natangelix

𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 🔞 ✮ m.list ✮ ao3

[artemiseamoon]

A wish come true

Eddie (btvs) / Marcus Pike (the mentalist) x F reader

fluffy mashup one shot

An: For the sake of this AU let’s imagine his full name is ‘Marcus Edward Pike’, but he went by Eddie in his younger years. 

Rating: General  | Warnings: None unless you hate fluff and happy reunions |  Eddie/ Marcus x Female Reader (no y/n)   | Gif credits: made by me | Words: 890

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[popcornforone]

Pure

Day Eight of the Seasons of Life Drabble Challenge

A Pero Tovar Fic

MASTERLIST

We’ve been going over a week, we are now into Spring & the prompt of Blossom. I’ve never written for Pero before, so I’ve tried not to make him as grumpy as he actually is.

Synopsis:- The Cherry Blossom isn’t the only thing catching his eyes

Word count:-290

Warning:- Arranged Marriage

Thanks as always @lady-bess @berryispunk @fanfictionoverload I do have a question though. I have 2 short linked fics for the same day a bit further down the line, can I post them both? It will make sense I promise.

Also thanks for the support & for reading these peoples.

There you stand. Admiring the cherry blossoms. So free. So fresh. So at one with everything. A sheer sight of beauty. A sight you will never forget. You softly smile as you touch some of the blossom, some of it falling into your hand. A light dusting.

“It’s how ive always imagined” you say.

“Only the best for you my beautiful bride” Pero says. He is admiring your innocent beauty. Enjoying the view of the beautiful trees & blossoms but also you, in your white dress, your bare feet & the way you caress the flower. You softly turn around & face him.

“& I will only be the best wife for just my husband.” You are an arranged marriage to Pero but he selected you over four other ladies. You blushed as pink as the blossoms when he kissed you. Felt as light as a petal as he held your hand. & now here you stand. The light touching you, making the scene even more angelical, a beauty he has never seen before.

“& I…” he steps next to you & holds your hand “…promise to be the most loyal & loving husband. I promise to respect you & love you forever”

“Is that a smile?” You tease. Pero is well known for being very moody & grumpy. His moustache twitches & his eyes dance, draw into your glorious beauty.

“Like I said, my wife gets the best.” His head leans into your personal space. His large hand capturing your face, before those red plump lips embrace yours. You will get this smooth sensual kiss every day for the rest of your life with your charming husband, who’s only happy when he is with you, his beautiful bride.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Dreams - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Twelve of Pedrotober 2025: Acacius, Gladiator II Pedrotober is hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. Find the complete prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober 2025 catalog HERE.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader Summary: You and Acacius dream of a future you can never have. Rating: G for Genuinely made myself cry writing Acacius again. Word Count: 766 a/n: I love Acacius more than I could ever express to you and I am here to inform you that he is alive and well after I tended to his wounds and anyone who suggests that he's dead is incorrect. So anyway, this was total self-service and it's also dedicated to my fellow Acacius wife, @softpascalito. Also very loosely based on THIS song!

"Tell me what you dream of," he asks of you.

Acacius is settled with his head in your lap, just as it had been since he'd pulled you from your bed at the first hint of morning light. He'd led you to the garden, content, settled in a way he hasn't been. Almost as though for the first time since he came back to you he was actually here with you, in the quiet that he's been deprived of for so long.

You hesitate. "You know most of it," you begin tentatively, because he does and there's no sense in repeating it. Not when his fate isn't really his to decide. When there's no argument that you can make to him or anyone else that will allow you what you desire most.

He looks up at you with tired eyes, one hand reaching to brush through your hair as the other tightens around where yours sits against his chest. "I know, my love, but what else?"

It's a simple question, what it is that you wish for most in the world, but you realize now that it has been far too long since you allowed yourself to dream beyond the immediate. To think of what could be possible if your reality was not your own. To seek beyond the horrors you so often find in slumber and past the echo of his screams, the ones that linger even in your waking hours. You know you had believed them to be possible, once, when you were younger and he'd spent more time with you than you spent apart, but they'd long been forgotten.

And yet, he slowly draws them back to you now.

You tangle your fingers in his curls, pushing them back from his forehead in methodical movements as you let yourself imagine a different existence. One where you are never threatened by the possibility of living in the world without him, one where you wake in his embrace and he drifts off in yours. One not unlike the respite you feel now, but without the ticking of the clock that slowly counts toward his next departure, where meals are just meals and meetings are just meetings and there's never the threat of something more.

Of losing him.

"I suppose," you start softly, pausing for a moment as you search for your words, "...I suppose I should dream of children."

"Do you?" he questions without hesitation, as though the thought has lingered silently in his mind for far too long. "Even now?"

A long breath releases from your lungs. "Not now," you answer him, the response familiar to his ears, "not in this world. But in another, perhaps. One where a little girl might grow up in her father's embrace and a son is taught to wield a sword not for use in battle, but simply to grow agile and strong." You pause for a moment, still considering what you had once pictured for your life with Acacius, before the war, before the fear. "We'd live in a house just big enough for all of us, somewhere in the countryside, far from here. Somewhere quiet."

His gaze darkens slightly, but he lets the silence linger, just the soft call of birdsong filling the space in between.

"And I dream of nights with you," you continue, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Of your skin against my own, and of mornings where I wake in your arms. Of a life without violence, where I need not worry about living in a world where the sun burns without you."

Acacius closes his eyes, undoubtedly picturing the existence you've laid out for him, but the weight of the world slowly creeps back in as you watch him, the darkness clouding the edge of your vision. It's blinding, but you welcome it the same way you always have. The way you both have, with the knowledge that it is easier to go on believing it's something you'll never have than to hang on to the hope that it will in a world where it won't.

In a future where you both know it never can.

There's a call of your name from somewhere in the house. A maid, perhaps, searching for you as the rest of the world awakens, but your husband stops you. "Let me just lay here for a moment longer," he requests, and you cannot deny him. Not as the sun's golden glow warms you both and you allow him this moment, bathed in a small piece of the dream that you know will never become reality.

[littledes1re]

Deep

Cw: +18, mean!joel, really desperate/needy reader, sub!reader, deep throat, crying, oral m!receiving, degradation, unspecified age gap, cum swallowing, lot's of saliva, slapping, hair pulling/yanking

A/N: today is my birthday, so yall are getting fed!!! It's very short, but yummy and i just couldn't get these pics out of my head, like he looks so huge and dada...sooo enjoy pookies <33

The floorboards are cold under your knees, but you don't care about that right now.

Your eyes are too wide, too wet, too desperate, looking up at him with an unbearable ache between your legs and saliva watering inside your mouth. 

Joel towers over you, hands planted on his hips, his jaw tight, eyebrows furrowed. He's looking down at you like you're something he scraped off of his boot. Unimpressed. Bordering on disgusted.

And you know it. You know how much he hates you. 

His jeans strain across his thighs, and there—right fucking there—that thick swell of him, rock hard already, pressing against the denim, swollen in need. Above it, that soft pudge of his belly, that little curve you've pressed your face into a hundred times only when he lets you. Only when he's feeling generous. 

Your eyes drift to that spot you love so much, picturing his cock already leaking for you. 

He tsks sharply, the sound cutting through the tense air like a whip. 

Your gaze snaps back up, but it's already too late. His eyes have gone dark, narrowed down at you with something sharp and cold. Annoyance. Disdain.

"Too god damn desperate," he growls, his voice low and gravelly. "For your own good."

