot. It’s been a good day, filled with the satisfaction that comes from a successful treasure hunt.

Inside the tote, nestled amongst your usual essentials, is the prize: a small, perfectly square box. It’s the reason for the extra spring in your step, the silly grin on your face. You’d been searching for this specific blind box series—the limited-edition Cozy Cumulus Pals—for weeks. They’d vanished from online stores almost instantly.

According to rumors, only a few brick-and-mortar shops had received any stock. You’d almost given up hope after striking out at two different hobby stores last weekend. But today, on a whim, you’d ducked into that tiny import shop tucked away on a side street. And there it was: only one box left. You’d snatched it immediately, the cheerful, pastel packaging feeling like a tiny victory in your hands.

Your heart had given a little leap as the cashier scanned your purchase. She hadn’t batted an eye at you as you practically vibrated with excitement. But to you, your acquisition felt momentous. And now, walking home, you resist the constant urge to check if the box is still safely inside your tote.

You can almost feel its light weight, imagine the crinkle of the plastic wrap. Which character would it be? Pillow Puff? Naptime Nimbus? Or the rarest, the rainbow variant of Sleepy Stratus? The anticipation is a delicious little hum beneath your skin.

A cab honks impatiently, pulling you back to the bustling street for a moment. You sidestep a hurried commuter, tightening your grip on the tote’s strap. Just a few more blocks. Then, home, a cup of tea, and the delightful little ritual of unboxing your long-awaited, incredibly cute find.

Yes, it’s definitely been a good day.

Suddenly, your foot catches on an uneven crack in the pavement you didn’t notice. Gravity takes over and you stumble, a gasp escaping you as the contents of your bag—carelessly left unzipped in your happy distraction—spill onto the sidewalk. Papers flutter, your wallet skids a few feet away, a tube of lip balm rolls out of sight.

And the thing that makes your heart plummet the most is your treasured keychain, the one with the charm shaped like a fluffy alpaca with rosy cheeks, bouncing precariously close to the gaping maw of a storm drain grate.

“No, no, no!” The words burst out, laced with genuine distress. You scramble to gather your belongings, dropping to your knees, ignoring the scrape of the ground.

You reach for the keychain, your heart sinking as you see it teetering on the edge of the grate—and you know you won’t be able to grab it in time.

Before panic can truly set in, a huge shadow falls over you. You freeze, mid-reach, and slowly look up. Standing there, blocking the sun, is the largest person you have ever seen. He’s incredibly broad-shouldered and … green? He wears some kind of red bandana mask over his eyes, along with wraps. Or whatever they are.

But before you can process the sheer strangeness of his appearance, his massive, three-fingered hand darts down with surprising speed. He deftly scoops up the tiny keychain, rescuing it nanoseconds before it’s about to tumble into the depths of the drain.

He straightens up, holding the delicate charm carefully between his thick thumb and forefinger, and looks down at you. Behind the mask, you see his eyes—surprisingly expressive dark pools—widen slightly. There’s a flicker of something you can’t quite place. Surprise? Alarm? You tilt your head.

He seems almost … flustered.

He holds out his hand, offering the keychain back. His movements are careful, hesitant, as if he’s worried a sudden move might make you bolt. “Uh,” he starts, his voice a deep rumble, but much softer than you’d expect from someone his size. “This … this yours?”

You’re still a bit stunned by the near loss of your keychain and the presence of the guy who saved it. Finally, you find your voice, albeit shaky. “Y-yes! Oh my gosh!” you say, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. As you take back the keychain, your fingers brush against his, feeling the cool, slightly rough texture.

He helps you collect the rest of your things, and you stuff them back into your bag—making sure to zip it up properly this time.

“Thank you so much!” you say. “I thought it was gone for sure.”

“Yeah. No problem,” he rumbles again, his voice still low and gravelly, but definitely tinged with … discomfort? He takes a half-step back, clearly signaling his intention to leave.

“Wait!” you blurt out, feeling a sudden need to acknowledge the sheer oddity and kindness of the moment. “That was… really amazing. How you caught it. I mean—” You gesture vaguely with the hand holding the alpaca keychain. “—you’re incredibly fast.”

Now that the immediate crisis is over, you take in his appearance again. The green isn’t paint; it looks … real. And you felt the almost scaly texture of it. And the shell—wait, is that a shell strapped to his back?! It looks ridiculously heavy, yet he moved with an agility that defies his bulk just moments ago.

He shifts his weight, his gaze flicking down the street, then back to you, the awkwardness radiating off him in waves. He seems less like a menacing figure and more like someone caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, despite having just performed a random act of kindness.

The question escapes before you can stop it, fueled by unfiltered curiosity. “Um … sorry, this is maybe a weird question, but … what are you?”

You see him physically recoil, just slightly, his posture stiffening as he blushes. He looks away sharply, down the street—anywhere but at you for a few beats. Then his gaze snaps back, masked eyes wide.

“Oh! Uh, yeah—costume!” He coughs, forcing the word out. It sounds unnatural, like he’s tasted something bad. “Big … comic fan convention nearby! Ya know, sci-fi stuff.” He gestures vaguely down the street, though you don’t recall seeing any signs for a con.

But hey, it’s New York. Stranger things happen before breakfast. “Wow,” you say, in a sort of bewildered admiration. “It’s incredible. Seriously, the detail is amazing! The skin texture looks—and feels—so real.”

Again, he blushes. “Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Thank you.”

You realize you’re still holding the keychain. “But thank you again. Really. You saved my favorite little alpaca.” You hold up the fluffy charm again.

He looks at it, then back at your face. He seems to be studying you, taking in your eyes, the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The nervousness is back, rolling off him in waves. He looks profoundly uncomfortable, yet unable to look away. It’s surprisingly sweet.

In a giant-green-man-in-a-costume kind of way.

Because who did he think he was fooling?

“N-no problem,” he finally stammers. “Just … uh … watch where you’re goin’, okay? Sidewalks are … rough.”

“I definitely will now,” you promise, offering a small, shy smile. “Thanks again, um …” You trail off, realizing you don’t know his name.

“Raph,” he blurts out, before looking startled, as if the word escaped without permission. “Name’s Raph.”

You tell him your name. “It was nice meeting you, Raph.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. He then repeats your name softly under his breath, as if testing the sound of it. “Nice … nice meeting you, too.” From behind the mask, his intense and strangely vulnerable eyes still lock on yours.

Then, an awkward silence stretches between you. You clutch your bag, suddenly very aware of the surrounding city sounds returning to focus. He opens his mouth slightly as if to speak, then closes it again. Almost as if he wants to say something more, but has no idea what.

“Well,” you say finally, breaking the spell, “I should probably get home. Dinner and all that.” You tilt your head toward where you were originally going. “But thank you, Raph. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Sure. Yeah. No problem,” he says, taking a half-step back, as if forcing himself to give you space. “Get home safe.”

You nod, offer one last quick smile, then turn and start walking away. Curiosity compels you to glance back over your shoulder after a few paces. Raph is still standing exactly where you left him, a giant green statue silhouetted against the setting sun, watching you go. He looks strangely … lonely.

You feel a pang of sympathy.

But what you don’t feel—or see—is the internal chaos erupting within Raph as your figure recedes down the street. You don’t feel the thunderous, frantic thump-thump-thump of his heart against his plastron, a feeling entirely new and almost terrifyingly strong. He just met you, just saw your shy smile, the way your eyes lit up when he rescued your keychain.

You don’t see how his entire world has tilted on its axis.

And detonated.

Wow, he thinks. She’s … she’s … wow.

Then the crushing weight of reality slams back down on him.

Costume? COSTUME?! The word screeches in his head, mocking his panicked lie. Smooth move, Raph. Real smooth.

But what else could he have possibly said? ‘Hey, thanks. But I’m actually a giant talking turtle mutated by alien ooze. Nice to meet you?’ Yeah, right. You’d have run screaming.

She’s human, the thought follows, cold and heavy. Beautiful, gentle. Human. And he’s … this. Green, hard-shelled, different. A monster in the eyes of the world.

He clenches his fists. This feeling—this fluttery, warm feeling in his chest—is completely foreign. Because a crush? On a human, who thinks he’s just some guy in a costume?

He lets out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. Confusion and a strange, aching sweetness war within him, making him feel dizzy. He stares down at his own large, green, three-fingered hands, then back up at the now-empty stretch of sidewalk where you stood just moments ago.

“What is Raph supposed to do now?” he murmurs.

He replays the encounter in his mind. You hadn’t recoiled in horror. You looked surprised, maybe a bit flustered. But not terrified.

And most importantly, you didn’t run.

He looks down at his hands again, the hands that saved your keychain, the hands you’d briefly touched without flinching. A new thought, small but persistent, flickers to life within him. Maybe being different didn’t have to mean being alone. And he doesn’t know how.

But he knows you’ll find each other again.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

i have a NSFW Gale/Reader thought

hear me out on this one:

You have trouble falling asleep and tend to pick up potions of sleep when you can. A few sips around bedtime knocks you out and helps you be well rested in the morning. You recently finished off a bottle so when you and the gang are looting some crates, you pocket a fresh potion of the creamy lilac concoction.

Fast forward to that night. You stayed up a bit later than you intended, looking over some new scrolls and books you'd picked up that day, and decide you need a little sleep aid. You take a swig of your new potion and settle down in your tent for bed. But sleep doesn't take you. Instead, your breasts start aching. For a few moments you think that maybe your period is coming earlier than thought, but the ache keeps growing deeper, and when you go to feel your tits, you notice that they feel uncomfortably tight...full. And as you squeeze them, you feel dampness against your palms.

Confused, scared, and fighting the first inklings of panic, you grab the potion and stumble out of your tent. Luckily, you're not the only night owl and can see the warm glow of a candle from Gale's tent.

You announce your presence and he welcomes you inside, closing a book of his own and sitting up as you duck into his tent and close the flap for privacy. His pleasant smile immedately falls as he sees your worried face.

You quickly explain about the potion, how it might have been contaminated or perhaps spoiled. Gale takes the bottle and swirls the contents before uncorking it and giving it a sniff. He frowns.

"It uses some similar ingredients to a potion of sleep, so it's viscosity and smell are quite similar...but I believe I know what this is." He looks at you evenly before asking, "Did you take it?"

You nod, and Gale sighs from his nose.

"What sort of symptoms are you experiencing?"

It's a bit embarassing to admit, but you tell him, and he sighs again. You can see that he's not happy with the development and you quickly apologize for the hassle. His face changes then and he waves his hands in front of himself.

"No, no, it's not you, dear. It was an easy mistake to make. It's just that...How do I put this."

He takes in a deep breath and motions for you to sit next to him. You do, and he continues speaking, his voice slow and careful.

"That potion is used for mothers who are having troubles... shall we say, producing. It stimulates the breast tissue and...well, I'm sure you've realized."

Oh gods. You look down at your night shirt, seeing the small wet spots around your nipples. You look back at Gale (just as he looks away--it seems he was staring at your chest as well) and you ask what you should do.

Gale clears his throat. "Massaging the area will help, but to extract everything...you wouldn't happen to know a hungry baby, would you?"

You know he's trying to crack a silly joke, but it only makes tears spring to your eyes. Gale flounders, his hands fluttering around like scared birds before one lands on your thigh.

"Don't despair, dear. I'll...I know it may be a tad unorthodox, but if you'll let me..."

You tell him you don't care what he does, as long as it fixes your problem. You see Gale's jaw flex. He seems to be calculating something in his head before he nods curtly.

"I'll take care of it, don't you worry. Here, lay down for me."

He quickly grabs some pillows and arranges them comfortably on the ground and you lean back, the pillows propping you up in a half-lounging position.

He scoots close to you, his hands going to the buttons of your shirt before he looks up at you with those big brown eyes, silently asking your permission. You can feel your cheeks flush as you nod. He begins unfastening the buttons from the bottom, and with shaking hands, you start from the top, meeting him in the middle. Your shirt falls open, and your breasts are on full display in the candlelight, visibly tight and full, your nipples hard and wet with smeared milk.

"Do they hurt?" He asks, voice a hush in the night air.

You nod, fighting the urge to close your shirt as Gale stares.

"I won't massage them just yet, then. We need to extract some of the, erm, fluid first." He wettens his bottom lip and scoots a bit closer to you. "Do you understand what I need to do?"

It seems that he's just as nervous about this as you are-- you know what he's getting at, but neither of you seem brave enough to say it out loud. Instead, you nod your head and tell him to do whatever he needs to.

He nods and starts lowering his head hesitantly. "I know it's going to feel odd, but it's necessary."

You return the nod and fight back a shiver as you feel the warmth of his breath against your nipple. You look away just as his lips meet the swollen bud and bite your lip to stop any involuntary noises from leaving you. The feeling of his hot lips closing around your nipple and then the velvet wetness of his tongue cupping around it has heat flooding your stomach and cheeks.

He starts with a light suction, your nipple gently pulled into his mouth. You can feel the milk leaving you as he begins suckling, hot spurts that provide an almost instant relief in your aching breast.

You let out a soft sigh and Gale releases your nipple and looks up at you, his cheeks rosy and eyes darker than usual.

"You alright?"

You apologize and ensure him it's fine, telling him that it feels surprisingly good before realizing what you said and stumbling over your words. You flounder and clarify that the relief of the pressure feels good, and he nods his head quickly.

"I knew exactly what you meant." He adjusts himself on the ground, "I'm relieved to hear that it's working...we'll keep going then."

But before he dips back down, you stop him. You realize that he hasn't spat out what he's sucked from you and ask if you all should grab a bowl or something so that he doesn't have to swallow.

"I don't mind," He says, "It's less cumbersome this way." He stutters for a moment before adding, "U-unless it makes you uncomfortable, of course. I'd be happy to--"

You cut him off and tell him it's fine like this. And then, shyly, you ask him what it tastes like.

"It's...sweet. But not overly so." He gestures to your breast, where a pearly drop dangles from the tip of your nipple. "Try it for yourself."

So you do. You swipe the drop onto your finger and suck it into your mouth, surprised at the sweetness, even if that's how Gale had described it. When you look back at Gale, you see a curious heat in his eyes that he quickly masks before bringing his head down once more.

This time, you watch as he latches onto your nipple. The peek of his tongue as he takes it into his mouth makes you clench involuntarily. And then comes that relief again, that lessening of pressure that has you sighing and leaning your head back.

It's almost hypnotic. The feeling of his lips suckling at you, the press of his tongue against your sore nipple, the pain that slowly ebbs away and is quickly being replaced by guilty arousal. You close your eyes and sigh again, hand coming to the back of his head without thinking.

Your eyes fly open and you quickly apologize again. Gale pulls off of your nipple but doesn't lean up, his words breathed hotly against your sensitive breast.

"No need to apologize...please, get comfortable."

You tell him that he should get comfortable too-- you don't know how long this is going to take, and seeing him leaning forward on his knees is making your own want to ache in sympathy. He laughs softly, sheepishly.

"I do admit, it's not entirely comfortable. In that case..."