You can't help but nod frantically, your mouth already watering at the thought of him, saliva pooling under your tongue. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling with raw need. "I need it. In my mouth."

You lean forwards then, nuzzling against the rigid outline of his erection, inhaling the musky scent of him through the denim, your desperation making your hands twitch at your sides, itching to touch but knowing better than to try.

His hand moves fast.

He grabs a fistful of your hair at the scalp and yanks, wrenching your head back so hard your neck cracks. Your gasp cuts through the quiet.

Then his palm comes against your face.

A slap lands across your cheek with a sharp crack, the sting blooming hot and immediate, leaving your skin tingling and your breath catching in your throat. 

You freeze, eyes wide and pleading, the slap only fueling the fire of your need rather than dousing it. Your cheek burns, but you don't pull away; instead, you stay perfectly still, gazing up at him with utter submission, your body trembling with how badly you crave more.

He holds your gaze for a long, heavy moment. 

A small "pathetic" leaves his lips. 

And then, something flickers in his expression—not softening, never that. But a decision. 

"Alright," he says, calm. "You want it that bad? Open the zipper. With your mouth. Only your mouth."

You don't hesitate.

You lean in, your lips brushing against the cold metal tab of his jeans zipper. Your tongue darts out, fumbling, clumsy, desperate to please. You catch the tab between your teeth and tug. The teeth of the zipper part slowly, and you work your way down, your jaw aching, drool already starting to slip from the corner of your lips.

Inch by inch, the fabric parts, and then his cock springs free through the open slit in his boxers—thick and heavy, veins bulging along the shaft, the swollen head already glistening with a bead of pre-cum that drools from the tip. It bobs right in front of your face, so close you can feel the heat radiating off it, the salty scent filling your senses.

You drool again; a fat string of saliva that drips from your lower lip and lands on your own thigh. You don't even notice. All you see is him.

"Jesus Christ," Joel mutters, but there's no tenderness in it. Just exasperation. "Look at you. Droolin' like a bitch in heat."

You don't care. You can't care. You're already leaning forward, lips parting—

His hand clamps onto your hair again, stopping you. The pull hurts on your scalp already. 

"I ain't done talkin'."

You freeze, a whimper leaving your lips.

"I'm gonna fuck your throat," he says, each word deliberate. "Deep. Slow. And you're not gonna gag. Ya hear me?"

You nod as much as his grip allows, a jerky, desperate motion.

"No gaggin'," he repeats, making sure you understand. "Not a sound. You take it. That's what you're made for."

He doesn't wait for an answer.

He guides the head of his cock right between your lips, and you open for him—greedy, hungry, your tongue already stretching out to taste him. He pushes past your lips, past your tongue, and keeps going. 

He's thick. So thick that your jaw aches instantly. You taste every vein, every inch stretched wide around him. He fills your mouth completely, and he keeps pushing, deeper, until his tip nudges the back of your throat. 

You feel your body already rebel—a reflexive clench, a spasm from the back of your throat. But you force yourself to relax, to open, to take.

And then he's past the barrier, sliding into your throat in one smooth, burning slide.

Your eyes start to water. 

Tears spill over, falling one by one down your cheeks. Your nose is pressed against the hair at his groin, and the world has narrowed to the taste of him, the stretch of him, the smell and the sound of his breathing.

He holds there. Just for a moment. Just to let you feel it.

"Good girl," he says, and the praise is so unexpected, so incongruous with everything else, that a sob of relief catches in your chest. But he doesn't let you savor it. "Now we're gonna move. Slow. And you're gonna keep that mouth open."

He pulls back, almost all the way out, leaving just the tip resting on your tongue. 

Then he pushes in again. 

Slow. 

All the way in until his fat head drags against your palate, your tongue and then lands against the back of your throat. 

He sets a rhythm with slow, agonising thrusts that bury him deep, hold for a heartbeat, then retreat. Every time he sinks in, your throat convulses around him, trying to accommodate, and every time he pulls back, you drool—a mess of spit and pre-cum that strings from his cock to your lips. 

You try to breathe through your nose, keep your jaw unclenched and throat relaxed while tears still spill from your eyes. 

Joel watches. His eyes are half-lidded, focused entirely on where he disappears into your mouth, and on your tears. His free hand then comes up, and you feel his rough fingers on your throat—right over the place where his cock is sliding in and out.

He presses down lightly, rubbing the skin.

"You can feel it, can't you?" His voice is a low murmur, almost lazy. "Feel me right here, movin' in you."

You can. The sensation is foreign and intimate, his fingers tracing the bulge of his own cock moving inside your throat. It makes you moan, a muffled sound that vibrates around him.

"Quiet," he says, calm, there's no heat in it. Just a reminder.

He keeps going. Slow, Relentless. Making your throat memorise the veins of his cock. 

Your jaw aches. Your throat burns. Tears and drool mix together, soaking your chin, your neck, the collar of your shirt. 

But you don't care. You'd stay like this forever, if he'd let you.

He thrusts a little deeper, then. Turning a little harder. His rhythm suddenly changes, becoming more urgent, his hips rocking forward with a rougher snap. You can feel his cock throbbing inside your throat while his breathing thickens, the grip on your hair tightening to the point of pain.

"Fuck," he grunts. "That's what you're only good for. Gonna fill that throat of yours. Gonna pump you so full."

Your eyes roll up, meeting his for a brief moment. He's watching you; gaze dark, possessive, hungry.

Then he groans, a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest and his cock swells against your tongue. He thrusts deep one last time, burying himself to the root, and you feel the hot pulse of his release hitting the back of your throat.

There's a lot. Wave after wave, thick and bitter, flooding your mouth. You swallow instinctively, your throat working around him as he keeps twitching, keeps coming.

He holds you there, pressed against him, until he's empty. 

Then he pulls out slowly, his cock sliding wet and spent across your tongue, slowly softening. 

You're a mess. 

Sobbing and sniffling quietly. Spit and cum and tears all over your face. But you keep your mouth closed, holding everything down.

Joel takes a step back. His hands drop to his sides again. He looks down at you, breathing hard.

"Open," he says.

You do. You part your lips, tilt your head back, showing him the inside of your mouth. Clean. Empty. You swallowed every drop like a Good girl. 

He looks at you for a long moment. His expression doesn't soften. 

But he nods. Once.

And that for you, is everything.

Guess who is ovulating again lmao

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[flightlessangelwings]

Missed You

Comandante Veracruz x fem!reader (no y/n)

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: smut (18+ only), dom!Veracruz, toys, use of a belt as a bind, oral (m receiving), a single pussy slap, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, aftercare, surprisingly soft!Veracruz

Notes: So what started as typical V smut turned into smut with FEELINGS thanks to thirst chats with @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ and I’m so happy with how this one turned out!!

Gif by @thewaythisis​ (I’m so obsessed with this look omg)

~

The door to Veracruz’s apartment clicked shut and you stirred from your half-asleep state. It had been weeks since you last saw him due to being called away on a mission, and it was the longest he had been gone. Before the comandante left, however, he insisted that you stayed in his apartment where you were safer. You couldn’t say no to his request even if you wanted to. 

He made sure an extra gun was in the bedside drawer for your protection and you knew where all his knives and weapons were hidden through the apartment. You also didn’t comment on the fresh bag of your favorite coffee on the counter, but it still made you smile. It wasn’t the same though without him there and you couldn’t help but pull one of his shirts from his closet to keep you company in bed at night.

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[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Pumpkin - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Fourteen of Pedrotober 2025: Freebie! Pedrotober is hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. Find the complete prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober 2025 catalog HERE.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: You bring home a pumpkin from the greenhouse and Joel helps you carve it! Rating: M but only for some fade to black suggestive thoughts! Word Count: 1126 a/n: This one is dedicated to my Pudas, who truly never stops encouraging me to do the things I think I can't do and without whom much of my finest work would not exist.

You haven't thought about carving a pumpkin in years. Arguably, there's no reason for you to even be thinking about it now, but life in Jackson is different. Life in Jackson is almost...normal. And so, pumpkins.

"What if I snuck one out of the greenhouse?" you ask as you pull your sweater over your head.

Joel's across from you, down to his boxers as he tugs on a shirt to sleep in before crossing the room to you. "Bullshit."

"I could," you insist, because it's true. You spend every day in the greenhouse and you're certain that no one would even notice if one tiny pumpkin went missing from the crazy number you'd somehow convinced to grow this year. "Would you help me carve it if I did?"

"Would I help a thief carve a pumpkin?" he asks, loosely looping his arms around your waist to draw you closer. "Wouldn't that make me an accomplice?"

"No, but it would make you the world's best boyfriend."

He looks down at you, amused. It's an emotion you realize he's only recently allowed himself to feel again, the thought that he's comfortable enough to share it with you warms you as much as his body against your own. "And here I thought I'd already earned that title."

"Maybe," you shrug, playfully kissing his cheek. "But maybe not. Maybe you still need to prove it to me."

He huffs. "I don't need a pumpkin to prove that," he assures you, his fingers already toying with the edge of your sweater.

It hits the floor seconds later.

"What are you up to?" Joel asks without hesitation. He's standing in the kitchen, right where you expected him to be when you got home. You are in the doorway, coat still on, your hand behind your back.

"Nothing," you reply innocently, moving toward him with a gentle sway of your hips. His hands find them like clockwork, but then one slips behind your back to try and grab your wrist. "Hey!"

"You're up to something," he reiterates, haphazardly wrestling with you until you finally show him what you've been hiding. "You didn't."

There's no stopping the smile that appears on your face. "I did," you confirm, holding out the tiny pumpkin for him to see. It's just barely big enough to fit in the palm of your hand, but it's cute and it's certainly small enough that no one would even think to miss it. "It was the smallest one."

"Baby, you can't carve shit out of that."

"Come on, Joel," you plead, "I know it has potential. Don't discount the lil' guy before you carve him.

He takes a step back, one hand coming up to rub his forehead as he paces across the kitchen. It's a move that you're familiar with, the gears turning in his head as he pauses for a moment to stir whatever he's started on the stove for dinner. "Can you watch this for a minute?" he asks you, back still turned in your direction.

"Yeah?" you're barely able to return before he's heading toward the garage, leaving you to stare at what looks like some kind of soup. When he reappears, he's got a stack of what looks like some old newspapers in one hand and his Swiss Army knife in the other. It's only after he sets everything on the kitchen table that he looks back at you.

"There," he says almost casually, gesturing to the items like he's expecting some kind of reaction. "You can carve it."

You tilt your head to the side. "Really?"

"Really," he returns, his expression softer now than it had been before.

Unable to contain your excitement at the prospect of engaging in a tradition far too old for the world you live in now, you squeal and rush to sit at the table, setting the pumpkin to the side as you lay the paper out across the surface. Joel laughs lightly, returning to the soup on the stove as you eagerly carve into the tiny pumpkin.

"Can we roast the seeds, too?" you ask without looking at him, too focused on carving the top out to reach the seeds in question.

He stirs the soup, "Might as well. You already stole the pumpkin."

This causes you to look up at him with a frown, but you don't respond. Instead, you move to grab a spoon and a bowl, making quick work of removing the inside of the gourd. Once you've handed it to him with an appreciative smile and a kiss to his jaw, you return to the table.

"Hold on, you're doing it wrong," he says a few minutes later, his hands covered in pumpkin as he preps the seeds for the oven.

You look up at him in shock. "How can I be carving a pumpkin wrong?"

Joel washes his hands and puts the sheet pan in the oven before taking up residence in the chair at your side, reaching over to gently grab the knife out of your hands. "You've gotta be more delicate with it or you're gonna mutilate the poor thing." You watch as he carefully eases the knife back into the pumpkin, carving at a slower pace. When he's finished, he holds it out in front of you both proudly, "there. Now Lil' Boo just needs a candle."

"Lil' Boo?" you question with a laugh.

Joel nods, "it's fitting. He's little and he's a pumpkin and halloween and..." he explains animatedly, but he stops when he realizes that you're far more focused on him than you are on the pumpkin. "What?" he asks, setting the tiny jack-o-lantern back on the table.

"Nothing, it's just..." you begin, taking the opportunity to lean in to kiss him softly before continuing, "you seem happy."

It's obvious that your comment catches him off guard, but he only hesitates a moment before cupping your cheeks in his hands to draw you into another kiss. It's more lengthy than the last, and you only break it for a moment so you can leave your chair to crawl into his lap, straddling him as your lips descend upon his once more.

"How long do we have until the seeds are done roasting?" you whisper as you trail your way along his jaw and down to his neck, his hands roaming your back as you do.

"About twenty minutes," he replies just before forcefully directing you back to kiss him again.

You smile into it, mumbling against his lips, "plenty of time, then."

"For what?"

"For me to show the world's best boyfriend," you begin, pulling back to run your hands down his chest toward his waist, "that I am the world's best girlfriend."

And show him you do.

[ceriseheaven]

Johnny tries to help you flambe the cherries jubilee and starts a small apartment fire that ends with the sprinkler system going off and everybody (and everything else in the kitchen) getting soaked. Once you stop laughing, you notice that Johnny looks awfully good in that wet t-shirt and things take a turn.

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fem!reader, bestfriend!johnny, kind of hurt/comfort (i may have accidentally made it a little angsty sorry i can't help it), i made up things about jobnny's powers because why the hell not, kissing, cheesy, fluffy

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

you've never seen johnny in any light other than your best friend and for the longest time, you assumed the same for him.

he's your soulmate, platonically of course. he's the one you've always known had your back, even when you didn't realize he was right behind you. you could fall backwards whenever and he'd always be right there to catch you. you didn't even know how he does it and stopped asking after getting "because i know you, sweetheart" as a grinned response one too many times. for a while, you kept your guard up regardless. worried that one time he might not be there but it didn't take long to conclude that as long as they sun will shine tomorrow, johnny will be there when you need him.

you were his soulmate too. nobody knew him like you did. there were times when he doubted if he knew himself that well. it made him spiral a couple of times but soon he realized that he'd rather be known through your eyes anyway. if you knew him and still believed there's goodness in him, there truly must be. if you knew him and still loved him the way you do, that must mean he's doing something right. that thought comforted him in his darkest moments. "whenever that mean voice is whispering mean things in your head, tell it to fuck off, it doesn't know shit. i know you better." your voice has guided him from things he's never talked about, things you inherently knew but also didn't talk about. somethings don't need addressing, they just exist and you exist innermost them.

today was one of these days where he was internally yelling at the mean voice. a mission gone slightly wrong, a single step not going according to plan causing minor damages tend to activate that voice in his head. even after he did everything he had to do right then fixed the mess he made in the process. it didn't feel enough, he didn't feel enough.

you knew him well enough to know he's aching but he's trying and you knew him well enough to know how to cheer him up when all else fails and the earth feels as though it's closing up on him.

ice cream.

ice cream never fails to do the trick. it's always been one of his favourites. when he was little, he was so addicted to ice cream that during the winter and to keep him from getting sick, sue had to tell him an evil wizard has casted a spell to make all ice cream disappear, it magically reappeared in the spring due to sorcery of the kind hearted ice queen.

after getting his powers, becoming the human torch and never being able to feel cold again, ice cream became something he needed rather than craved.