He moves slowly, carefully between your legs, looking up at you for permission that you grant with an encouraging nod.

Gale lays himself gingerly on top of you, his face level with your breasts. It's how lovers would cuddle, and it brings your heart to your throat.

"There, that's much better," Gale's voice has a slight tremble as he hovers over your untouched breast, "Is it comfortable for you as well?"

You tell him it is.

"Alright..." He takes his hand and gently cups the weight of your breast, "Let's work on this one a bit, shall we?"

He begins sucking at your other nipple, just as tender as the first one. But this time, with him laying against you and your hand returning to his hair, you find yourself letting out a moan despite yourself.

And this time, he doesn't pull away to ask if you're okay--The sound was purely from pleasure, and he seems to know it. Instead, he responds with a slightly stronger suck, his eyes closed and his long lashes on his cheeks. You try not to squirm, the heat between your legs growing to a point that you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy. You wonder if he can feel the thump of it against his stomach.

You don't know how long it goes on. The gentle pull of his mouth on you, the feeling of his warm breaths against your skin, his soft hair beneath your fingers...it's all so decadently pleasurable and you lose yourself in the feeling.

He swaps between your breasts, his tongue laving at your nipple before taking it into his mouth. The feeling of it makes you jolt and shudder and moan. His hand continues cupping your other breast, gently kneading it in time with each suckle. You feel a warm trickle of milk from your free nipple and watch as it rolls down the swell of your tit before meeting his hand. He unlatches himself and goes to that breast instead, licking the cooling trail up your skin before taking your nipple once again.

His tongue is becoming greedier with each of your noises, licking your areola, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin and his nose pressing into the plushness of your breast. You hold his head firmer against you, legs closing around his body as you fight to not grind against him.

He's fully groping you now, both hands gently squeezing your breasts as his hungry mouth takes turns lavishing both nipples with his attention. His eyes are still closed and his brow is furrowed as he works, panting for air between each switch but never allowing himself to fully catch his breath.

You can feel the flow of your milk drying up. The ache in your breasts has mercifully subsided, leaving them feeling tender and sensitive. But Gale doesn't seem ready to stop-- he sucks harder at them, coaxing out each drop against his tongue.

So you don't stop him. You lean back against the pillows and run your hand over his back, through his hair, letting him nurse from you to his content. And as you watch him, you realize with a cold jolt that he's rutting himself against the ground. It's subtle, almost completely missable, but you can see the way his ass flexes as his toes dig into the ground for purchase.

The revelation finally breaks your control. You moan his name and raise your hips against him, spreading your legs as his teeth dig into your skin.

It's as if he had been waiting for this moment. He's sliding up your body immediately, his hot, panted breaths against your face sweet with your milk.

"Gods, I'm--"

Whatever he's going to say is lost as he takes your mouth, that skilled tongue that has been teasing your nipples all this time now pushing past your lips, that sweetness intensified as he kisses you desperately. His body slots perfectly against yours, his hard cock pressing against your pussy and grinding into it, starved for friction. Even through both sets of your clothes you can feel his member pulsing, and as he dry fucks you he groans into your mouth, his hands hungrily feeling over your body, your face, your breasts.

You cry out as the orgasm that has been building all this time finally breaks within you, and you cling to him as you rut madly against him. Your own passionate ministrations make Gale still, and it isn't until you hear his own throaty groan that you understand why.

Your arched back deflates back into the pillows, and Gale's body follows, as if not wanting to be apart from you. You can feel the twitching of his cock still buried between your legs, uneven jumps and shudders that have him gasping and pulling out of the kiss.

"Gods, I'm...I'm so sorry..." He pants, eyes fluttering open and worry knitting his brow. "That was...inappropriate, to say the least."

You hold the side of his face and reassure him that it's alright. And, you add with a smile, his unorthodox methods have managed to do what you sought to accomplish in the first place.

"I must say, I'm rather tired myself." Gale shares your smile, "Why don't you spend the night, in that case? Besides, it's best for me to be nearby, in case you need more...extracting."

You happily oblige.

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader attend a fashion show

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off of the loewe show from this past weekend <3

Y/n adjusted the belt of her outfit as she walked out into the hotel lobby. Once she glanced up, her gaze immediately met an unmistakable pair of blue eyes, crinkled slightly in the corners and paired with a wide grin. Drew stood near a large window, the tint allowing for privacy from the busy street outside. He wore a black and white gingham button down, tucked into a pair of loose black pants and paired with a brown leather jacket. His hair was tousled tastefully, showing off the highness of cheekbones and the pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.

Y/n almost felt envious, he made it look so effortlessly handsome, his charm and confidence radiating from him. She had been to fashion events before, but never front row at an event as big as this one or alongside such a gorgeous individual as Drew…

“You look stunning, baby.” Drew said, pulling her into a hug before pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Y/n felt her cheeks warm as she put her hand into Drew’s, squeezing it lightly.

“Are you kidding me? Look at yourself, Starkey.” Y/n whispered into Drew’s ear, her hot breath bringing a soft pink to his cheeks.

“You guys ready?” Drew’s assistant asked, gesturing out towards the black car parked on the curb. The two of them reluctantly tore their gazes away from each other, walking out towards the car. Luckily, only a few fans had gathered outside the hotel, the couple greeting them briefly before ducking into the car.

“Alright so the camera is set up here,” Drew’s assistant gestured to the camera sat up across from them, “so, have fun.”

“Thank you!” Y/n waved to Drew’s assistant as he shut the door, leaving the two of them alone with the camera as they began to drive towards the event. The two of them eased into their seats, Drew’s hand coming to rest on the sliver of skin between the end of y/n’s skirt and the top of her boot. He gazed at her softly, his eyes transfixed on the soft green fabric of her outfit and the way her skin glowed in the bit of sunlight that seeped through the windows of the car. He reached out to brush a hair away from her ear, leaning in closely.

“I wish this camera wasn’t here because you look so fucking sexy.” Drew whispered into y/n’s ear, close enough to avoid the gaze of the camera, causing a tingle to run down her spine. She elbowed him playfully, the two of them laughing before easing into relaxed, camera-friendly banter.

Waves of fans, flashes of cameras, and shouts signaled the arrival to the venue. Once the door opened, Drew climbed out the car before turning to offer his hand to y/n. She took it with a grin, following Drew out towards the sea of people. The two of them chatted with fans and interviewers, taking photos and signing pieces in the clamor of the crowd. After a couple of minutes, one of the event coordinators led them towards the runway, pointing them to their seats.

“Are you nervous?” Drew asked, brushing his hand along the curve of y/n’s back as they settled into their seats.

“A bit intimidated.” Y/n said with a light laugh. Drew grinned gently before pressing a kiss to y/n’s temple.

“Don’t be. You’re the most beautiful woman in this room.” Drew said, hugging her into his side as the lights begin to dim. Despite all the time they’ve spent together, Drew still managed to make her dizzy in the head with his gracious words and soft touches, making her feel like a teenager falling in love for the first time all over again.

The show began, models strutting down the runway in various spring colors, florals, and fabrics. Y/n eyes followed each step, admiring the stunning combinations and how they fit each and every model beautifully, naturally highlighting their features whilst also allowing the pieces to stun on their own. She glanced over at Drew, looking to share her fascination quietly with someone. However, Drew’s eyes weren’t on the outfits, they weren’t even on models walking in front of them. They were locked solely on her, a content grin and soft pink on his face.

“What?” Y/n whispered, quickly checking over her outfit and running her fingers through her hair, hoping to fix whatever Drew seemed to be distracted by.

“Nothing. Just looking.” Drew shrugged, a cheeky smirk on his lips as he gently traced his thumb along the curve of her hip. Y/n rolled her eyes, laughing quietly to herself before turning back to the show. Once the final model exited the runway, everyone jumped to their feet and erupted into applause.

“Wow. Jonathan has outdone himself.” Y/n said to the attendees around them, gushing about fabrics, cuts, accessories, and whatever else she had fallen in love with during the show. Once they made it out into the garden that surrounded the venue, the two of them found themselves sitting on an ivy-coated bench, Drew’s arm wrapped firmly around her midsection. Drew was always a touchy person, making sure to find some way to be holding onto her whenever they were out and about, but now it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Drew what has gotten into you?” Y/n laughed, looking over at Drew, the same blushed grin he had plastered on his face still present.

“You. You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy, darling.” Drew whispered, pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against his lips before pulling away, running her fingers through his hair as she looked back at him.

“You’re crazy, Starkey.” Y/n grinned.

“Only for you, baby. Only for you.” Drew grinned, pressing another kiss to her temple.

[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Final Part

Summary: With Logan heading toward the enemy's clutches, you're left alone, questioning if you'll be able to stop her and finally put an end to it all.

ONE | TWO | THREE

Warnings: canon-level violence, death, some logan POV, arguing, angst, fluff WC: 9.5k - MASTERLIST

----

Logan regrets his decision to leave you the moment the warehouse door slams shut behind him, cutting off the desperate cry that echoes from within. The sound of your voice, the look of fear and pleading in your eyes as you begged him not to do this, haunts him even as he forces himself to move forward.

Every instinct in him screams to turn back, to protect you, to face whatever comes together. But he knows he can’t. Not now. Not with what’s waiting for him outside.

The sight that greets him as he steps out into the open is nothing short of a nightmare. A horde of mutants, all gathered outside, bodies tense and mouths practically frothing at the mouth, ready to take a bite. The moment he appears, they spring into action, launching themselves at him with everything they’ve got.

He grunts as the first mutant crashes into him, small bursts of electric energy crackling all around. Still, he doesn’t hesitate. His claws flash out, cutting through the mutant’s flesh with ease. Blood splatters across his face, warm and sticky, but he barely registers it. Another mutant charges at him from the side, and he ducks under the swipe of its tail, driving his fist deep into its chest with a snarl.

They fall one by one, but there’s no satisfaction in it. These aren’t enemies; they’re victims, Shadowmind’s marionettes.

Another one slams into his side, driving him back a few steps, and Logan snarls as he jams his claws through its chest. Still, they keep coming. He’s fought worse than this—he’s fought against himself—but the sheer number of mutants bearing down on him begins to be overwhelming.

He can feel the weight of them pressing in on him, the force of their combined strength pushing him, inch by inch. He fights them off with everything he has, each slash of his claws sending one after another to the ground, but it’s just not enough.

A particularly large mutant grabs him from behind, its arms locking around his chest, effectively crushing him. Logan grits his teeth, muscles straining as he tries to break free, but he then something—or someone—slam into his legs, knocking him off balance. He stumbles, and before he can recover, more mutants pile on top of him, their weight dragging him down.

“Get off me!” he yells hoarsely with exertion as he thrashes around, but still, it’s no use. They are like a tide, and they’re dragging him toward the location of the underground tunnels, where he knows she is waiting.

It’s like he can feel the ground shifting beneath him as they drag him closer to the entrance of the tunnels, the air grows colder, darker, more unsettling. With each passing second, he’s pulled further from the warehouse, further from you.

When they reach that damn metal grate it’s quickly pushed to the side, and he's roughly shoved down into the hole, grubby hands forcing him into the depths. He lands hard on the damp, uneven ground of the tunnel system, the impact jarring his bones, but he doesn’t let the brief pain slow him down. He clambers to his feet, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of movement.

The remaining mutants surround him, forming a barrier between him and the way out, and Logan knows he’s trapped. He knows that there’s no way out except forward.

“Wolvie!” He hears, the voice a sing-song echo through the tunnel in false excitement. “Back so soon? You just couldn’t stay away, could you?

“What do you want, Lorna?” he growls, using her real name deliberately, trying to strip away the power she’s claimed for herself.

She steps out of the shadows, but she doesn’t answer his question right away. Instead, she lets the silence stretch, her predatory gaze fixed on him as if she’s savouring the moment.

“I want what’s mine,” she says finally, dangerously. “And you… you’re part of that.”

Logan’s claws twitch, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t take the bait. “You’re delusional,” he spits.

“Am I?” she replies, her tone laced with false innocence. She takes a step closer, her eyes never leaving his. “You and I… we were made by the same people. We’re two sides of the same coin, Wolvie. But there’s a difference between us.”

Nostrils flaring, he tries to keep his breath coming in controlled, measured beats as he fights to keep his mind clear, focused. “The difference is, you let them turn you into this, even after their downfall.”

Shadowmind’s laughter is sharp, biting, like the crack of a whip. “You think you’re better than me?” she hisses. “I fought back. I never let myself get corrupted by them. But you?” A laugh rips from her throat. “You were just waiting there, ready to be useful, weren’t you? Just a good little weapon, eager to please.”

Logan clenches his jaw. The words hit their target, but he forces himself not to react, not to let her see the impact. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she purrs, her voice softening with false sympathy. “You didn’t fight back. You let them break you, turn you into their perfect killing machine. You were more than willing to do their dirty work, weren’t you? All those years, all those lives… They didn’t mean anything to you.”

His breath hitches, just for a moment, but it’s enough. Shadowmind’s eyes glint with satisfaction, sensing the crack she’s been looking for. “You couldn’t wait to sink your claws into anyone they pointed you at. But the worst part? You’re still that same weapon. All your talk about being better, about being in control… It’s all a lie, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” he growls.

“And what about that little sidekick of yours?” she continues, her tone shifting to one of mock pity. “Knifey, you called her? She’ll never see you the way you want her to. How could she? You’re nothing but a relic, Wolvie. Too much baggage, too old, too damaged. She’ll realize it soon enough—she’ll leave you behind, just like everyone else.”

Logan’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fights to stay grounded. He knows what she’s doing—knows she’s trying to weaken him, to break him down until he’s vulnerable enough for her to control. But it’s working. He can feel the doubts creeping in, the old fears and insecurities clawing their way to the surface.

“You’re a failure, Logan,” She whispers, her voice slipping inside his head, bypassing the physical world entirely. “You’ve always been one, too. You can’t save anyone, and you won’t save her. All you do is destroy. That’s all you’re good for.”

“Stop it,” he snarls.

“You can’t escape your past. No matter how many times you try to change, no matter how hard you fight, you’re still the same broken weapon they made you. You’re nothing.”

His vision shakes, the darkness of the tunnel closing in around him as her words seep into his mind, pulling at the edges of his sanity. He can feel the walls he’s built around his mind starting to crack, the strain of keeping her out taking its toll. She’s pushing harder now, digging deeper, little by little, weakening his defences, until she can take control.

“You’re alone, Logan,” she pushes. “And you’ll always be alone. Because of who you are, what you are. You destroy everything you touch. You bring pain and suffering to everyone you care about. That’s why she’ll leave you.”

His heart pounds in his ears, the sound almost drowning out her voice, but not quite. He can feel the line between reality and nightmare beginning to blur, her words fading the edges of his perception, making it harder to distinguish between the two.

“You can’t break me,” Logan says, veins in his neck bulging at the amount of effort he's exerting, the fight inside him burning bright despite the wickedness closing in. “You’ll never break me.”

Lorna’s laughter echoes through the tunnel, haunting. “We’ll see about that, Wolverine,” she whispers, her voice dripping with malevolent glee.