"you're throwing me a pity party?" he says, catching you off guard as you stand in your kitchen behind the counter.

he's been in your room all day. tossing, cuddling your stuffed animals, drowning in his own mind and god knows what else, anything but resting when it's the thing he needs to be doing most. after a while, he felt bad for himself for feeling bad for himself and forced his way out of bed.

"nope, you're doing that yourself. i'm just bringing the snacks." you say casually, scooping more icecream into a bowl.

he rounds the counter, stands next to you and dips his finger into the ice cream, sighing when he feels nothing of its coldness. anyone else, you'd tell them off for touching the ice cream like this but you let it slide with johnny. you'd let anything slide with johnny. "pity parties don't usually have snacks" he sucks the foamy cream off his finger. you fail to keep your gaze down and off his lips, justifying it by thinking staring doesn't hurt. it's okay to stare. he's awfully close right next to you, it's normal to stare. and it's not entirely abnormal for your heart to race, you're only human, right?

"that's why they're pitiful, the least we can do is eat." you tell him, forcing your eyes back to the bowl and putting a good amount of dark sweet cherries and syrup over the ice cream.

"we should torch the cherries" johnny says unexpectedly.

after what happened today, more like after how he's been beating himself over the smallest things today, you thought he wouldn't want to use his powers for a while. that's what he usually does when something goes south, he takes a little break in order to feel human again. because humans are allowed make mistakes, humans are allowed to fuck up, humans are allowed to feel bad and humans are allowed to try again. superheros don't have that privilege.

you can't help but know he's doing it to punish himself. he loved ice cream because his body doesn't hold the coolness of it but the fraction of a spilt second when it lands on his tongue is enough for him. that one instant is enough to make him feel a little bit human again and now, he wants to torch it.

"johnny.."

he cuts you off, "it's okay. it's just the cherries, the ice cream will still be cold." he says without meeting your eyes. he's right but the reason he's doing it is still the same regardless.

he gives you a small smile to ease your mind and it does anything but that. you don't stop him as he pours some brandy onto the bowl, his hand makes a little blue fire, tiny embers flowing from his fingers lighting a flame over the cherries.

his power has always fascinated you. not the fire part, sure, the fire part is cool but the way he controls it. he bends it to his will like it's nothing. he can make volcanos just as well as he can heat up only his chest to keep you warm when he holds you.

he's calm as he moves his fingers over the ice cream bowl, the top of it turning golden brown with each flicker of flame. he's fully engrossed in what he's doing and you're fully engrossed in him.

neither of you notice the faint smoke circling in the air until it's too late. the fire alarm system in your apartment is brand new and funnily enough johnny was the one who chose it, he made reed "improve" it so it would detect the smallest fumes, it works exactly as he hoped it would when he placed it a few weeks ago, as it comes down all over the place in what feels like pouring rain.

in an attempt to get on the counter and press the button to turn it off, johnny accidentally leaned too forward and his shirt caught on fire, "oh my god.." instinctively, you reach for him, "johnny!"

"don't!" he pushes you off, as gentle as he can, so you wouldn't burn your hands touching him while his body absorbs the fire. even that diminutive contact of his fingertips on your arm left a tiny, stinging mark.

he stands on the counter and presses the button to turn the sprinkler off after he fully absorbed the flames then quickly hops down and stands in front of you, his hands hovering over your shoulders, scared to touch and hurt you further. "are you okay?"

you struggle to tear your eyes off his shirt. it's still somewhat wet, sticking to his body in all the right places, his wide chest heaving with each breath, vapor radiating off his shoulders like a steamy meal and he looks just as delicious as one, god you sound like a teenager in a cheesy friends to lovers romance novel, you know that, you know it's a cliche, you know it's embarrassing and silly and not very reasonable adult woman of you but look at him. he makes every reason burn to ashes and buried in the backroom of your mind.

you nod at him, "are you?" you try to cross your arms, to hide the little burn mark but he notices and stops you mid-air.

his gaze is heavy with remose as he stares at it, it's almost not even there, you can feel it but you can barely see it. he sees it though and in it, he sees his failure. his eyes are misty red and you know if he could cry, he would now. the sight of his tight lips and the quivering in his throat hurts more than any pain ever could.

"i'm.. sorry. i hurt you again. i keep ruining everything i'm so stupid i'm sor.." you silence him before he could finish that sentence and more-so, that thought. your lips crash into his, making him scatterbrained and nearly knocking him off his balance, his axis tilting and his world turning upside down a thousands time in a single second.

you press your body firmly against him, part because look at him and part because you want him to know that he can't hurt you, he's never hurt you. reaching for his wrists, you hold them gently and place his hands on your waist, closing your fist around them, letting him squeeze and hold onto you before you put your own on his shoulder and hold onto him. tightly. closely.

"tell me to stop" you murmur against his lips, stopping for a second and pulling away just the slightest bit to give him an out if he wanted it but he's quick to pull you right back.

"i'm not that stupid." he whispers, pressing you even closer, his fingers digging into your flesh addictively as he finally registers the kiss and begins to kiss you back. his expert lips moving with yours needily, practically begging you for solace or ,if you really want to commit to the cheesy teenage romance novel vibe, love.

seconds into the kiss, you melt into each other. your bodies becoming one. hands wandering aimlessly, just touching to touch. feeling to feel. goosebumps rising on the traced skin, million bristles standing on end to salute your bravery.

you taste his tongue on your lips lightly but he withdraws it each time you want to welcome it into your mouth. he doesn't want to cross boundaries, not yet anyway. even though he really really wants to. he won't though. he's a gentleman, he'll take you to dinner first or at least for ice cream.

putting your hands on his chest, you can feel his heart pounding inside it. it's a miracle that it hasn't ripped through his ribcage yet. you break the kiss, leave him whimpering as he leans closer, head down, eyes half closed. "i'm okay." you tell him, "i'm okay, johnny." holding his head, making him face you. "and you're okay."

he sighs, "i'm okay." his eyes wander down your body, noticing your soaked clothes for the first time. the fabric underneath his hands is fully dried. "you're wet."

if only he knew. "oh i'm soaked." chuckling, you push your hair behind your ear. "i.. i have more ice cream in the fridge we can us.."

"i'll get it and the kitchen too." he says, interrupting you. "go change before you get cold." he makes no effort to pull away, his hands still on you, body still pinned to yours.

you really should go. you can feel the water soaking you, your clothes are clinging to your body annoyingly and taking them off is gonna be even more bothersome. "i'm warm here."

"i'll make you warm again." he kisses your forehead, his lips light and gentle on your skin, perfectly hot enough to send shivers down your spine and your cheeks feel just as hot.

"i know you will." squeezing his arm, you pull away slowly, leaving a soft kiss on his cheek. he smiles at you, johnny, your best friend, ever so considerate, ever so sensitive, ever so yours.

he's always been yours. you knew it and so did he. it never matter how or in which way. your best friend or the other silly title the author would give him if this was a silly romcom, he was irrevocably and tremendously yours. you knew him so you knew that. neither of you needed to say it. somethings don't need addressing, they just exist.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @hazzaismyreligion @fantastic-fox @sugarheart-riot @phyllosilicate-s @becca-alexa @quinnsfae14 @munson-enthusiast @lovinvane @ficsbypix @josephfakingquinn @munsonluvrr @eddies-puppet @mattyhealyssideburn @flawiette @joeydoeeyes @ho-for-joequinn-fics @etherealxwitch @dianaaxoxo @nay1234ttyy @lindamujer444 @that-one-gay-aew-enthusiast @cherrydoll-xo @ashprince-of-bel-air @pleasantlycrazyworld @screaming-blue-bagel @avobabe87 @honey-eyed-munson @multi-culti-girl @prestinalove @that-one-star-girl @nicholaschavezslut69 @yesshewriters1

[artemiseamoon]

Secret Admirer

Eddie (btvs) x F reader

Previous from this series (requests are closed)

For @seasonschange-butpeopledont

Words: 2,094.    |    Warnings: None 

Credits : Eddie Gifs - mine , Writing - giphy 

Eddies POV

Though you didn’t know it yet, receiving your letters was Eddie’s favorite part of the week. You kept him guessing, they never arrived at the same time.

You couldn’t see it with your own eyes, the way he would rush back after class to see if a letter was waiting for him or not. Slipped carefully under this dorm door and sealed nearly in the lavender envelopes you used.

You couldn’t see the way he’d hold it to his nose, inhaling that light aroma of your lotion as it scented the paper. Nothing compared the feeling in his chest as he ran his fingers over the smooth stationary.

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[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

WhatsApp - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Eleven of Pedrotober 2025: Memeable Moment Pedrotober is hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. Find the complete prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober 2025 catalog HERE.

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader Summary: Joel finally gets a new phone and you're quick to show him all the new features. Rating: G! Some suggestive themes at the end but literally it's so fade to black, y'all. Sorry, you'll have to wait for uh...other Joel days for...that. Word Count: 327 a/n: I could be having the absolute worst day of my life and you could show me Pedro's WhatsApp video and I would be cured immediately. My best friend and I quote it constantly. It's the best thing he's ever done, his finest work, and that's what inspired this one! Just a little flash piece today though as we prepare for longer days ahead!

"Noooooo," you giggle, finding it hard to breathe the longer this process goes on.

Sarah grabs her dad's phone from his hands with a huff, clearly not as amused by this entire process as you have been. After all, it's taken what feels like forever for you to convince him to upgrade to a smart phone, but as it turns out, that had been the easy part. Teaching him how to use it, on the other hand, was far more difficult.

"Make sure you set up his WhatsApp, too," you remind her, to which Sarah nods with a grumble.

Joel, meanwhile, looks at you with confusion, "A what's who?"

"WhatsApp," you explain, "It's a messaging app."

"What's wrong with the normal messaging app?" he asks as Sarah continues to tap away on the little device.

"Nothing, I guess, but the GIFs are better than on the normal messages." You shrug, "I like WhatsApp."

He stares at you like you're speaking another language.

"Here," Sarah says, thrusting the phone back into his hands. You open your mouth to ask again, but she holds up a hand to cut you off, "yes, I installed it." She leaves the living room immediately after to return to her bedroom, but when you turn back to Joel he's once again focused on the tiny screen in his hands, eyes squinting a bit as he tries to make out the little icons.

"I still don't know why I needed this," he grumbles, but now that Sarah has done her work, you pull out your own phone. His alerts with a text seconds later, the WhatsApp notification lighting up the screen. "What did you se..." he starts just before he taps the text to open it. You're off the couch and headed up the stairs before he's fully processed what it is you've sent, but as he races after you one thing is clear: you've revealed more than just the benefits of a smartphone.

[xreader1989]

Double Date Disaster

Johnny Storm x fem!Reader

NO WARNINGS! Love you guys ❤️

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

Back and forth, back and forth, like a game of tennis. That was the game you and Johnny Storm played. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was a constant dance around one another. Flirting, hanging out all the time, knowing everything about one another, but never quite crossing that line into something more.

You were best friends for years, and everyone always assumed you were dating. Even Sue liked to poke fun, which you both always laughed off.

One morning, you were both walking along the east river with a coffee in hand when you saw a lightbulb go off in Johnny’s head.

“Genius idea,” he stopped and turned to you, “I know, not surprising, considering I’m me, but, what if we set each other up and then went on a double date?”

You tilted your head at him, and pulled your coat tighter around you.

“We’re both always complaining about how dating in this city sucks, we know each other better than we know ourselves, I think it’s a full proof plan. Maybe we’ll both finally make it past the first date.”

You tapped your foot, searching his face for some sort of enlightenment as to why he was suggesting such a thing. Although you would never admit it, you always had a bit of a crush on your best friend. He was charming, flirtatious, and he is right, he knows you better than you know yourself. You saw the way he treated girls first hand though, wined and dined them, but then threw them to the side the second he was bored, you knew you couldn’t risk such heartbreak.

“So…?” he said, breaking you from your thoughts.

“...alright, let’s do it” you responded hesitantly, he celebrated like a child who was just given a participation trophy. He threw his arm over your shoulders and you both continued to walk and sip your coffees.

“Johnny, you have to be serious though. Set me up with someone I would actually like, not one of your frat bro friends.”

He feigned shock, “I would never, princess.” You rolled your eyes and continued with your walk, brainstorming who you would set him up with, but you can’t fight the pit in your stomach at the thought of seeing him with someone else.

After a few days, you decide to set him up with Molly, the accountant from your office. She’s polite, patient, and pretty. And if it all goes to hell, you aren’t close enough that you would be upset about losing the friendship.

You had been fighting the anxious feeling in your stomach all week, but passed it off as nerves to meet who Johnny was going to bring for you.

On Friday night, Johnny presented his date to you, Justin. He had a picture, job description and fun facts, you did the same for Molly. Both of you shook on it, and set up the date for Saturday night in the West Village. You could be sick at the thought of it.

The next night in the West Village was all twinkling lights and the hum of jazz from some nearby bar. You wore your favorite coat and tried your best to quiet the pounding in your chest. You shook off the rain from outside and spotted where you would be sitting. Molly had arrived a few minutes early and was already chatting politely with Johnny when you and Justin strolled up.

He was just as cute in person, maybe even cuter. A little taller than you expected, with tousled hair, kind eyes, and a warm, easy smile. He offered you his hand, and you took it with a laugh, grateful for the grounding normalcy.

“Hey,” he said, “You must be the one Johnny wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Your smile faltered slightly, but you shook it off. “All good things I hope,” you joked.

Johnny chuckled, but there was something forced about it. “What can I say? Gotta make sure the poor guy knows what he’s in for.” You gave him a side glance. Okay. Maybe that was just Johnny being Johnny. You took your seat across from Johnny and Molly, with Justin beside you.

You could tell something was brewing from the moment you sat down. His legs were spread too casually, his arm draped lazily across the back of Molly’s chair. And that devilish smirk plastered on his face.

The night started smoothly enough—light drinks, shared appetizers, some easy small talk. Molly was sweet, just as you remembered. Maybe a little too reserved for Johnny, but she was trying. And Justin? Justin was funny. He made you laugh within the first ten minutes, like throwing your head back laughing, and you started to think maybe Johnny had done something right for once.

But then came the first jab.

“So Justin,” Johnny said casually, stirring his drink, “You’re in tech? What is it again—apps for dog walkers or something?”

Justin smiled politely. “Actually, no. I design accessibility software for visually impaired users. It’s been a passion project of mine since college.”

“Right, right. Changing the world one screen reader at a time,” Johnny said, raising his glass, winking.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Johnny.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just saying, not all heroes wear capes. Some code them.”