----

The days after Logan sacrifices himself to the horde of mutants blur into one long stretch of despair and frantic thinking. You know he did it to protect you, to keep you safe, but the only thing it does is leave you feeling utterly alone and powerless. All you want to do is follow him, tear through those mutants and drag him back, but the door that closed so resolutely behind him now feels like an impenetrable barrier.

Self-sacrificing asshole.

You spend the first few hours pacing back and forth across the warehouse, your mind spinning with distressed ideas and plans that you know, deep down, are impossible. You think about sneaking back into the tunnels, maybe finding a back way in, using the element of surprise to take down Shadowmind before she can do any more damage. But the more you try to piece together a plan, the more you realize how futile it is. She could be hiding anywhere in the shadows of those damn tunnels, and if she has another group of mutants waiting for you... Every time you think you have a workable strategy, it falls apart under the weight of too many unknowns.

At one point, you even consider trying to bargain with her, offering yourself up in exchange for Logan’s freedom. But the idea of putting yourself at Shadowmind’s mercy again, knowing first-hand how she twists minds and breaks people, makes you regret contemplating it. And you know Logan would never forgive you if you did something so reckless, and let’s say if she agreed to the exchange, there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t just find a way to end you both.

So, you spend your days trapped in a cycle of despair and frustration, your mind constantly racing to find a way to get him back. Hardly sleeping, your nights are filled with restless tossing and turning, your thoughts consumed by images of what that wicked woman might be doing to him.

Is she torturing him, trying to break his spirit? Or is she forcing him to relive the horrors of his past, using his memories against him? Thinking of him suffering, of him being twisted and corrupted by her influence, leaves you feeling hollow and sick with worry.

You try to distract yourself, to keep busy in the warehouse, but everything reminds you of him. After all, it’s his place. The silence is deafening without the sound of his heavy footsteps, the gruffness of his voice cutting through the stillness. Even the small, mundane tasks feel impossible without him there. You find yourself flailing around in the kitchen, your attempts to cook a meal turning into a disaster. You can’t remember how he managed to make everything look so easy, his hands moving with ease as he salvaged your attempts at dinner. 

You stand there, staring at the mess you’ve made, feeling utterly useless. In the few short weeks you’ve known him, you always relied on him to help you with something, to have your back in a mutant-encounter, to steady you when you stumbled. Now, without him, you feel like you’re falling apart. 

At night, when you’re laying in bed—his bed—the thoughts never stop. Your thoughts wander, wondering how he’s holding up, whether he’s still fighting, still resisting. Or if he’s already succumbed to Shadowmind’s control. You absolutely despise the idea of him being forced to kill, to hurt others, knowing how much he loathes the things he’s been made to do in the past.

A small, treacherous part of you can’t help but hope that, if nothing else, Logan will find a way to end it. That he’ll kill her before she can break him, before she can twist him into something unrecognizable. You know it’s a dangerous thought, but you cling to it all the same.

She deserves to be punished.

If anyone can survive her, it’s Logan. If anyone can find a way to stop her, it’s him.

Yet, as the days drag on, that hope begins to fade. The longer he’s gone, the more your fears grow, until they consume you entirely. You imagine him locked in a battle of wills with her, his mind being torn apart, and it almost drives you to the brink of madness. You feel like you're unraveling, piece by piece, the threads of your sanity slipping through your fingers as you pace the warehouse, waiting for a sign, any sign, that he’s still out there.

The silence stretches on, building up to a crushing weight. Every time you hear a noise outside, every creak of the building, every gust of wind, you freeze, your heart leaping into your throat, hoping against hope that it’s him, that he’s somehow found his way back to you. But each time, you’re met with nothing but disappointment and the hollow emptiness that fills the space where he used to be.

You sit by the door for hours, just staring at it, willing it to open, willing Logan to walk through it and tell you that everything is going to be alright. That he’s beaten her, that he’s stronger than her. But the door remains closed, the warehouse eerily still, and your hope continues to wither away.

Just go. Help him. Do it yourself

These thoughts begin to swarm in your head. You realize that it’s been too long. If Logan were to do something, anything, he would have done it by now. For all you know, he could be chained up to those cold, damp walls, waiting for you to save him. 

Steeling yourself, you take a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage you have left. You turn toward the door, ready to throw it open and march back into the madness, when suddenly, it swings open on its own.

And there he is. Logan stands in the doorway, his frame filling the entrance, the light from outside casting shadows across his face. For a moment, you’re frozen, disbelief warring with overwhelming relief.

He’s back. He’s here.

“Logan!” you gasp, rushing toward him, your feet barely touching the ground. “Oh my gosh, you’re back. Are you alr—”

But your words are cut off as his hand latches around your throat with a vice-like grip. Kicking the door shut behind him, the breath is driven from your lungs as he swiftly turns you around, slamming you roughly against it. Pain radiates through your back from the impact, your mind reeling, struggling to understand what’s happening.

“What—” you manage to choke out, but the words die in your throat as you feel the sharp edge of his claws pressing against your stomach.

Your eyes go wide, your mind a blur of shock and disbelief. This isn’t your Logan. It can’t be. Yet before you can process it, before you can even react, the claws extend with a sickening shink, and you feel them pierce through your flesh, cold steel sinking deep into your abdomen.

A strangled cry escapes your lips as the pain explodes through you, white-hot and searing, radiating out from where his claws are buried in your stomach. Your hands fly to grab his wrist, trying to push him away, but there’s no strength in your limbs, no fight in you. Your legs give out, and you slump against the door, held up only by the grip he has on your throat.

You try to speak, try to ask him why, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare up at him as the reality of what’s happening sinks in.

There’s no recognition in his eyes, no hint of the man you’ve grown to care about. He looks at you as if you’re nothing, just another target, just another obstacle in his path.

“She… she got you?” you whisper, the question barely a breath, your voice breaking under the weight of your pain and confusion.

There’s no response. Hatred burns in his eyes as he pulls his claws free from your body with a slow, deliberate movement, the pain doubling as they slide out of your flesh. Blood pours from the wound, soaking through your clothes and pooling at your feet

You can feel your body beginning to mend itself together, until only a lingering ache remains, but the pain—oh, the pain—is still there, deep and throbbing, both physical and emotional.

Logan steps back, his claws dripping with your blood, his expression unchanged. The realization that you’re going to have to fight him slams into you like a fucking bus, and the thought of hurting him again makes you hesitate.

This is Logan. The man who’s fought beside you, who's trained you… But now, he’s under her control, and this version of him is not going to stop until one of you is down.

Trying to shake of the pain, you raise your hands in a defensive stance. “Logan, I don’t want to hurt you,” you plead, your voice trembling. But he doesn’t respond. He just charges at you.

You barely dodge the first strike, rolling to the side as his clawed fist collides with the metal door. Your mind is screaming at you to fight back, but your heart is in turmoil. Every move you make is half-assed, conflicted, as you struggle to reconcile the need to defend yourself with the deep, aching reluctance to harm him.

“Please!” you cry out, dodging another swipe that comes dangerously close to your throat. “You have to push against this!” 

This isn’t just a fight—it’s a mirror image of the horror you lived through not long ago. You know exactly what he’s feeling, the suffocating darkness that grips his mind, the tight grip of control that leaves him impotent to resist. Shadowmind’s influence is a force of sheer will, a crime against everything you are, twisting your thoughts, your actions, until there’s nothing left of you but a weapon in her hand.

You remember the way it felt, how every fibre of your being screamed to stop, to fight back, but your body moved on its own, driven by her malicious intent. The guilt, the helplessness—it had nearly broken you. And now, here you are, facing Logan, who’s trapped in the very same prison. 

The roles have been reversed, and the bitter irony of it a sick joke.

Hopelessness eats at your insides as you’re backed into a corner, your mind racing to find a way out of this without hurting him. He gives you no choice. He’s faster, stronger, and without the hesitation that’s holding you back, he’s going to overpower you if you don’t act.

He comes at you again, claws aimed straight for your heart, and you finally react on pure instinct. You grab his wrist just in time, using your strength to twist his arm away, the momentum sending him stumbling back for a brief moment. But it’s not enough to stop him.

“Come on, snap out of it!” you shout. You hate this—you hate every second of it. But you can’t let him kill you, and you can’t let Shadowmind win.

He doesn’t respond. All he does is attack, faster this time, his movements a blur. In a desperate move, you finally manage to knock him back, sending him crashing into a table. For a moment, he stays down, breathing hard, and you take the opportunity to plead with him one last time.

“Logan, I know you’re in there,” you say, eyes filled with tears. “You have to fight her. I don’t want to hurt you… I can’t.”

But when he rises again, there’s no sign that he heard you at all. He jumps in your direction once more, and your heart shatters as you realize that there’s no choice left. 

----

Lorna’s mental assault is relentless. 

“Just let go, Logan,” she hisses, a poisonous whisper that slithers into the cracks of his defences. “You can’t fight me forever. You’re not strong enough.”

Logan grits his teeth, nails digging into his palms as he struggles to keep her out, to hold on to the last shreds of his sanity. But it’s been days, and the gaps are widening, spreading like spiderwebs through his mind, and he can feel her starting to slip through, her presence growing stronger, more oppressive.

“You’re weak,” she continues. “You were always weak. That’s why they made you into what you are—a weapon. Because you were never good enough to be anything else.”

His vision blurs, the world around him fading as her voice fills every corner of his mind, pushing out his own thoughts, his own will. 

“Why keep fighting, Wolvie?” She ponders. “You’ve fought your whole life, and what has it gotten you? Pain. Loss. Loneliness. Just let go. Stop fighting. It’ll be easier that way. You’ll finally have peace.”

Her voice is all he can hear now, all he can feel.

“That’s it,” she whispers triumphantly. “Give in. You know you want to. You’ve always wanted to. Just let go. Let me take control.”

With one last, brutal push, she forces her way in, her power crashing through his mind. Logan gasps, his body going rigid as she seizes control, her will overriding his own, drowning out his thoughts, his memories, everything that makes him who he is.

He feels her in his mind, filling every nook and cranny. There’s no room left for him, no space to fight back.

“Good,” she purrs, “Now, do what you were made to do. Kill her.”

His body moves on its own, driven by her desires. He turns, face stoic, as he begins to move toward the warehouse, where you’re waiting, unaware of the danger that’s about to strike.  The chains around his mind tighten, pulling him along, guiding his every step.

Kill her, he hears again, and he obeys without hesitation. He’s powerless. And as he reaches the door, his hand reaches for the handle, the final barrier between him and his target, the woman he’s been ordered to kill. The woman he…

But the thought never completes itself. Lorna’s voice, dark and seductive, wraps around his mind once more, tightening the chains, binding him to her.

“Do it, Logan,” she whispers in anticipation. “Show her what you really are.”

The door swings open, and Logan steps inside, his eyes locking onto you. And as he closes the distance, there’s only one thought left in his mind, one command that drives him forward.

Kill.

----

The clash of skin against skin fills the warehouse as you and Logan engage into heated combat. Every movement, every strike delivered, but there’s an anguised edge to your attacks—one that comes from knowing you’re fighting someone you care about, someone who, under different circumstances, would never lift a hand against you.

But these aren’t different circumstances. This isn’t the Logan you know. This is Shadowmind.

Your body moves with the skill Logan taught you, every nerve on high alert as you parry his strikes and counter with your own. It’s a brutal dance, each of you trying to find an opening, but despite everything, the fight is even. You’re giving as good as you get, but you know deep down that his experience, his brutal history, gives him the advantage.

He fights as if he’s been doing this his entire life—which, of course, he has. You can see it in the way he maneuvers, the way he anticipates your strikes, even under her influence, the muscle memory doesn’t lie. Still, you keep going, keep pushing yourself to maintain your ground. Each hit he lands, your body heals, the pain sharp but temporary. You use your strength to block some of his strikes, to push him back, but he’s insane, his jabs coming faster, harder, until you’re struggling just to keep up.

Somehow you manage to sweep his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. But before you can capitalize on the moment, he rolls forward, moving on all fours as he reaches out and grabs your ankle. Then, he yanks you to the ground with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. The impact reverberates through your body, and for a moment, your vision blacks out.

You try to scramble to your feet, but he’s quicker. He’s on top of you immediately, his weight pinning you down, his hands wrapping around your throat. You gasp, your hands flying up to his wrists as you struggle to breathe, to fight against the crushing pressure.

“Logan, stop!” you choke out, clawing at his hands, your nails digging into his skin. You know he won't stop. Not when he's under her control.

The world around you begins to fade around the edges, your vision shrinking as the lack of oxygen sends you spiraling into darkness. You can feel your strength diminishing, your body growing weaker as your lungs burn, desperate for air. Your hands slip from his wrists, falling limply to your sides as your muscles give out, your last reserves of energy draining away.

You don't think your healing factor will allow you to survive this.

Just as your eyes begin to roll back into your head, just as you’re on the verge of passing out, something in him shifts. His grip loosens, the pressure on your throat easing slightly, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes—something human, something familiar.

In an instant, Logan’s hands release you entirely, his body going rigid as if struck by an unseen force. His wide eyes stare down at you, processing what just happened—what he just did. His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps as he looks at his hands, the hands that were strangling the life out of you not even a minute ago, and then back at your face, colourless and gasping for breath. The horror spreads across his features like a slow, creeping shadow, and with a choked gasp, he falls to his knees beside you.

“Fuck,” he mutters frantically, running a shaky hand through his hair, his fingers trembling as if they’ve just been burned. He looks lost, terrified, as if the reality of what he’s capable of is crashing down on him all at once.

“You have to go,” he says in barely more than a hoarse whisper. “You need to get the hell away from me.”

You force yourself to sit up, ignoring the searing pain in your throat, the way each breath feels like it’s dragging over raw, jagged edges. Your vision is still hazy, the space around you spinning slightly, but you manage to shake your head, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

The moment your hand touches him, his body jumps. It's as if your touch is the last thing he expected, the last thing he deserves. He flinches away from you, his eyes wide, but then it changes.

His expression hardens, the panic in his eyes melting into anger. “I’m not givin’ you a choice,” he spits out. “Leave before I hurt you even more.”

Deep down, you know he’s saying this to protect you, to push you away before he loses control again. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less. The fact that he isn’t even considering your help, that he’s so determined to shut you out, feels like a betrayal.

“Hey, stop,” you begin. “Let me help you.”

He shakes his head violently, standing up abruptly, towering over you with a clenched jaw. “You don’t get it,” he snarls, the desperation in his voice now masked by a biting anger. “I almost killed you! I could have—”

“But you didn’t,” you interrupt, pushing yourself to your own feet, making him look you in the eye. “You stopped. You fought her off.”

“For how long?” he snaps back, frustrated. Not with you, but with himself. “How long before she gets back in? How long before I lose it completely and—”

“And what?” you challenge, “And kill me? Logan, if she’s in your head, you need me here. I’m not running away just because you’re scared.”

“Scared?” He practically growls the word, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think this is about being scared? This is about keepin’ you alive! You have no idea what it’s like, what she’s doing to me—”

“I know exactly what it’s like!” you shout, your frustration finally boiling over. “I was under her control too, remember?”

“It’s different with me!” Logan barks, his voice echoing in the small space. “I’m not like you! I’ve got too much shit in my head, too much darkness, and she’s feeding off it,” he takes in a heavy breath. 

You run your hands down your face, exasperated. “Why are you insisting on doing this alone? First you leave me to sacrifice yourself or whatever that was, and now you’re just gonna do the exact same thing again? It didn’t work the first time and it won’t work the second. We need to do this together!” 

“Remember when I told you this wasn’t a partnership?” he snaps as he struggles to keep his composure, the battle raging within him evident in every tense line of his body. “When I said I needed to figure out what was happening? Well, I did, and guess what? You’re not involved. This is my burden, and I’m telling you to go.”

“You’re being so fucking stubborn!” You yell, trying to break through the walls he’s building around himself. “You don’t need to push me away in order to protect me. That’s not how this works!”

His face twists in irritation. “I’m dangerous! I’m a goddamn ticking time bomb, and she knows how to set me off!”

“Then let me help you defuse it!”

You’re beginning to take a step toward when when you see it—the twitch of muscle below his right eye, then his left, and the scrunching of his brows. His face begins to contort in pain, and a cold dread settles in your chest as you begin to realize what is happening to him.

She’s not listening to you, Logan hears her voice return in the back of his head, a small whisper. 

She never will.

His hands fly up to his head, gripping it tightly as if he could physically tear her of his skull.

You’re useless, the words seep into his thoughts. 

You were always just a weapon. Nothing more. Nothing less. And now you’re nothing.

Each phrase pounds through his skull, each whisper amplifying in volume until they’re not whispers anymore but screams. His body begins to tense, muscles locking up.

She won’t want you. It’s a ceaseless litany designed to break him, to shatter the last of his resistance once more. His vision wanes, black edges creeping in as Shadowmind’s influence digs deeper, rooting itself back into the darkest corners of his mind.

“Run,” he chokes out, voice strained, barely recognizable as his own. The command is laced with urgency, with the knowledge that if you don’t, he won’t be able to stop what’s coming.

But you hesitate, unwilling to leave him like this. “Logan, I can’t—”

“RUN!” he roars, the sheer might of the word almost knocking you back.  Then, every emotion drains from his face, wiped out in an instant, leaving behind that same expressionless mask you saw when he first attacked you. The last shred of control he had is gone.

You don’t need to be told again. You turn and bolt for the door, and as you sprint out of the room, Logan’s world narrows to a single point of focus—the voice in his head, now no longer just whispers but a deafening roar. 

He’s coming for you, and there’s nothing left of him to stop it.

----

Your heart pounds in your chest as you run, the fear and adrenaline fueling your every step. You’re going as fast as you can, the world around you blurring into streaks of colour as you race down the street, but no matter how fast you go, you can hear him—hear Logan—right behind you. 

His footsteps are heavy, persistent. The sound of his grunting ricochets off the buildings and into your ears, and you don’t need to turn around to know he’s moving faster than you’ve ever seen before, Shadowmind unleashing some berserk mode within him, and you know this won't end until he's caught you

You dart around corners, leap over obstacles, trying to put as much distance between you and Logan as possible, but it’s no use. And when you do finally glance over your shoulder, he’s there, closing the gap with terrifying precision, his eyes fixed on you.

Your thoughts race as quickly as your feet, desperately searching for a solution, a way to escape. Where can I go? What can I do?

And then, like a bolt of lightning, an idea hits you.

With a sudden burst of determination, you swerve sharply, changing direction on a dime. The abrupt move nearly throws you off balance, but you recover quickly, setting your sights on the entrance to the underground tunnels—Shadowmind’s lair. You can feel Logan’s presence behind you, so close now that his breath is practically on the back of your neck, but you force yourself to ignore it.

Approaching the metal grate, you lift it up and throw it to the side as fast as possible, and leap down into the darkness. There’s no time to catch your breath. You sprint through the dark, winding passages of the tunnel, your feet pounding against the cold, uneven ground. 

Behind you, Logan’s pursuit is unending. The sound of his claws whipping through the air is horrifying, but you can’t afford to slow down, can’t afford to let fear overtake you. You have to keep moving, have to find Shadowmind before he gets you.

Her voice slithers through the tunnel with cruel amusement, a taunt that weaves itself out from the shadows. “Did you do it, Wolvie? Did you kill her?”

It sends a surge of anger through you, a hot, burning rage that fuels your steps. Your voice reverberates off the walls as your scream, “Shut the fuck up!”

You can feel her presence ahead, the oppressive weight of her mind starting to press down on you too, and the need to end this—to end her—drives you forward.

Finally, you see her. She’s standing at the end of the tunnel, her silhouette illuminated by a light that seems to radiate from the very walls. Her eyes gleam with malice, a psycho grin playing on her lips as she watches you approach. It’s as if she’s been expecting you, waiting for you to come to her.

Without hesitation, you lunge for her, but just as you’re about to reach her, Logan intercepts you, his body slamming into yours from the side with brutal force.

The impact sends you crashing into the opposite wall. Pain blooms along your shoulder, the breath knocked out of your lungs. The rough edges of the room scrape against your skin, and the dampness oozes into your bones as you struggle to regain your footing.

“Logan, I’m not fighting you!” you shout, exhaustion and frustration blending in your voice as you try to reason with the man you know is still in there, somewhere. “I’m going to kill that fucking bitch!” you finish, pointing at the woman standing behind him.

But her laughter fills the air. “Oh no, darling,” she sneers, “That won’t be happening. After all, I have a good guard dog, dont I?”

If looks could kill, she’d be dead tens times over. Your blood boils as you stare at her, the rage bubbling up inside you at the sight of her face. Somebody needs to put her in her place.

“Bet you feel real powerful, huh?” you jeer, voice laced with venom as you take a step closer, your eyes locked on hers. “Getting everyone to do your dirty work for you since you’re too fucking weak to do it yourself?”

Her smirk falters for just a moment, irritation crossing her features briefly, but she quickly regains her composure, her eyes narrowing in dangerously on you. 

“Because you wouldn’t survive if I punched you, right?” you continue. “All this power, all this control, and you’re still nothing without someone else’s strength. You’re a coward, Lorna. You haven’t done a single thing without hiding behind someone else!”

The words hang in the air, and you can see the fury building in her eyes, her cool demeanour cracking under your insults. Her fists clench at her sides, her lips pulling back in a snarl as the mask of control she’s been wearing begins to slip.

“Shut up,” she snaps.

“What’s the matter?” you mock. “Is the truth too much for you? Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, you cunt.”

“You know I’m right, don't you?” You press on. “Without someone to control, you’re nothing. You’re just a scared little girl playing with other people’s lives because you’re too weak to live your own.”

She’s seething. “Stop it!”

You grit your teeth, refusing to back down. “You want to get back Logan for hurting you all those years ago?” you shout at her. “When he was just a victim to the same mind control you’ve been inflicting on all those other mutants!”

“That’s not true!” she hisses, but the denial in her voice is thin, wavering. If Logan was himself, he’d think about how you’re getting to her the exact same way she got to him—and he’d be so proud.

“You’re no better than they were,” you carry on. “Making him hurt me won’t change anything. It won’t make you any better than they were!”

“Silence!” Lorna cries. “It’s not the same! He doesn't get to be happy! He deserves to suffer for what he did!

“What he did?” you retort incredulously. “What he did was survive. He was manipulated and controlled! Sound familiar? You’re no different from the people you claim to hate!”

“ENOUGH!” she screams in fury, the word bouncing off the walls. “I’m nothing like them!"

“Are you sure about that?” you ask, tilting your head to the side in faux confusion. "What are you doing right now then?"

The rage in her eyes flare, and her fists are clenched so tightly her knuckles turn white. You wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to attack you herself. But then her gaze shifts back to Logan, and a creepy smirk dances on her lips as she refocuses her control on him.

“Go get her, Wolvie,” she commands, like a queen ordering her knight to battle. His body tenses, and next thing you know, you've become his target once again.

You jump to the side, quickly evading the oncoming threat, your focus never leaving the woman. “This is between you and me, bitch!” you shout.

“Oh, it will be,” she replies, her voice dripping with malice. “If you can get to me.” 

You know she must have used her mind-control to speak to him again, because he moves mindlessly, his body blocking your path to her, working as a shield. All you can do is hold back the scream of frustration that’s building inside you as you take in the scene.

The Logan you know is trapped inside, buried under layers of Shadowmind’s control, and the sight of him standing there, ready to protect her, infuriated you.

A humourless laugh escapes your lips. “You think that’s going to stop me?” you mutter dangerously.

The rage, the pain, the fear—it all coalesces into a single point of concentration, you lunge forward, your fist glowing with that molten heat as you pour everything into this final act. As fast and hard as you can, you slam your first into his midsection, just like you had done once before. The sound of tearing flesh and the sickening squelch of your arm piercing through him reverberates through the room.

Grabbing his shoulder with your other hand, you shove him back harshly, using every ounce of strength to close the distance between him and his puppetmaster. The force of your push is enough to drive him backward, your arm still embedded in his torso as you reach toward her. Your eyes lock onto hers, and you see the shock at the realization that her plan is crumbling before her eyes.

Your fist makes contact with her chest, and you drive it in even further. Her mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes wide with terror. Logan’s body jerks violently, his muscles seizing as the control she had over him falters.

She gasps in agony, her power waning, her grip on his mind slipping away like sand through her fingers. It’s like you can feel it—the hold she had on him snapping, her influence retreating like a dying flame, flickering out.

But you can't celebrate yet. The job isn't finished. You yank your arm free from Logan’s body with a savage pull, and the force of your withdrawal sends him staggering to the side, body crumpling to the ground, finally free of her control but too weak to stand.

Lorna’s once smug expression disintegrates entirely, her eyes wide with unbridled fear once she senses her impending doom. 

“NO!” she screams in fright, but the sound is pitiful, and powerless. It’s too late. Far too late.

You grab her by the throat, her skin sizzling under your touch, the scent of burning flesh filling the room as she writhes in your grasp, her hands clawing desperately at yours, but you don’t let go. With a single, brutal twist, you snap her neck, ending her once and for all.

Her body falls to the ground, lifeless, and you stand there, breathing heavily, your chest heaving as the reality of what you’ve done slowly sinks in.

It’s done. She’s dead. 

As you turn your head to the side, your gaze falls on Logan. Your Logan. He's on his knees, blood pooling around him, his hands pressed tightly against the gaping wound in his midsection that’s slowly closing. His face is pale, drawn, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes, like he’s not entirely sure that he’s free, not entirely sure that he deserves to be.

He tries to speak, but the words seem to catch in his throat, his eyes glistening as he looks at you like he’s seeing a miracle. “Knifey,” he finally manages to say, his voice hoarse. 

You take a step toward him. “It’s over, Logan. We did it.”

Logan’s gaze drops to the ground, his shoulders slumping as he shakes his head, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on him. “You did it. I almost…” He trails off, his hands shaking as they drop to his sides, stained with his own blood. “I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t.” You affirm, crouching in front of him. 

He doesn’t respond, his mind spiraling further into the abyss of self-loathing. “It’s my fault,” he mutters. “I let her do this to me.”

Shifting to your knees, you reach a hand out to rest on his arm. “It wasn’t you. Just like it wasn’t me when I was under her control. This was Shadowmind’s doing, not yours.”

He shakes his head, his hands coming up to tangle in his hair as if trying to tear away the thoughts that are consuming him. “It’s not the same,” he strains. “I was so close, if I just pushed against her harder…”

“No,” you say firmly, this time pulling him into a hug, your arms wrapping around him tightly. “You’re not to blame.”

“I hurt you,” he whispers, leaning into your touch. “I became the monster I’ve always been”

“You’re not a monster,” you murmur into his ear, “It’s over, she’s gone.” All you can do is try and erase whatever lies were put into his head. “I’m here, you’re not alone.”

Logan clings to you, the his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, but your words slowly start to filter through the haze that Shadowmind left behind. They’re so different—so completely opposite—from the venomous lies she used to break him down.

Where her voice was cruel and cutting, twisting the knife deeper into old wounds, your voice is gentle, comforting, like a balm to his battered soul.

You’re telling him that he’s not a monster, that he’s more than just a weapon. You’re telling him that you’re here with him, that he’s not alone. Your words wrap around him like a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge, anchoring him in a way that nothing else could.

A deep, overwhelming adoration blooms in Logan’s chest, spreading through him with a warmth that he hasn’t felt in what seems like forever. It’s counters the cold, empty feeling that he’s been always been carrying around with him, and that takes his breath away. He doesn’t deserve this—doesn’t deserve you—but here you are, holding him, comforting him, tugging him out of the void with nothing more than your presence.

He feels something shift inside him, breaking through the layers of self-loathing and hatred. It’s you—your words, your understanding—that does it, and it makes him realize just how much you mean to him, how much he needs you. For the first time in days, the fog in his mind starts to lift, and he begins to see things clearly again.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Logan brings his arms up around you, returning your embrace. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of you, the heat radiating from your skin grounding him in the present, in the reality that he’s still here with you. He's not under control.

His heart is pounding in his chest, but it’s not from fear or anger—it’s from the overwhelming gratitude and feelings that are flooding his system.

Without thinking, he presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to your collarbone, the gesture filled with a quiet, aching affection. It’s a wordless way of telling you how much he cares, how much he’s grateful for you, for your strength, for the way you’ve saved him from himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

You hold him even tighter, your fingers gently tracing soothing patterns on his back. The connection between you feels stronger than ever, as if this moment has solidified those unspoken, brewing, emotions between you. You tilt your head slightly, brushing a soft kiss against his temple in return. It’s simple, but it sends a rush through Logan, making his heart lurch in his chest. The tenderness of it all is almost too much, but in the best way possible. 

For so long, he’s been scared to open up, to let anyone see the vulnerable parts of him that he’s kept hidden. He’s always been the one to bear the burden alone, to push people away before they could get too close. But here, in your arms, all those fears seem to fade into the background. 

You’ve seen him at his worst—manipulated into a weapon, mindless and violent—and still, you hold him like he’s worth something, like he’s more than just a mutant to exploit. And in this moment, he realizes he wants to open up to you. He wants to let you in.

He feels a sudden, fierce need to protect this—protect you. He wants to try this out with you, see it where it goes. The fear of opening up to someone, of being hurt or abandoned, still lingers in the back of his mind, but now, it’s different. Now, he feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s found something worth fighting for on his own accord. No external influence. Just you. 

“Let’s get out of here” you say gently. “We can go back to yours, or mine. I have a bed we can share.”

Logan pulls back slightly, eyes softening at your suggestion. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that surprises even him. “Let’s get goin'.”

----

And that's exactly what you do. After the tender moment, you and Logan head back to his place, gathering what little you need and packing up the essentials. He doesn’t say much as he packs a small duffel bag with clothes, some weapons, and a few belongings. You can tell his mind is still elsewhere, likely replaying everything that’s happened, everything he was put through.