Molly blinked. Justin laughed, trying to let it roll off. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You leaned toward Johnny, whispering, “What’s your deal?”

“No deal,” he said, shrugging. “Just trying to help you get to know the guy better.” Another wink.

But it didn’t stop there. Every time Justin tried to tell a story, Johnny interrupted with a sarcastic comment or an over-the-top reaction.

When Justin mentioned hiking the Appalachian Trail one summer, Johnny smirked. “Wow. Bet that’s where you found your inner peace or whatever.”

When he talked about volunteering at a community garden, Johnny chimed in, “Let me guess, you also write poetry in your free time?”

You turned to glare at Johnny, your patience wearing thin. “Johnny.” You said firmly, a warning. He ignored it.

Justin was being a good sport, but you could see the cracks. His jaw tightened. Molly glanced between all three of you, clearly uncomfortable.

Johnny finally crossed the line when Justin offered you his jacket as the chill in the restaurant got to you. You smiled gratefully and slipped it on, shivering.

“Aww, look at that,” Johnny said, loud enough for the whole place to hear. “Prince Charming to the rescue.”

You slammed your glass down. “Johnny,” you snapped. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”

He froze, and you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—something like jealousy, or maybe regret. “What? I’m just keeping it real.”

“No, you’re being a jerk. You said this was a good idea, remember? And now you're trying to sabotage it.”

Justin stood up slowly. “I think maybe I should head out.”

“No—Justin, wait,” you said quickly, standing too. “I’m really sorry. This isn’t how the night was supposed to go.”

He gave you a small smile and you returned his jacket to him. “It’s alright. I get it. Some people don’t like to share.” He shrugged, looked at Johnny, and then made his way out.

You watched him walk away, “I think I should head out too,” Molly said before getting up and putting her coat on.

She offered a weak smile and a quick goodbye before leaving you and Johnny in heavy silence.

You sat back down, arms crossed, your jaw tight.

“Well,” you said bitterly, “genius idea, huh?”

Johnny didn’t answer at first. He just stared into his drink, spinning the glass slowly.

Finally, he muttered, “I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

You turned your head, startled. “Excuse me?”

He looked up, eyes burning in the low light. “I hated it. Watching you smile at him like that. It made me… sick.”

Your heart flipped.

“And instead of being a grown-up about it, you decided to ruin the whole thing?” you said, your voice rising. “You embarrassed me. You embarrassed him.”

“I know,” he admitted, softer now. “I just... I didn’t know how else to say it.”

You stared at him. “Say what, Johnny?”

He shrugged in response, and that was your breaking point. You pushed your chair back and stormed out into the rain.

You slammed the door open, leaving him behind. You took a deep breath as you made your way onto the sidewalk, not caring about the rain drops that began to coat your hair. You heard him before you saw him, following behind you and calling your name softly.

“Real classy Johnny, I mean what the fuck was that?” You yelled at him without turning around.

He ran up, catching you and standing in front of you. He placed both his hands in front of you so that you couldn’t continue to walk away.

“That guy sucked and he’s not good enough for you.”

“Not good enough for me because he’s not you? I mean you literally picked him for me? Not to mention that he was actually grreat.”

He looked at you stunned, for the first time ever he was at a loss for words.

“It’s not fair, you can’t just scare off every guy that wants to date me so that I can continue being your best friend and nothing more. At the end of the day I’m nothing to you. It’s exhausting, I’m exhausted.”

The rain soaked through your shirt, hair sticking to your face. Luckily, he couldn’t tell what were tears and what were rain drops, and you were thankful for that.

“That’s not true, you’re not nothing, you’ve never been nothing. He made you laugh.”

You scoffed, “this whole thing was your idea, setting each other up. What does me laughing have to do with this? I mean Johnny, why would you do -“

He cut you off, “WHY? Why would I do that? He made you laugh the way I do, and I saw red,” you blinked at him, “No one gets to make you laugh like that. And how about because I’ve been fucking in love with you for three years, for three years I’ve listened to all of your dating stories. All your rants about shitty guys that don’t deserve you. And I guess tonight I saw that look in his eye when you laughed, and I snapped. And I’m sorry I ruined it, I’m sorry I embarrassed you, but I’m not sorry that I am absolutely in love with you.”

You blinked, mouth parted. The rain pattered around you both but in that moment you couldn’t hear it, you didn’t even notice it. He stepped closer to you.

“You’re in love with me?” You whispered the question as if you were afraid to hear the answer. He moved both his hands so he was caressing your face.

“Yes. You’re not nothing, you’re… you’re everything.”

He crashed his lips into yours, both of you wet from the rain, soaked to the bone. Your hands moved to his hair, pulling him as close to you as possible.

You broke apart and rested your forehead on his, both of you laughing.

“I’m in love with you too” you said simply.

He laughed happily in response, picking you up and twirling you around, making you squeal.

You couldn’t help but smile, he set you down and kissed you again. This time slower, as if to savor the moment.

“So we’re in love?”

You laughed lightly, “yea, it seems we are.”

He laced his fingers into yours and hailed a cab. “Let’s get out of this rain, I’m taking you home.” And that’s exactly what he did. As you climbed into the back of the cab, all your worries washed away with the rain. And you both sat there with stupid smiles on your face, absolutely head over heels, in love.

[flightlessangelwings]

Restraint

Comandante Veracruz x afab!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: smut (18+ only), bondage, edging, orgasm denial, teasing, toys, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, aftercare

gif by @thewaythisis​

~

You whimpered as you tugged at your restraints. You found yourself on your back on Veracruz’s bed, naked, with your limbs each tied to the corners. He stood at the foot of the bed with a satisfied smirk on his face. He always enjoyed when you were splayed out and completely helpless for him. You looked up at him with half lidded eyes as you silently pleaded for him to do something, anything, other than stand there and watch you squirm.

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[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Rainy Days - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Eight of Pedrotober 2025: Orange or Airpods Pedrotober is hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. Find the complete prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober 2025 catalog HERE.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Summary: You used to hate the rain, but with Frankie, you have a differing opinion. Rating: G for Genuinely Fluffy, per usual! Word Count: 827 a/n: This one is for a dear friend! It can be read as a stand-alone drabble as a part of my Kissing You series (prompt 85: smiling in-between kisses), but I also really wanted this to feel a little bit like the theme of the Airpods commercial and I knew that the best character to assist with that goal is our dear Francisco! Kissing You Masterlist | Previous Drabble | Next Drabble

You used to hate the rain.

It didn't matter if it was the dim hue of the bedroom as water dripped down the window in the morning or the stark shock of a crack of thunder in the night, you still woke with the same feeling. The momentary worry that you would no longer see the sun, the fear that you'd have to confront the horrors in your head, and the disappointment that this was all you'd ever have. All of it once a metaphor for the way you saw yourself, your life, and everything in it.

You knew that none of it was true, that logically each rainstorm comes with a rainbow and the clouds will eventually part to warm your skin and soul, but it didn't make any of it easier to believe. Or, at least, not until he appeared in your life and chased the droplets away with a thumb grazing over your cheek.

So when you wake to the rain yet again, it doesn't bother you. Not anymore. Not even as the faint rumble of thunder drifts off and you open your eyes to the haze of your bedroom. Frankie is behind you, his chest pressed tightly to your back, an arm draped casually over your waist and his breath a gentle breeze against your neck. He's still asleep, he likely will be for a while longer and you're not keen to wake him. You never are, not when you know about the sleep he's lost in his life, the rest you're not sure he'll ever be able to catch up on.