Once you’re both ready to go, you finally decide to ask the question that’s been nagging at you since he first came and attacked you. As you zip up your own bag, you glance over at him, who’s pulling on his jacket, and speak up, trying to keep your voice as gentle as possible. 

“How… how did she get into your head? How did she… take control?”

Logan pauses, his hand stilling on the zipper of his jacket as he looks at you. You can see shame cloud his vision, but he doesn’t shy away from the question. He lets out a slow breath, leaning back against the wall as he considers how to answer.

“She used my weaknesses,” he finally says. “Lorna knew what buttons to push, what wounds to press on… She knew how to get inside, to tear me down.”

You nod, trying to understand, but it’s hard to imagine Logan having any real weaknesses, at least in the way he’s describing. “What are they?” you ask quietly, stepping closer to him, wanting to offer whatever comfort you can. “What did she use against you?”

His eyes meet yours, and in it, there’s a vulnerability that you don’t think you’ve if ever seen. He hesitates, like he’s weighing whether or not to tell you, whether or not to let you in on the truth of what she did, or what you mean to him.

But then, his expression softens, and he simply says, “You.”

The word is spoken so tenderly, so earnestly, that it takes a second to fully sink in. When it does, your breath lodges itself in your throat, your heart giving a painful thud as you realize the full extent of what he’s saying. 

You are his weakness. You are the one thing Shadowmind can use to break him down, to get inside his head.

“Me?” you repeat, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah, you. You’re the only person who has made me feel like more than a damn killin’ machine, and I’m grateful for that. Grateful for you.”

His admission is raw and honest, a reflection of just how deeply you’ve impacted his life, even if it’s only been a few short weeks. You’ve seen the man behind the claws, the heart behind the hardened exterior, and even though you may not have started off on the right foot, being in each other’s presence constantly has allowed you to share sides of yourselves you otherwise wouldn’t have.

You step closer, your hand reaching out to gingerly cup his cheek, feeling the rough scratch of his facial hair beneath your fingers. “The feeling’s mutual,” you say teasingly, referring back to your first conversation together, but he knows you mean it, because it's true. You are just as grateful for Logan as he is for you. He came into your life amidst chaos, and helped you navigate through it. 

His support, albeit not always the most straightforward, has been the only thing keeping you sane.

He leans into your hand, a shy smile gracing his lips at the intimacy of it all, while reaching out and wrapping his arms around your waist, bringing you closer into his space. His warm breath fans across your skin, and for the first time in a long while, he feels something other than fear, self-hatred, or guilt.

He feels hope. Hope that he could move past this, live a normal life, one that's not shrouded in violence, manipulation.

“You’re too good for me,” he murmurs. 

You shake your head, a small, tender smile playing on your lips as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes. “Nothing is too good for you,” you say with conviction. “You deserve to be happy. No one, including you, can tell me otherwise.”

Logan huffs out a small, almost disbelieving laugh, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the “p” with a cheeky smile. “But you like it”

There’s a fleeting moment, where neither of you speak, where all you can do is stare at each other. Your surroundings seem to fade away, the previous events already pushed back into the farthest place in your mind. All you can—want—to focus on in the man in front of you.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re both surging forward, crashing into each other with a passion that takes your breath away. The kiss is fierce, all-consuming, a collision of the feelings between you that have been building since the moment he found you on the street, since he told you he liked your smile, since he helped you in the kitchen. His hands are moving instantly, one slipping around your waist, pulling you in even tighter, connecting your body with his, and the other cupping the back of your neck. Your own hands grip the front of his jacket, your fingers curling into the fabric as you kiss him back, pouring everything into it.

It’s not gentle—there’s nothing tentative or hesitant about it. It’s hungry, desperate. You can taste the longing in the way his lips move against yours. Time seems to stand still, and all that exists is this moment, the heat of his body, the pounding of your heart, the way his breath mingles with yours in the small space between you. Each second blends into the next as you lose yourself in him. 

Eventually, the kiss slows, becoming softer, more tender. Logan’s lips brush against yours in a series of light, almost teasing pecks, each one lingering just a moment longer than the last. “You’re right,” he murmurs against your lips. “I do like it.”

Your chest swells, and you move your arms so they rest around his shoulders. “I knew it.” 

He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re trouble, Knifey."

“Damn right I am,” you beam, stealing another quick kiss, savouring the way his lips curve into a smile against yours. “Too bad you’re gonna be stuck with me for a while, huh?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, the sound vibrating through you as he leans in, fondly nudging his nose with yours. “Yeah, too bad.”

----

A/N: thank you all for reading this series!!

----

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[secretlyazombi3]

hallo!! (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝* ⋆ ⁺ ₊

i'd like to request a royal reader x knight!leon smut, if it's totally okay + within your comfort zone! i'm leaning towards a more submissive leon here, he's a man of a few words and typically doesn't chat a lot with people he isn't close with but he's reaaaallyy whimpering and whiny with reader when he gets his world rocked, much to their pleasant surprise :3 some overstimulation and praise thrown in would be nice too if you'd like hihiii

-🍮

⌞⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Armor .ᐟ⌝

leon kennedy x afab! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count:  3.9k ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NSFW !!!, 2nd person, leon is a bit subby, reader and leon r both desperate for each other, unprotected (as always, pls don’t do that), riding, a bit of overstimulation + praise, ‘forbidden’ in a way, leon is implied to be a bit older, squirting

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: Your knight in shining armour catches you trying to sneak out past midnight. 

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: HII 🍮TYSM FOR THE REQUEST ! :3 sorry i’ve been slow on writing, i’ve had writer’s block and been busy w school (i have finals coming up soon :c) but my requests r still open and i’m working on the requests i have ! ty all sm for the support :3 <3 sorry if there r any errors !

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You stood against the wall, mostly covered in shadow as you watched everyone on the floor of the great hall, all dancing and having a good time. Your arms were crossed as you puffed a bit until your knight approached you. 

He was a calloused man, very quiet, very protective of you. His parents ordered him to follow you around like a damn lost dog to make sure you were safe at all times, despite being an adult. Your parents always babied you and affected how Leon treated you. Like some sort of damsel in distress. He’d always try to dismiss it with some comment about how important it was for your parents to have an heir to the throne or whatever. You didn’t really care about it; it was just bullshitting excuses to keep you from living your life. 

“May I go now?” you asked him as you eyed the dancefloor. Your parents were hosting the yearly Spring Ball at the castle again; this was your first year you were actually allowed to attend the damn thing. Every past year, your parents had insisted that you were ‘too young’, and they were only ‘trying to keep you safe’. Of course, to an extent, it was reasonable, but that didn’t make it totally justified. Everyone at the ball had been personally invited, and the other knights were at the front of the castle approving each guest, so it wasn’t like there were any real threats they were worried about. You knew the real reason - they didn’t want you meeting anyone from outside the castle walls. 

Your parents never explicitly stated it, but you were sure that you were going to be packaged into an arranged marriage one day. They didn’t want anyone less than perfect to sit beside you on the throne one day, so it’d likely be someone they’d trust and someone who knew how to rule over a kingdom. 

Leon nodded his head at your question, grunting out a quiet “yes”. You moved away from the wall and towards the crowd of others before Leon gripped your wrist and pulled you back. “Not so fast.” he started. 

You squirmed a bit out of Leon’s grip, despite it being gentle, all while Leon spoke to you in his usual cold, monotone voice. “Your parents want me to keep an eye on you the whole evening.”. He didn’t wait for your reaction before he sighed, he already knew you’d be upset. 

“I’m not a child; I don’t need to be babysat.” You replied as Leon’s grip finally faltered and you headed off to the mass of people dancing together, only for Leon to follow after you. Typical. That man acted like a baby duckling following their mother duck. He was practically chained to you. Couldn’t your parents see that you didn’t need to have some helicoptering over you at all times?

You hurried away from the corner, not wanting to spend any more of the evening alone in the corner. This was your first time ever attending a dance, after all, and you were going to make the most of it.

Every girl in the palace was all dolled up in ruffle-covered dresses and fancy up-do hairstyles that accentuated their facial features. All the men were dressed up in fancy suits, detailed with gold, tailored specifically for them. It was your first time seeing everyone up close like this, so you took a moment to admire every detail. 

“You just going to stand there staring, pretty thing?” a man asked you from behind, making you turn around. It was some guy you’ve never seen, you hadn’t a clue what relationship he had with your parents that let him get invited, but you didn’t care. He was cute, and you barely ever got social interaction with anyone besides the knights and the maids here. 

He took your hand and offered you to dance, and God, how could you refuse such a pretty face? Time had gone by rather fast; the lack of windows nearby did not aid your blindness to the time. You hadn’t been able to see the sun fall past the horizon and the moon begin to take its place. You wiped your forehead clean of all the beads of sweat that had accumulated from spending so much time dancing in a hall packed with so many other people. Leon had just been standing a few feet away, just watching… Guy probably had nothing better to do, you thought. 

“Are you going to be attending that, uh, afterparty for this ball tonight? The one east of the village?” the man you’d been dancing with had asked you once you two had paused for some air and water. 

“Huh?” you replied, tilting your head a little. It was your first time hearing about anything of that sort. 

“The king- or, your dad, I mean… his friends host an after-party of sorts. Lasts from dusk till dawn. Are you coming?” You hesitated before replying. You hadn’t even heard about it, probably because your dad knew that you’d want to go if you had known about it. And your parents would never let you outside the castle walls during the night. Even if Leon came to chaperone you. 

“Ah-” you started, stumbling over your words until you felt a large hand prop onto your shoulder. Turning to look back, you saw Leon moving to stand beside you. He leaned down a bit closer to you so he could talk just softly enough for you to hear. “Your parents want you back in your quarters by midnight. It’s five past.” he said to you quietly. 

“God damnit, I’ve got a bedtime now too?” You replied as you glanced at Leon, then back at the man you’d been dancing with, dying to kiss all night. Years of being cooped up behind castle walls made you desperate. 

Leon didn’t respond, his expression as unamused as always. The man hadn’t cracked a smile at all the whole night, it was honestly depressing. He was a dedicated knight alright. He had the opportunity to dance with anyone he wanted to - admittedly, he was quite handsome. But instead, he spent the hours just standing there, watching you have the time of your life simply because your parents told him to. 

Leo had a firm grip on your arm as if he were anticipating you’d try to flee with the guy you’d just met - yeah, you were desperate, but not that desperate. 

You paused for a moment, trying to think of how to reply. You didn’t want to cut the night short, you knew there was a zero percent chance you’d ever see this guy ever again if you did. But you felt Leon beginning to tug on your arm, insisting that you two leave. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll… I’ll find a way.” You replied before reluctantly walking away with Leon. It was somewhat less pathetic than letting him drag you away. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The past hour or so, you’d been keeping the closest eye on the status of the Spring Ball you could form inside your room. You’d waited a full hour to hear the music from the grand hall to stop, and you did, you’d heard the liveliness of the dance slowly die out like a flame being extinguished. 

You still waited a few moments until you were sure most of the castle had been put to rest. By now, most of the staff would have returned to their quarters and gone to bed, right? You were sure it was safe to make your move now. Sneak out. You knew it was super risky, but you were also desperate. Desperate to something not controlled by your parents. Desperate to see that man. You hoped that of all people to be arranged married to, it’d be him. Maybe that was because you’d had little interaction with many men before this, but you were head over heels. 

You took a lantern in your hands and exited your room, quietly tiptoeing down the corridors of your quarter. The halls weren’t too dim thanks to some moonlight peering in through the windows. 

You weren’t exactly sure where this after-party was, all you knew was that it was east of the kingdom, meaning you’d have to move toward the moon for guidance. You could probably ask around to try and locate a specific manor it’d be held in. 

You were only a few feet down the hall, just a little bit away from the round staircase tower you’d need to go down to reach the exit, barely away from your bedroom before you saw Leon approaching you from the dark. “Shit.” You muttered to yourself. Of course, you should’ve expected this. Leon had dark circles under his eyes, the guy never slept, and he was there when you told that man, you’d find a way to get to that party. 

“Come on now, back to bed.” Leon said simply in his gruff voice as he gestured to your room, his movements still somewhat stiff thanks to his armor that he was still wearing. He knew your plan; he didn’t even bother heading back to his quarters to change. He’d probably been waiting right there at the end of the hallway since he’d insisted, you’d go to bed. 

You stuttered out a reply, trying to talk your way out of it, make up some lie that you just wanted a midnight snack or something, but Leon saw right through your bullshit. He held your wrist again and brought you back to your room. 

“Your parents would be so disappointed.” Leon said, his tone sounding like he was scolding a naughty dog. 

You sat down on your bed, glancing out the door to the balcony. Climbing down would’ve been a more viable idea than trying to leave out the main exit. 

You crossed your arms and puffed out a sigh as you looked down at the floor. “I know.” you replied simply. 

“I’m not going to tell them, though, don’t worry.” Leon added as he gazed down at you. 

“That’s a shocker.” you mumbled out.

Leon tilted his head at that comment, he raised an eyebrow. That was probably the most expressive you’d ever seen him before this moment. 

“Why’s that?” he asked. 

“You’re so loyal to my parents, you do every damn thing they tell you to. You spent the whole night standing against a pillar and watching over me like a stalker just because that’s what they ordered you to. Could’ve danced with any pretty girl or guy in there you wanted to.” You replied as you looked up at him, standing up to look him in the eye. 

His expression softened slightly, lips moving upwards although it wasn’t entirely a smile. Not yet at least. 

“You think I did that just because your parents asked?” he asked you, sounding somewhat amused. It wasn’t usual for Leon to be this expressive, even though now he was still barely showing any emotion. 

“Yeah, why else would you do that?” You asked, still looking up at Leon. You felt his hands gently brush against the side of your neck. He wasn’t very touchy - at least, not like this. You were used to him grabbing your wrist whenever he wanted to keep you in sight, but this? “I… I wanted to dance with you.” he admitted, his words coming out with a sigh, his voice still as soft and gentle as ever. 

You were puzzled by that response. Surely, he was joking. Surely, he didn’t actually mean it, he didn’t actually have feelings for you. 

All your thoughts became a messy blur as you felt his lips crash against yours and pull back just as fast. His cheeks were slightly pink, he looked more embarrassed than anything. 

“Sorry,” he apologized. He felt like he’d done something dirty. He was your knight, hired to protect you, not to fall for you and kiss you without at least asking first. What happened to his chivalry? Leon revoked his hand from your neck, looking down as if he were ashamed. “No, it’s fine.” You assured him, wrapping your fingers around his hand and gently guiding his hand onto your cheek. “Don’t apologize, I… I liked it.” 

All these years you’d longed for a man had turned you desperate. Tonight, you’d been willing to sneak out alone in order to go see one. All this time, you’d had a man head over heels for you right in your reach. Perfectly attainable. You just didn’t realize it. 

How could you? Leon was quiet and reserved. Tonight was the first time you’d seen his face change from an always annoyed one to literally any other emotion. How could you have known? 

Your head was flooded with thoughts, the rational part of your brain was drowning in all the thoughts yelling at you to kiss him again. You were so, so desperate. You pulled Leon in for another kiss and felt him wrap his large arms around your waist, kissing you sloppily. Clearly, he was as desperate for you as you were for him. You pulled him onto your bed, underneath the frame with the pretty canopy, resting against the cushioned headboard.

You sat on his lap; he pulled away from the kisses and gasped. The armor he was wearing was probably the worst thing he could have a boner in. He shifted around uncomfortably and bit his bottom lip to keep himself from moaning. 

“Fuck.” he grunted, out of breath. 

“What is it, what’s wrong?” you asked quietly, as if you were scared your parents would hear. You knew logically they wouldn’t - their quarters were across the whole damn castle. You could moan like a slut all you wanted all night long and they’d still be resting peacefully, not a clue in the world you’d been up fucking your knight. 

“I’m-I’m hard...” Leon admitted, audibly embarrassed by his situation. You pulled back a little from his lap, allowing him to pull off his bottoms desperately, tossing them aside. 

Despite your room still being dim, the only light source coming from the moonlight sneaking its way in through your sheer curtains, you managed to see the large bulge in Leon’s boxers, a few tiny wet spots from some pre-cum. 

Leon had been waiting to fuck you for what felt like forever. He’d been head over heels longer than he’d like to admit, and he’d spent more nights in his private bathroom pumping his cock with his fists while staring at pictures of you than he’d like to admit. 

You felt yourself begin to drip in your panties at the sight. You were horny, you were so fucking horny. You hadn’t felt the touch of a man ever. At least, not like this. And you were just desperate to experience this intimacy. You longed to feel a man’s cock inside you, as embarrassing as it was to admit. Leon removed the chest plate armor on him, tearing everything off of him like a wild animal. Like he couldn’t contain how bad he wanted to fuck you. You did the same, you stripped down on your bed until you were just in panties. 

You took a moment to admire Leon’s body all while he admired yours. He’d seen the outline of your body when you’d worn tight clothes in the past, but you were a thousand times sexier than he could’ve imagined. He felt his dick throb as his eyes fixated on your nipples, your pretty tits… 

You’d never seen Leon in anything other than that stiff armor, so you had spent the years completely unaware that he’d been jacked this whole time. His arms were toned and muscular, not to mention his abs… where did he even get the time to work out when he spent so much of his time watching you. 

“So fucking hot...” you whispered to Leon as you felt on his abs, feeling his happy trail brush against your hand. Leon let out a pathetic whine at the touch. 

He stared up at you. He’d been working here to protect you. He was working with your parents; he agreed with them that he’d protect you. But he’d gotten too close to you, and now… He couldn’t help his feelings. Even though he knew he should do anything but fuck you, even though you seemed so willing for his dick, he couldn’t help himself. You were the forbidden fruit he just couldn’t resist. 

Leon gently grabbed your hips, his grip on you gentler than ever. You gently grinded against him, rubbing your clothed pussy against his dick that was still restrained by his boxers. 

“Oh fuck, don’t we need protection? We should use some, right? I-” Leon stuttered, his face visibly becoming more and more pink with every word that he let slip from his lips. “Fuck it, it’s fine, I just want you… I-I need this.” you stuttered out desperately. It was almost cute how desperate you two were for each other, in a pathetic way. 

You peeled down the fabric of Leon’s boxers slowly, a smirk crawling on your lips as you watched his hard cock spring out excitedly, the red leaking tip desperately begging for your pussy. 

You gently slid down your panties, down past your ankles before tossing them aside, not caring about where they’d land. 

Leon’s face was bright pink at this point, he was resting back against the headboard as you gently stroked his cock, sizing him up mentally, imagining how good it’d feel when you finally felt this long dick inside you. Leon whimpered as he felt your soft fingers wrapped around his shaft, moving up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. 

“Please-” he gasped out, his tone abnormally whiny. He looked at you with puppy eyes, silently begging you to stop teasing and just bounce on his cock already.

You leaned closer to him and gently kissed him before positioning yourself on top of him, his tip right at your entrance. You whined as you slowly lowered yourself down, feeling his dick slowly slide between your legs. He felt incredible.

Leon was already hot and sweaty just feeling you on top of him, seeing your face contort with pleasure as you took his dick inside you. 

“So… so fucking tight…” he grunted out between desperate pants and gasps for air. Leon shut his eyes as he leaned back, staring up at your ceiling as he tried adjusting to the sensation of your tight walls practically milking his cock. 

You were whining loudly, not used to the sensation just yet, but after a second you managed to quiet down. 

“Feels so fucking good…” You moaned quietly as you placed one hand on Leon’s cheek. You leaned back slightly and sighed, taking in a few deep breaths before beginning to push yourself up and down, bouncing on Leon’s dick. 

Leon’s whimpers grew louder with each bounce; his eyes clenching shut for a few moments as you rode his dick. He was never one to be vocal in any situation, but now? He couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers that were escaping his lips. He was moaning like a whore. 

God, this felt wrong. He was supposed to protect you, keep you safe for your parents, now encourage you to ride him raw. But God, it felt so right, and your parents didn’t need to know about your fun time with your little knight. 

“Ah... ah… Leon...” you breathed as you kept bouncing on his cock at a steady, somewhat swift pace, your pussy desperately clutching onto his dick, not wanting this moment to even end. 

Your hand moved down Leon’s cheek as you admired his beauty. His eyes were welling up with tears, ashamedly. Leon’s dick was so sensitive, he hadn’t fucked a real pussy in years, this just felt so damn good to him. 

Leon moaned your name desperately as you leaned forward to kiss him, wanting to soothe his tears. “You’re doing so good… you feel so fucking good in me, Leon...” You moaned out, not bothering to quiet yourself. Leon’s eyes were glued to your chest, enjoying the way your tits bounced with each movement.

You were progressively getting louder and louder as you kept riding. Leon gripped your hips a bit tighter. “Your pussy feels amazing, baby…” Leon grunted out quietly, some tears beginning to slip as he felt his balls tighten up slightly in anticipation of an orgasm. 

Poor boy had been trying to hold it in this whole time. He’d been leaking precum since you pushed him onto the bed. If he wasn’t trying to wait for you to cum with him, he would’ve come while you were stroking him.

“You’re doing this so well, ah, fuck...” he added, his eyes shutting involuntarily as you moved your hand up and down his abs, your touch was intoxicating. “You ride so damn good…” he whispered to you, his hand rubbing your side. You began bouncing a bit faster, feeling his tip occasionally brush against your spongy spot. You moved your fingers down, gently rubbing circles into your clit.

“Ah! Fuck!” you squeaked as you felt his tip finally slam against your spot, making your whole-body twitch with pleasure. Leon felt you clench around his cock, causing him to whine out as his hips involuntarily bucked up into you, his tip pressing deeper into your spot. 

Leon bit his lip as he felt more tears leak, his vision blurry as he looked up at you. You wiped his tears as you kept bouncing on his dick. “So fucking good, you’re going to make me cum, you feel so good…” you breathed.

“Fuck… so tight, so wet, so perfect I- I’m gonna cum..!” Leon gasped out, his hips thrusting up involuntarily and beginning to stutter as he watched you squirm. You leaned your head back, squealing desperately as you felt yourself peak, squirting warm juices all over his abdomen. Your head was fuzzy, and you were dizzy in the aftermath of your orgasm. God, you didn’t even know you could squirt. Who knew Leon’s dick was all it took? 

Leon tightened his grip on your hips, forcing you down and still as he came, releasing his hot seed deep inside you. He sat there for a few moments before finally relaxing back down onto the bed as you pulled off of him, his cum dripping from between your legs. 

“Oh, fuck, baby… I should’ve pulled out, ‘m so sorry…” Leon said quietly as he gently rubbed your back. 

“It’s fine…” you assured him, your lips gently pressing against his neck as you rested against him. You were both sweaty, laying together in your bed as you pulled over the fluffy comforters to cover up your guys’ nude bodies. 

God, your parents would be pissed if they found out. If they knew the man they hired to protect their precious kid, heir to the throne, had fucked them raw in their bed in the castle they all lived in. And they’d be upset at you, too, for developing a relationship with someone that wasn’t arranged. The other staff would talk. The knights would be shocked that one of them had been so bold to do such a thing. The maids wouldn’t be happy having to clean up your bed. 

But right now, that didn’t matter. All that mattered to you was lying down next to a man who loved you; something you’d been wanting for forever. 

[mangooes]

Spring comes, so does the dragon

The afternoon sun dipped low over the endless flower fields just outside the bustling cityscape of Zone N109, bathing the world in a tapestry of golds, pinks, and deepening blues. It was as if time slowed in this place—where the only things that mattered were the whispering winds, the flutter of petals, and the laughter shared between two souls, three including Staryus.

(Name) stood at the trailhead, hand in hand with Sylus while Staryus, their rambunctious Siberian Husky, barked excitedly at their feet.

Her hand was warm in Sylus’s, the tall wildflowers brushing against their legs, bending softly as the Siberian Husky raced ahead, barking gleefully, diving nose-first into patches of flowers, sending colorful bursts into the air.

“You sure this isn’t a date for him?” Sylus teased, casting a glance at their overexcited dog.

(Name) laughed, the sound like the ringing of tiny bells.

“You know, I think Staryus’s more excited about this trip than you are,” (Name) teased.

She winked playfully, swinging their joined hands, nudging Sylus with her shoulder.

Sylus chuckled low, his crimson eyes glinting. “He’s got competition then, sweetie.”

Crimson eyes glinting with affection—and something deeper, something raw and endlessly content. There was no need for words right now. The simplicity of it—the way her hair glowed under the sun, how she smiled at every small thing—was enough to make his heart ache in the sweetest way.

But then, (Name)’s expression shifted—mischievous and daring.

“Tag—you’re it!” she cried suddenly, tapping his chest with her fingertips before whirling around and darting into the sea of flowers.

For a heartbeat, Sylus stood there, stunned and amused, watching his wife sprint away with Staryus yipping after her like a loyal little accomplice. A slow, predatory grin curled across his lips.

“You little minx…” he murmured.

And then he took off after her.

(Name)’s delighted laughter echoed around him, the sound winding through the fields like music. She weaved between tall blossoms and ducked behind low shrubs, Staryus bounding at her heels like a co-conspirator. Every time she glanced back, Sylus was closer, closing in with predatory grace that was unfairly elegant for a man so effortlessly dangerous.

“Too slow, Sysy!” she sang teasingly, tongue sticking out before she vanished behind a patch of towering white blooms.

“My my, getting cocky, aren't we?” Sylus growled, amused and utterly smitten.

It only took a few strides for him to catch her.

Just when she thought she’d lost him by ducking behind a cluster of taller blooms, he lunged, arms wrapping around her waist from behind, lifting her clean off the ground with a spin before tumbling them both gently onto the soft bed of flowers.

Petals exploded around them in a colorful storm, swirling like living confetti, the rich scent of earth and blooms enveloping them.

(Name) gasped in surprise, laughing breathlessly beneath him, her eyes wide and shimmering. She lay pinned under Sylus, her hair fanned out like a halo, framed by the golds and rainbows of the field.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Sylus braced himself above her, one knee on either side, his snowy hair falling into his eyes. His gaze—deep, crimson, and full of something ancient and devastatingly tender—raked over her features like he was memorizing every freckle, every breath, every heartbeat.

(Name) felt her cheeks flush under the weight of that look.

“What…” she managed, smiling up at him. “What are you staring at?”

“You,” Sylus said simply, voice rough and unguarded.

With a soft twirl of his fingers, his Evol sparked to life—dark red and black mist weaving in the air. The nearby wildflowers trembled, drawn by his will. Slowly, he crafted a delicate crown from the blossoms, stitching them together with unseen threads of energy, weaving colors into a symphony meant only for her.

When he was done, he placed it carefully atop her head, tilting his head slightly as if admiring his work.

“My flower queen,” he murmured with mock solemnity, but there was real reverence beneath his teasing.

(Name)’s heart thudded wildly. She could barely breathe from the way he looked at her—like she was precious, like she was his whole damn world.

But she wasn’t one to be outdone.

Smirking, she grabbed a small blue bloom from beside them and, sitting up a bit, tucked it behind Sylus’s ear. She gave him a firm pat on the cheek.

“And for my big scary drago.”

Sylus let out a genuine, deep laugh, eyes crinkling with amusement. “A dragon, huh? I was hoping for something more domestic.”

“Well, with how you live, I don't think domestic suits you at all.”

"I'm flattered you think so highly of me, kitten," he grinned.

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he collapsed fully onto her with a dramatic sigh, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

“Sylus!” (Name) shrieked, half-laughing, half-protesting as his weight pinned her down. “You’re crushing me, you big lump! Get off!”

“Mmm. Comfortable,” he rumbled smugly, snuggling closer.

“You’re like a whole boulder! You’re gonna break me in half!”

“In bed? Certainly.” He nuzzled into her, dropping lazy kisses along her throat. “You said I’m your dragon. Isn't this how dragons show their love to their mates?”

(Name) swatted at his back helplessly, giggling and squirming. “You’re a menace!”

He only chuckled, unbothered.

Finally, after much struggling (and many empty threats from (Name)), Sylus rolled off her with a smirk, dragging her onto his lap instead. She settled there, arms crossed and pouting half-heartedly, cheeks pink.

Around them, the field swayed with the gentle kiss of the wind. Overhead, the sky began bleeding into twilight, stars peeking shyly from the fabric of dusk.

Then (Name) spotted it—a strange stone structure a little farther down the path. Intricate and massive, it twisted like a frozen creature, a dragon’s spine etched into the land, its head carved nobly toward the sky.

“Look at that, Sysy…” she whispered, awe coloring her tone. “It’s… beautiful. Like something from a legend.”

Sylus’s smile softened, more bittersweet this time.

“It’s from an old story,” he said, his voice almost a murmur against her ear.

She tilted her head to him, curious.

“A dragon,” Sylus began, “cursed and sealed in the abyss. Alone. Silent. Lost. Until a sorceress came—bright and defiant. She freed him, taught him laughter. Love. For the first time, he wanted more than rage. But fate…”

His hand tightened slightly around hers. “Fate tore them apart. Death does not wait for lovers.”

(Name) swallowed around the ache rising in her chest. She reached down to thread her fingers through his. “That’s so sad...”

“It was never about the ending,” Sylus said. “It was about the fact they found each other at all.”

“I hope…” she whispered, fingers tightening on his, “I hope the dragon finds his lover again in the next life. Flowers and winds might mean goodbye… but whenever the wind blows, it carries a new purpose.”

Sylus’s heart clenched, painfully.

He pulled her even closer, pressing his forehead against hers, crimson eyes closed.

“Then this dragon will wait,” he said, voice trembling with a rare, naked emotion. “Every night, longing for the wind and petals to arrive.”

Their lips met—soft, lingering, burning with the weight of promises neither of them could voice fully. The kiss deepened, slow and savoring, a dance of heartbeats and hopes across lifetimes.