Slowly, you untangle yourself from his grasp and find one of the cardigans you bought for him, pulling it over the familiar t-shirt you stole from him for bed. After locating a pair of leggings and your thickest pair of socks, you tiptoe out of the room, closing the door behind you.

You situate yourself in the living room, your knees tucked under you on the couch and a blanket pulled around your shoulders. A steaming mug of tea sits nearby, waiting as you allow it to cool just enough to drink without scorching your tongue. The rain grows heavier, pounding against the roof in evident sheets, but you pay it little attention as you dive into the book that sits in your lap, losing yourself in the world at your fingertips.

But it doesn't take long for you to hear the familiar creak of the bedroom door and the sound of his footfall as he searches for you. He's in a worn t-shirt and sweatpants and seems to physically calm when he sees you, worry traded for a yawn as he flops down on the couch at your side. His hair, still sticking up every which way, is soft against your jaw as he swings an arm around you and nestles into the crook of your neck with a long, heavy sigh.

"Frankie," you laugh, half from the ridiculousness of your boyfriend and half because of the way his breath tickles your skin. "What are you doing?"

"Relocating," he explains, voice still thick with sleep, "couldn't sleep without you." He winds his other arm further around you to pull himself against your body. The angle is awkward, prompting you to set your book to the side. You encourage him to sit up just long enough to move your legs from beneath you and to stretch them out alongside him and then, only then, do you let him collapse against your body.

His chin comes to rest against your chest, sleepy brown eyes locked on your face as you run a gentle hand through his hair with no attempt made to tame it. "What?" you ask him with a laugh when he's stared at you for an unusual amount of time.

"I love you," Frankie returns simply.

You draw him closer still, because there was a time when you didn't think this was possible, when the gloom was too much for the light, but you chase it away now by pressing your lips to his. He's quick to respond, encouraging you as he trails his tongue over your lower lip and you grant him access. Your hand runs along his spine and he shifts again to settle between your legs, your hips pressed together in a routine that you hope to follow for the rest of your lives.

But then he stops, pulling away just as quickly as he'd started, looking down at you with adoration. "I really fucking love you," he repeats, a wide smile on his face. "Have I told you that?"

You lean up to kiss him with a smile that matches his. "You have," you return once you fall back against the pillow, "but you know what's even better than telling me?"

He waits for the permission he knows is coming. "What?"

"Showing me."

And, as the storm moves on and sunlight warms you both, he does.

Kissing You Masterlist | Previous Drabble | Next Drabble

[streets-in-paradise]

Prince of Persia headcanons: Becoming Dastan's first wife

Warnings: No proofreading. The reader is female only because i had no idea of how to keep this gender neutral in the historical context of the persian empire

- You are the sister of one of Tus' wives and ever since she found out of your crush in Dastan, she practically promised you that someday you were going to marry him.

- For many years you have been sweetly infatuated with him and your pure devotion has been hard to hide. Surely you weren't the only one in the kingdom, but he had many chances of noticing you.

- He quickly grew a soft spot for you and it wasn't hard to guess why. You showed him a special kind of sweetness, more intimate than your usual. It was far beyond the simple act of admiring your prince.

- Tenderness that you saved only for him, even when you wouldn't make your feelings explicit. He could tell that you were shy and those small acts were your outlet.

- Awareness didn't make him love it any less, he couldn't help it.

- You would hold his hand if you were too nervous, but also get nervous if he would be staring at you for too long. You would compliment him a lot, but never dare to talk about his looks. You would cassualy bring him gifts because " i don't know, this reminded me of you". Once you got him flowers and he thought it was the cutest thing, but Garsiv mocked him about it.

- He even catched you composing an epic poem about one of his victories in war. You are actually good at singing and storytelling, you would have asked it to be sang at a feast if Nizam wouldn't have shamed you about it.

- Your attitude about his nephew annoys him and he is very sarcastic, so you were effectively disuaded. However, Dastan still begged you to show him your work and, despite you were embarassed, you did... How could have you resisted his sweet request?

- His brothers tease you, but they mean well.

- " Dastan, your future wife is here!"

" Stop it, Garsiv. You are making her nervous"

" My sweetest sister in law and my little brother... Wouldn't that be cute?"

" Not you too now, Tus."

- The thing is that, although he likes you, Dastan wouldn't act flirty with you because you are so sweet to him that he feels wrong for it.

- Bis flirts with you for him

- " You look lovely today, lady."

You would smile at him, as always

" Thank you"

" Honestly? If Dastan doesn't start courting you soon, i would... If that was possible, of course. What we know isn't"

- People joke because you wear your heart on your sleeve, but at some point the king himself starts considering you a fitting wife for his son.

- It happens when he finds out that you have joined Dastan in his walks through the city. Becoming prince didn't make him loose his roots and he still enjoyed of mixing himself with the people, even visiting the suburbs, and this is an aspect of him that Sharaman admires.

- The fact that you, born in nobility, aren't afraid of following his son there gives you a positive image. He knows that you weren't doing it for that, the king sees that you are humble at heart.

- Nizam was horrified when Dastan brought with you a bunch of kids from the streets to visit the palace. When you confessed it was your idea, you fully conquered Sharaman's simpaties.

- He would get you both engaged in the blink of an eye and you would be surprised to find out that Dastan isn't protesting against it.

- " I would understand if you don't want this. " You shyly purred at him when trying to comfront him about it. " Your father thinks he is doing the best for you."

Your assumption disconcerted him

" Who says he isn't?"

You smiled to yourself.

" Well, it was rushed... and your uncle isn't happy about it."

" Don't worry for that. Nizam has a severe temper, but he is a great man. Give him time and he will love you."

You seemed skeptical.

" I know what he thinks of me."

Then, you stopped talking abruptly and his glance searched for yours seeking to encourage you.

" I'm not ready to be a royal, i'm just a dumb girl in love with you."

Dastan held you in his arms like never before, rounding your waist.

" Do you want to know a secret? It's one I never told you before."

It made you chuckle and you were getting progressively lost in the radiant beauty of his face while waiting for his words.

" ... I can't wait to make you my wife."

[perropascal]

Veracruz smut!!!! Dealers choice I just wanna read about getting railed by that man 💦

I wasn’t ignoring you anon! (if you are a certain person, you may have read this already. but it has been improved upon).

Smack That - Veracruz x reader

word count - 1.5k rating - M. EXPLICIT CONTENT below the cut. Oral sex (male receiving), Vaginal sex. Unprotected sex. (This FAKE, your life isn’t WRAP IT UP) name-calling, spanking, biting kink if you squint. 

The warm Colombia air caused your thin tank top to stick to your skin as you continued to sweat. You had been working all afternoon to help cook for the small army. They had hired you out of your small village to follow them for the next few weeks and since the pay was better than any other job for 100 miles you took it without question. Because you were one of the few women accompanying the group you could practically feel the stares on you at all times. But to your surprise, not a single man had made any attempt to flirt with you let alone touch you. You couldn't fathom why, this particular group of men didn't seem particularly disciplined, but nevertheless you were thankful. 

You sat back and tried to angle the small fan to seek some relief from the heat. It's getting darker and you see the men playing their card games around the fires as they drink and laugh. You look around and see one man staring at you. Veracruz. You knew him only because he was the only one giving the orders. 

To the other workers here he was harsh. Rude. Always barking orders. But he had surprisingly patience with you. You could feel his eyes craving into you, like he wanted to devour you. You stand and dismiss yourself to your tent. You walk dangerously close to him and he doesn't break his stare as he walks your hips swaying. You throw him a wink before you disappear into your tent, hoping to find peace and quiet. 