And just as the world could have faded into only them—

BAM!

Staryus plowed into them like a fuzzy cannonball, knocking them both down with a tumble of limbs, laughter, and wild barking. Petals rained down again, as Sylus and (Name) collapsed into helpless giggles, pinned once again—but this time by a very proud Husky.

Lying there in a mess of tangled limbs, flowers, and love, Sylus tightened his hold on (Name)’s hand, anchoring himself to this moment.

His home.

His heart.

His soul.

His forever.

HELOOOOO ASKDJA I AM okay first off all i am so sorry for not uploading for like almost a week (??) i was finalizing my exam so i didn't have time to publish anything and now that i've finished, i saw the new multi banner trailer and had to write this cuz GUYS SYLUS KISS CARD WE WON AGAIN OMG

[smutmind]

Roadside Encounter

Jisoo x Male OC

Heat shimmered off the blacktop, the Nevada highway stretching out like a dare.

Jisoo stood beside her dead car, thumb out, lips pursed. Her blue knitted blazer clung prim over her frame, too proper for the desert. Tight jeans hugged her hips, and her glossed pink lips caught the sun when she sighed.

The motorcycle rumbled up like thunder. He cut the engine before she saw his face.

He stepped off—broad-shouldered, arms thick under a stained flannel. His jeans were sun-faded and grease-smudged. Mid-fifties, maybe. A silver beard roughened his jaw. Hands that looked like they lived inside engines.

“You stranded?” he asked, voice low and sandpapery.

She nodded. “Car’s dead. No signal.”

“I can tow you up to the next gas station,” he said, glancing at the undercarriage. “Ain’t free though.”

She crossed her arms under her chest. “I don’t have cash.”

His eyes dragged over her slowly. “Didn’t ask for cash.”

She tilted her head. “What, then?”

He leaned closer, voice dropping. “You know what.”

There was a long beat. Jisoo’s lips curved slightly. Her eyes gleamed—not with surprise, but amusement. She looked down, then back up, letting silence do the rest.

“You’re not subtle,” she said.

“Neither are you,” he said, nodding to her outfit. “You dress like a Catholic schoolgirl, but you’ve got the look of trouble.”

She smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

He stepped back, motioning to his bike. “You in? There’s a bathroom at the next station.”

Jisoo pulled open the back door, glanced over her shoulder. “Why wait for a bathroom,” she said, “when this backseat’s already useless?”

He stared at her. Sweat clung to his neck. His jeans rode low on his hips. “You sure?”

She leaned in, giving him a full view of her ass as she crawled across the seat. “I’ve been sure since you looked at me like I was a tune-up you wanted to ruin.”

He didn’t ask again.

He followed her in, the car creaking as he ducked low. The door slammed shut behind him, trapping them in dry heat and fading light. She was sprawled on the seat, blazer slipping off one shoulder, jeans tight enough to make a man swear.

“Take ’em off,” he growled, hands already tugging at the waistband.

“Make me,” she smirked, lifting her hips.

He popped the button. The denim peeled down her thighs, inch by inch, dragging her soaked scent into the air.

“No panties,” he muttered.

“I told you,” she whispered, biting her lip. “Devil in disguise.”

He shoved his jeans down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed, dripping at the tip.

Jisoo locked eyes with him. “Put it in. I want you raw.”

He didn’t hesitate. Gripped her thighs. Lined up.

“You better be loud,” she said. “If a truck drives by, I want them jealous.”

He pushed in hard.

Jisoo’s head hit the window with a moan. “Fuck—yes. Just like that.”

The car rocked instantly, old shocks groaning with every thrust. He grunted into her neck, his hips slapping into hers with steady, punishing rhythm.

“You’re soaked,” he hissed.

“You’re fucking huge,” she gasped.

He grabbed her by the throat—not tight, just enough to hold her still. “You like being used like this?”

“God, yes,” she moaned. “I like being your payment. Use me up.”

He growled, pulled her leg higher, opening her wide. His cock slammed deep, rough, her moans turning into broken, breathless cries.

“You gonna come?” he demanded.

“Not yet,” she panted. “You first. I want it in me. Fill me up, mechanic.”

That broke him.

Something in her voice—the filth, the command, the invitation—unleashed him.

He grabbed her hips and fucked her harder. Fast. Brutal. No rhythm now, just raw need crashing into sweat-slick skin. The car rocked on its springs, old shocks squealing with every slam. Her back hit the door. Her moans pitched into gasps.

“Take it,” he growled. “Take every fucking inch.”

“I am,” she panted, eyes wild, mouth open. “Give me more. I can take it—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He drove into her like he was trying to stay alive. His fingers dug bruises into her thighs, her cunt clenching tight around him, wet and relentless. Her nails raked down his back, dragging skin.

“You feel that?” he rasped against her ear. “You’re sucking me in—you want my cum that bad?”

“Every drop,” she whispered. “I want to feel it leaking out when you pull away.”

That did it.

He cursed—loud, ragged—as he came, hips jerking, body shuddering over hers. His cock throbbed deep inside, pulse after pulse flooding her. He stayed buried, growling her name, forehead pressed to hers, breath hot and broken.

Jisoo locked her ankles around his back, pulled him deeper. “That’s it,” she whispered, biting his jaw. “Give it to me. Make it messy.”

He gasped, still twitching inside her. She could feel it. The warmth. The flood. She clenched again, slow and cruel, milking him with every flex of her slick, greedy walls.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice cracking. “You’re... you’re insane.”

But she wasn’t done.

Her body still buzzed, skin flushed, thighs trembling—but her hunger hadn’t dulled. If anything, his orgasm had lit something hotter.

Jisoo pushed him back until he landed hard against the opposite door, his chest rising, still gasping. His cock hung slick and twitching, half-hard and glistening with both of them.

She slid down between his legs like a woman on a mission.

“Damn,” he murmured, watching her. “You’re serious.”

She shot him a wicked smile. “Deadly.”

Her fingers wrapped around him—warm, firm, deliberate. She ran her thumb through the mess leaking down his shaft, dragged it in slow circles around the head. Then leaned in, tongue flat, and licked a long, filthy stripe up the underside.

He twitched. “Fuck—”

“Shhh,” she breathed. “Let me clean you up.”

She took him into her mouth, slow and reverent at first. Her lips sealed around the head, tongue swirling in soft, wet circles. He was still sensitive, hips jerking with every pull.

“You’re still pulsing,” she whispered, glancing up. “Still dripping.”

“Because you wrecked me,” he growled. “That mouth—fuck…”

She sucked again, this time deeper. Not trying to tease—just savoring the taste. Hers and his, tangled and thick. She moaned around him, like it turned her on all over again.

He groaned low, one hand sliding into her hair, not guiding, just holding. Needing the contact.

“God, look at you,” he said. “So fucking pretty with cum on your lips.”

She pulled off just enough to smirk, tongue flicking against the swollen head. “You’re getting hard again.”

“No shit.”

She grinned, slow and devilish. “Good. You’ve got more to give.”

Then she went down again—deeper this time, throat relaxing, hand stroking what she couldn’t swallow. Her eyes never left his, even as she swallowed around him, even as his fingers curled tighter into her hair and the car swayed again with rising need.

This time, she was in control.

“Sweet and salty,” she murmured. “You want round two?”

He stared at her, wrecked and still pulsing.

She smiled like sin. “Thought so.”

[strawberry-bubblef]

Dormleaders with a Zaun!Reader that used to be a shimmer addict?

Dormleader with a s/o who's a old shimmer addict

Synopsis: Once addicted to Shimmer in the undercity of Zaun, you’ve fought your way to sobriety.The dormleaders slowly uncover the truth about your past, each reacting in their own way to the strength and pain you carry beneath your calm exterior.

What is shimmer?:Shimmer is a dangerous, glowing chemical from Zaun that enhances strength and abilities but causes severe physical and mental side effects, often leading to addiction and deterioration.

Riddle Rosehearts

When you first arrived at NRC, Riddle noticed you immediately,but not because you were loud or rebellious. It was because there was something in your posture, in your eyes. Sharp, alert. Like you were always expecting something to go wrong. Like a coiled spring. It reminded him of the tension he used to live in himself.

You didn’t tell him about the Shimmer right away, but your body told its own stories.

Your movements were too fast, sometimes frighteningly so. There were moments where you reacted before something happened,jerking back from a sneeze, ducking at a sudden sound.

Your strength, too,Riddle saw it in how your fingers crushed a glass jar by accident when you were too distracted. In the way you once pulled a heavy table back into place like it weighed nothing. And after, you looked at your hands like they didn’t belong to you.

Riddle never commented on it. Not until you opened up.

You explained the enhanced abilities, the edge Shimmer gave you. The strength, the speed, the clarity,how it made you feel like you were finally enough. And then how it all collapsed. How it left you shattered, panicked, and hollow when it was gone.

He listened without a word, his eyes filled with something complicated. Not pity. Not fear. But fierce, quiet sorrow that you had ever felt the need to break yourself just to feel whole.

"You don’t need power that harms you," he said, reaching for your hand. "You’re already strong. You survived. You recovered."

Riddle helps you manage the aftermath,because the changes didn’t go away entirely. Your body still remembers Shimmer, and sometimes your hands shake from phantom surges of adrenaline. Sometimes you still overestimate your strength, or feel a craving for that edge when you’re pushed too far.

Mentally, the scars are deeper.

Some days you can’t focus. Other days you hyperfocus until you're dizzy. There are nights when your dreams turn violent, your breathing shallow and fast even as you sleep. Riddle studies everything about you,not to control, but to understand.

Riddle learns to anchor you when the world starts spinning. He lets you talk when the past comes clawing back, and never once calls you "unstable" or "dangerous." He corrects others if they whisper or judge.

"You are not your past," he says firmly. "And if anyone dares reduce you to it, they’ll answer to me."

Sometimes he forgets himself in how protective he becomes.

But more than anything, he’s proud of you. Every moment you choose to live gently, to breathe, to rest, to heal,Riddle sees it as a victory. He doesn’t care that your strength came from Shimmer. He cares that now, your strength is truly your own.

Leona Kingscholar

You weren’t planning to tell Leona. Not ever.

He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you thought would understand. Too proud. Too blunt. Too smart to waste time on someone like you,someone who had clawed their way out of an addiction that promised power, only to lose everything in the end. Someone who still woke up some mornings with trembling hands and an ache in their chest, mourning something they weren’t even sure they wanted anymore.

But of course, Leona noticed.

He always noticed things no one else did,how your reaction speed was a little too sharp for someone with no combat training. How your eyes stayed too wide in dark rooms. How you carried yourself like someone used to being strong, but suddenly unsure of your own body.

“Oi,” he muttered once, watching you crush a training dummy with a little too much force. “You always fight like your life’s on the line?”

You laughed it off.

He didn’t push but his eyes stayed on you.

You told him on accident. Not with words, at first. You were both lying in the shade of a tree in the Savannaclaw training yard, sun heavy on your back, and he was half-asleep beside you. You thought he was out cold when you said it,soft, broken, bitter:

“I miss how it made me feel. The strength. The clarity. The speed. Like I was finally enough.”

The silence that followed was heavy. You froze, heart racing.

Then: a deep sigh. A rustle of fabric. Leona cracked one eye open and stared at you not with anger or judgment, but something quieter. Sharper. Sadder.

“You were enough before it. You’re enough now.”

You scoffed, bitter. “You don’t get it.”

“Tch. Don’t I?”

And that was the first time you saw it,that under all that arrogance and sleepy apathy, Leona knew. He knew what it was like to chase power because the world told you you weren’t good enough without it. He knew what it meant to want to matter,to be the strongest, the fastest, the best, because otherwise you’d just fade into nothing.

“You don’t owe anyone a damn explanation,” he said one day as you confessed more,shaky hands, lost time, scars you kept covered. “But you do owe yourself a future. Don’t waste it mourning the past.”

He didn’t treat you like glass. He didn’t treat you like you were fragile. But he did learn how to tell when the withdrawal was getting bad.

When the old instincts surged back,when your fingers twitched with phantom power, or your legs couldn’t stop bouncing, or you snapped at someone for breathing too loud,he didn’t scold or soothe. He simply dropped a weighted training vest in your lap, arms crossed.

"You wanna feel strong again? Earn it. Come train.”

You hated him for it. Then you loved him for it.

And on the worst days,when the craving was so loud you couldn’t hear anything else,Leona didn’t say a word. He’d just pull you into a quiet room, sit with you on the floor, and let your body tremble until the storm passed. No shame. No guilt. Just warmth. Just presence.

“You think I care what you used to be?” he murmured once when you tried to apologize. “You’re not broken. You’re just healing. There’s a difference.”

You looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper.

“What if I always feel like something’s missing? What if I never feel that powerful again?”

Leona’s eyes burned gold in the dark.

“Good,” he said, voice low. “Because that power wasn’t yours. It was borrowed. Rented. Forced. This? What you build now? That’s yours. That’s real.”

He never tried to save you.

He just stayed.

He never looked at you like you were less.

He looked at you like someone who’d survived something monstrous and still had teeth left.

And when you flinched from a sudden sound or moved too fast, and someone whispered about you behind your back, Leona bared his fangs.

“Say that again,” he growled to one of them once, “and I’ll show you what fear really looks like.”

That day, no one dared whisper again.

Because Leona didn’t just accept your past,he defended your future.

And you realized, slowly, painfully, beautifully:

You didn’t need to be powered by Shimmer to be strong.

You had people now. You had Leona.

And somehow, for the first time in years,you felt enough.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is not unfamiliar with ambition or the ways people break themselves in the pursuit of it. When you confide in him about your past with Shimmer, he listens in complete silence. No interruptions, no judgment. Just a heavy, still sort of attentiveness, like your words are sacred things, even the painful ones.

He’s read about the drug before. Knew of it as a weapon disguised as salvation. Shimmer promised clarity, strength, purpose and stole everything else. But knowing it from books is nothing compared to hearing it from the lips of the person he cherishes.

He notices how your hands sometimes shake, how your gaze occasionally zones out as if haunted by a phantom rush. The toll on your body is quiet but relentless: your limbs ache like old metal gears, your stamina falters more than it should, and sometimes your heart races without reason. When your strength surges in strange, uncontrolled bursts, the recoil leaves you sore and nauseous.

Azul adjusts to your rhythms. He memorizes the signs of fatigue in your posture, the way your shoulders slump when you’re fighting the weight of your memories. He studies you the same way he used to study business contracts,meticulously, with care and precision but this time with gentleness at the center of it all.

He never treats your trauma as a flaw. To him, it's a quiet war you survived, and surviving is admirable in itself.

The emotional damage is deeper, trickier. Some days you question your worth without the artificial brilliance Shimmer once gave you. You remember how it sharpened your focus, how it made you feel capable,powerful, even and now, off it, you sometimes feel like a shadow of what you were. Azul recognizes that hollow ache far too well. It mirrors how he once felt, years ago, trying to earn respect through false confidence and borrowed power.

He doesn’t push you to open up more than you want to. But when you do, he listens intently. And while he rarely says much in return, his actions speak clearly: the way he organizes your routine to avoid triggers, how he adjusts the lounge’s lights when you seem overstimulated, how he never lets you face your bad days alone.

He knows how withdrawal leaves you frayed,emotionally volatile, exhausted, unable to connect your thoughts the way you used to. He never blames you for your lows. He sees them as part of the healing process, not a regression. Recovery, to him, isn’t a straight line but a tide,sometimes rising, sometimes falling, but always moving.

He makes space for your strength to return on its own.

And on the rare days when you catch yourself smiling with no effort, when your body doesn’t ache and your head feels clear, he watches you like you’ve conjured a miracle. Because to him, you have.

Not through magic. Not through borrowed power. But through your own stubborn will to keep going.

And that,more than any potion, any contract, any deal is what makes you extraordinary in his eyes.

Kalim Al Asim

Kalim has never lived through anything like what you’ve been through, but he listens. He listens with his whole heart.

When you first told him, he didn’t flinch. Not because he wasn’t shocked, but because he didn’t want you to think he was disgusted. He wasn’t. Just... quietly heartbroken. Not at you, never at you but at the thought of you suffering in silence, once needing something so harmful just to feel enough.

He notices the way you wince when you get up too fast, the strange tremors that come and go, the headaches that roll in like waves and leave you curling in on yourself. Shimmer didn’t just damage your body,it rewrote it. Strength that used to surge like a storm now comes in erratic flashes, often too much, or not at all. Sometimes your hands are too quick, your reflexes too sharp, other times they’re useless.

You used to feel unstoppable on it. Strong. Brilliant. Like the world finally made sense. But the crash was always waiting. That hollow, panicked void that tore through you once the glow faded.

Kalim never pretends to understand what that was like but he knows what it’s like to want to be better, to be more. And that’s something he connects with deeply.

Emotionally, recovery is harder. Shimmer took more than just health,it took your confidence, your ability to trust yourself. You sometimes shrink back, questioning your place, questioning why someone like him would care so much. Some days are loud inside your head, louder than even the chaos of the dorm you used to call home.

But Kalim doesn't see you as broken.

He sees your courage in every step you take without it. Every morning you wake up and choose to keep going. He builds routines around your comfort. He fills the silence at your pace,gently, patiently. He never tries to drown your thoughts with noise but offers his presence like a sunbeam breaking through the fog.

When your moods swing unpredictably, he doesn’t judge. When your energy falters mid-day, he’s already handing you something warm to drink and suggesting a nap, no pressure. When you relapse emotionally,when guilt eats at you or you hate your body for how it’s changed,he doesn't give speeches. He just stays. Close enough for comfort, far enough to let you breathe.

And when you smile again,not the forced kind, not the polite one but the real, soft, almost-teary one... it makes him tear up too. Because he knows that smile wasn’t easy. You earned it.

You’re not your past, and Kalim never ties you to it. He sees all of you,tender, tired, healing and loves you for the strength you don’t even realize you have.

And maybe, slowly, you start to believe it too.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil first suspected something was wrong during a training session.

You moved too sharply. Not the kind of grace born from control, but the kind that came from compulsion. The snap of your limbs, the way your breath caught mid,motion, your eyes,too wide, too aware, like you were constantly scanning for a threat.

You were fast. Too fast. Stronger than your frame should allow. And when you sparred with someone, your eyes glittered not with challenge but with fear. Desperation.

Vil noticed.

He always noticed.

At first, he chalked it up to nerves. Maybe a traumatic past. NRC wasn’t known for coddling its students, after all. But it was the way your mask slipped, late one night in Pomefiore’s lounge, that shattered his assumptions.

You had been sitting on the velvet couch, knees to your chest, staring into a half-empty cup of lukewarm tea. Your hair was messy, your breathing shallow. You didn’t flinch when he entered,you never flinched but you didn’t meet his gaze, either.

“I used to use something,” you said without preamble, voice cracked like dry glass. “A drug. Shimmer. It made me faster. Stronger. Smarter. It made me feel amazing. Like I was finally enough.”

Vil stood there in silence.

You continued. “But it was fake. I fell apart. Everything collapsed. I still feel it in my bones sometimes, like my muscles are screaming for something that isn’t there anymore. And I’m terrified I’ll never be whole without it.”

The room was thick with tension. Vil crossed the space between you with slow, calculated steps, like a dancer walking on stage.

He knelt before you.

And with more gentleness than you thought possible from him, he placed a hand on your cheek.

>“You are already whole,” he murmured. “Shimmer did not make you beautiful. It only blurred the mirror.”

You almost broke right there.

Vil didn’t look at you with pity. He looked at you like someone who understood. Like someone who knew what it meant to chase perfection until it destroyed you from the inside out.

He asked questions,not out of curiosity, but from a desire to help you regain control of your narrative. What did the withdrawal feel like? Did your body still tremble when you were alone? Did you ever look in the mirror and feel wrong?

You told him everything.

The crushing fatigue. The nightmares. The muscle spasms. The haunting silence that followed the drug’s voice in your head,the one that whispered you were only worth something when you glowed.

"I don't even remember what I was like before that.."You mumbled

Vil cupped your face in both hands, eyes sharp as diamonds.

“Then we relearn them. Together.”

He became your anchor in a way no one else could.

He built you routines. Skincare rituals to ground your mornings. Meditation to center your breath. Meals tailored to rebuild what Shimmer had drained from your bones. Exercise but not the brutal kind that punished your body. The kind that taught you to trust it again.

He held you when you shook.

He watched over you when the tremors hit, and he never turned away from the panic in your eyes. If you tried to push him away, he only stepped closer.

And when you started to mourn the power,because gods, how addictive that strength had been,he didn’t scold you.

He simply said:

“Even the most dazzling illusion cannot compare to true brilliance. You’ve endured something few survive. What shines from you now,that is real.”

He helped you feel beautiful again.

Not because of how you looked. But because of who you were despite it all.

And the first time you told him, “I feel like I’m starting to come back to myself,” he smiled,not his poised, public smile, but something softer. More personal. Almost proud.

“Good,” he said, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “Because I’ve missed you.”

Idia Shroud

You thought it would break him.

Idia didn’t exactly strike most people as someone strong enough to handle something that dark. He was awkward, closed-off, and anxious even on good days. So when you finally admitted your past,the addiction, the withdrawals, the hallucinations,his silence was deafening.

He didn’t speak for what felt like minutes.

Just sat there, eyes hidden behind the soft blue glow of his hair, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

“…Wow,” he finally mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve… been through final boss-level hell.”

You blinked. That wasn’t the reaction you expected.

He wasn’t looking at you, not yet,but he kept talking.

“I mean, I—I don’t know what it’s like, obviously. But, um. Shimmer. That stuff’s no joke, right? Like, super high risk. I read somewhere it's practically chemical warfare in a bottle. And you got out of that.”

You still didn’t know if that was admiration or fear in his voice. Maybe both.

And then he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

His eyes were wide and uncertain, but not disgusted. Not judgmental. Just… overwhelmed. “You’re still here. That’s like… major protagonist energy.”

A breath escaped you,half a laugh, half a sob. “You’re not freaked out?”

“Of course I’m freaked out!” he exclaimed, hands flying up, voice rising in pitch. “But not at you! I’m freaked out that someone I care about almost didn’t make it. That you had to go through that alone. That no one,no one helped you!”

The room was quiet again, save for the faint beeping of something in the background from one of his monitors.

He shifted a little closer, awkward but intentional. “I mean, I can’t exactly, like… slay your demons or anything. But I’m pretty good at boss support roles, y’know?”

His fingers grazed yours, hesitant, but steady. “So if they ever show up again,those urges, or memories or whatever,I’ll be here. I got buffs. Shields. Emotional potions. Whatever you need.”

You smiled at him. Not the fake kind. The kind that trembles because it means something.

Idia cleared his throat, hair flaring pink at the edges. “Also… uh… if you ever want someone to stay up with you on the rough nights… I already don’t sleep, so… you know. I’m optimal for 3AM emotional support.”

He wasn’t a knight in shining armor. He was a gamer gremlin with social anxiety and a deeply buried heart of gold. But he meant it when he said he’d be there.

And somehow, that meant more than any heroic rescue ever could.

Malleus Draconia

You didn’t expect him to understand.

After all, how could a prince,an ancient fae raised in dignity and power,ever truly grasp what it meant to claw your way out of a place like Zaun? To live with something as suffocating and corrosive as Shimmer? You weren’t sure why you told him. Maybe because you were tired of hiding it. Or maybe because… a part of you hoped he’d stay anyway.

“I used to be addicted to Shimmer,” you said quietly one night, eyes on the moonlit sky outside Ramshackle’s broken window. “It nearly destroyed me.”

Malleus didn’t speak at first.

Just silence,profound and weighty, like the pause between thunder and lightning. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, but there was no fear in them. No revulsion. Only a quiet, aching sorrow.

“...And yet,” he murmured at last, “you still stand before me.”

You turned to look at him, heart in your throat. “You don’t… you’re not disgusted?”

“Disgusted?” His voice was calm, but a flicker of something sharp echoed underneath. “No. I am angry. That the world failed you so deeply. That the path you walked was one where such suffering became survival.”

He rose from where he sat, crossing the room until he was close,so close you could feel the magic humming gently off his skin like a storm barely contained.

“I have lived for centuries, Y/N. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall. But you… you survived something far crueler than time.”

You couldn’t help it,you looked away, shame crawling under your skin. “It wasn’t strength. It was desperation.”

Malleus’s hand was suddenly on your cheek, cool and gentle. “There is strength in desperation. Even dragons, in the end, fly because they must.”

Your throat tightened. “It changed me. I’m not,lean. I’m not whole. That poison… it left pieces in me I can’t even name.”

“I do not seek perfection,” he whispered. “I seek you. All your cracks. All your scars. All the shadows you carry. You are not broken,you are proof that even in the darkest night, something beautiful can still burn.”

His other hand found yours, curling his fingers around your palm with infinite care. “Let the world say what it will. But I, Malleus Draconia, will never abandon you for the fire you survived.”

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that you had once belonged to Zaun’s underworld. That your past was laced with hallucinations and sleepless nights and cravings that ate you alive.

Because to him,you were still worthy.

Still wanted.

Still loved.

English is not my first language !

[thehatboxwitch]

them as japanese p rn tropes

fem!reader / pt. 2 (jing yuan and aventurine)

childe

he's the sleazy coworker, the one who ogles your boobs whenever you bend over and thinks pencil skirts are a gift to humanity (his dick).

of course, accepting his invitation to hang out and drink at his place is a sure sign that you're not as innocent as you look.

and when he has you on the carpet, legs folded up to your chest, looking so sweet and breedable just for him, he realises you're not wearing underwear. just stockings. and a gasket blows in his mind.

there's an adult movie playing on the tv, but he's muted it. he wants to hear your voice and your voice only, after all.

he fucks you slowly at first, relishing the way your boobs ripple with the movement in your tight office blouse. you might be wearing a smaller one today, because the buttons are straining and he can see a peek of your lacey bra underneath.

your walls squeeze and flutter around him, betraying your need, but childe ignores it for now.

"so pretty, so, so pretty, all for me..." he mutters, still rocking his hips, grinding gently into you. the buttons come open with ease, revealing a scrap of red lace, transparent so he can see your hardened nipples.

he pauses. you seem to know what's coming next and squeeze around his dick in anticipation.

"you little slut," he growls in delight, slamming into your g-spot with such accuracy that you cry his name.

he sets a frightening pace, his dick scraping against every inch of your ribbed walls you've never been able to reach on your own, and you wonder, did he just get bigger?

"gonna cum inside, fill you up, inside inside inside," he chants, lost in his pleasure and tugging down your bra. your boobs spring free, now rippling freely like a wave. he ducks his head, suckling on one nipple, a hand coming up to tease the other one.

"ajax! oh, please, please, i'm so close," you moan, the pressure in your lower tummy building.

"with me," he mumbles, switching to your other nipple. "cum with me, baby, together..."

your rapidly contracting walls betray how close you are, and his dick twitches and twitches inside of you. childe grabs your leg, slinging it over his shoulder so his dick reaches even deeper into you, and the new position is just what you need for the dam to break.

you scream his name. you clamp down on him, hard, your back arching taut, pushing your breast further into his mouth. he cums at the same time, ropes of thick, hot cum filling you up in a place you hadn't even known was empty.

he's still pistoning into you at a violent pace, fucking you both through your first orgasm of the night.

blade

funny guy has funny tastes. if you'd known that one of his favourite things to do was to have you tied up and restrained, you would have... well, nothing, seeing as you enjoyed it just as much as he.

you were under the dining table, draped over the support crossbars and trying to clear out a particularly stubborn cobweb. blade eyes you hungrily, feeling his cock just begin to strain at his pants. he can see the outline of your panties through your clothes, the lucious curve of your ass tempting him to do something only in his fantasies.

then you pull back and stop.

"um, blade? a little help?"

his patience snaps. striding up to you, he lands a glancing blow on your behind. you yelp, your back arching. "hey, what was that for?"

he doesn't care. blade gives himself a moment to fix the image of your ass in his mind, then pulls down your clothes and underwear in one smooth movement.

"you little bitch," he snarls. a string of your arousal stretches from your pussy to your underwear. "fucking slut."

he slides his dick back and forth in your inner lips, coating it in slick and the tip rubbing aginst your clit. you moan, your back arching, grinding against him to try and get more friction.

blade reaches under the table and tugs you free, hoisting you up into his arms and carrying you to the couch.

another slap. you whimper, trying to turn back to get a look at him, but he grabs your head and forces it down.

"a slut like you shouldn't even be looking at me," he growls.

he spreads your asscheeks with his thumbs. the movement has your pussy weeping a few drops of cum onto his slick, wet dick.

"slut," he mutters again, half to himself, and slams himself into you.

you gasp, back arching, the fabric of the couch crinkling under your grip. "bla~ade," you moan angelically.

"shut up," he commands, pulling you roughly into him again. your shut up obediently. the flesh of your ass ripples up your body, and he can just see your boobs swaying to his rhythm.

he leans over you to whisper into your ear. "does my naughty little slut wanna cum?" he whispers, his gravelly voice sending sparks into your lower tummy.

you can feel his dick, thick and rock-hard, weighing down inside of you, and you can almost imagine the outline of it showing through your tummy. you nod.

he pistons his hips into yours, humping like an animal in heat, aiming right for the most sensitive gummy spot within you. you whimper and moan, your back arching in pleasure, and then you feel his hand clasp your boob to stimulate your nipple roughly.

"no-!" you squirm against his hold, but blade has you completely pinned. his other hand snakes down to where the two of you are connected, flesh smacking together and ringing through the room.

"if you want to cum, then cum." you can hear the smile in his voice as his hand finds your sensitive little nub and rubs it fiercely.

the pressure in your lower tummy spikes, and you claw at the couch as you cum, looking for something to hold onto. "bladebladeblade, ah, harder, please~"