It turns out that your tent was hot. Very hot. So hot that you felt like your skin was crawling with heat. You tried to strip down to the bare minimum of clothing. But it wasn't working. The sun had set and you decided the only way to cool down was a cold shower. 

You peek your head out of the tent and see only one light on in the common showering area and decide to chance it, because of how miserably hot your skin feels. You creep along the outside of the camp trying to avoid being seen. You didn't like the men knowing you were about to be very exposed and very easy to see. 

As you approach you can hear a voice in one of the stalls humming softly. You don't think much of it as you silently approach and enter the small building. You close the door as quietly as you can behind yourself as you back into the room. You can hear the water switch off and a door swings open as you whip around to see a very naked, very unaware Vercruz stepping out from his shower. He doesn't see you and so he finishes his song in a loud sing-song voice before he stops upon seeing your frozen figure. There is a full moment where your eyes dart up and down taking in the man in front of you as he stares at you in shock. You feel your skin growing hot, which you didn't think was possible as you face flushes and you duck your head and try to mumble an apology. 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" He says to you loudly as he takes a step for you. "Look at me, soldado."

"I'm - I didn't mean to interrupt you I just - I was just trying to cool…. down, sir," you try and shield your eyes from his bare figure but it's hard to contain the growing urge to look at him.

"Maybe, I could help you with that?" He takes your hands and forces you to look at him in the eye, and almost involuntarily you look at his naked figure and bite your lip. You don't say anything and nod your head and you feel his hands running along your neck and into your hair and pulling you towards him. He slides his hands back down your shoulder taking your tank top straps with him and pulling it down your torso, exposing your breast. 

"Ah, excelente," he leans down and takes your breast into his mouth and bites lightly on your nipple bringing out a whimper. You arch your back and throw your arms around his neck to pull yourself closer to his wet body. Without letting up he brings his mouth to your other breast while he brings his hand to tightly squeeze the other and you moan at the sensation. You can feel him rubbing against your thigh as you treat and create more friction closer to your core. Without warning, he brings both hands to your hips and spins you around pushing you against the wall. 

"So you are a little slut?" He whispers in your ear as he brings his hand down hard on your ass. "I told my men that they couldn’t fucking touch you. You were mine. Am I right?" You gasp at the sensation as he brings his hand down on your other cheek. "Tell me I'm fucking right."

"You're - " you mumblr out before he brings his hand down harder on your ass and at this you let out a small whine. 

"Speak up, chiquilla," he whispers harshly in your ear as he runs his hand along your core. 

"I'm yours. I'm all yours," this time you yell it loudly. He growls in your ear as he runs his hand delicately along you folds before slightly dipping a finger and you whimper. "Please, senor, I'll be whatever you need. I'm all yours." 

"I can tell," he murmurs as he licks along the side of your neck before removing his hand and licking his fingers clean. "So wet for me. Already. But we've barely gotten started."

Without thinking you turn around and put your lips to his and kiss him gently. You start to slowly kiss down his neck, to his chest, to his stomach not breaking eye contact with his hungry gaze where you lick your way down to the start of his curls. He is already hard and so you take him in your hand as you get on your knees and position yourself. You spit in your other hand and slowly stroke him while staring at his eyes waiting for some sort of reaction. When he just stares back at you, you spit on his cock and then slowly bring it to your lips and kiss your way down and up and you feel him moving his hips. Satisfied, you take him in your mouth and suck. Hard. This elicits a moan as he grabs your hair and forces you to gag on his length. You continue to suck him as he moves your head in quick movements. You feel tears start to sting your eyes. He looks down at you. 

"Your face is too pretty for me to cum over it. Up." You let go of him and wipe your face as you crawl up from your knees and before you can do anything he grabs your ass and pushes you against the wall. You jump up and he pushes himself against you before pulling back and lining himself up with your entrance. 

"I want the entire camp to hear you." He bites down on your neck and you let out a loud moan. Without warning, you feel him push into you and you let out a deep whimper. Before you can recover from his attack he plunges into you again. And this time you let out a small scream. 

Up against the wall, you wrap your hands around his neck and pull yourself closer to him. You lace your fingers into his hair and bury your head into his neck as his pace becomes quick and furious. You bite down on his neck as you let out another scream. You feel his hand yank your hair back.

"Oh no no, they need to hear you, you fucking slut," he looks at you hungrily. "Go ahead, let them know how well you take me." At this, you arch your back and let out the loudest moan mixed with his name as he continues his relentless attack. His strokes are hard and you can feel him getting closer as his breath starts to hitch. You bring your hand up and run it along his stubble and he hits you so deeply that you start to see stars. You feel him pull out and you gasp at the sudden absence. You feel his warm running down your stomach and it hits you tits and starts to drip down. Without thinking you reach down and spread it across your torso before bringing it to your lips and sucking it off. 

You look up at him and his eyes widen in surprise. 

"Your hair," You run your hand through his hair and notice it's curling at the ends as it dries. You bring your lips to his and he kisses you back gently, but it quickly turns to his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth. You try and push yourself away from him but he pulls you closer. 

"I don't want you to forget this," he whispers as he tips you back and kisses you on the sweet spot on your throat. You moan as you start to giggle. 

"I think you said something about helping me cool down, this...didn't help." 

"I can help show you how the shower works?" He nips at the top of your breasts. And you giggle. 

"That might be a good idea."

____♡____

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Interrupted - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Nine of Pedrotober 2025: With Besties Pedrotober is hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. Find the complete prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober 2025 catalog HERE.

Pairing: Javi G x reader Summary: Long distance is getting the best of you and Javi, and so are the continuous interruptions. Rating: G for Generally fluffy but there are some suggestive themes here! Nothing explicit though! Word Count: 1081 a/n: I cannot even begin to express to you what inspired this, but I laughed so hard my sides hurt and then I wrote this. This one is specifically dedicated to the Javi G wives, you know who you are.

Javi's smirking, which is never a good sign because it usually means he's up to something. Then again, it's not uncommon for him to surprise you when you're living your lives through the screens of your laptops and the late night calls that last eight hours because you've both fallen asleep. It's not ideal, you both know that, but somehow with him it works because he's seemingly cracked the code to making long distance work.

"Look behind you."

You have half a mind to ignore his request, to play along, but curiosity still overwhelms you and you turn to find Gabriella standing in the doorway to your bedroom with a plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. You give her a quizzical look, but she just smiles and you turn back to question your fiancé directly, "what did you do?"

His laugh sounds over the computer speakers that always feel a little too quiet, "I asked Gabriella to help," he explains, and you hear the sound of him shuffling around in his hotel room as she places the food in front of you with a smile and a hug. By the time she's gone and you look once more to the screen, he's sitting on his bed much like you're sitting on yours, an identical plate of food in front of him.

And, again, he's smirking.

"Javi, what is this?" you ask again, your voice a little lighter now as you try to piece things together.

"I wanted to surprise you. It's your favor..."

Suddenly there's a knock at his door, pulling you both from the moment. It wasn't uncommon for him to get pulled into script changes or meetings when you were facetiming, largely the result of the fact that for him, in Hollywood, it's mid-afternoon, and for you, in Spain, the moonlight is already reflecting off the sea, so you wait patiently, nibbling at your food while he stands and answers.

You know it's Nick, it usually is, and his presence is confirmed seconds later when he pops around the door to yell out a greeting to you. Javi says something to him and you hear a faint apology and a promise not to interrupt again before the door is closed and your fiancé returns to the computer.

"I reminded him it's our date night," he explains calmly, settling in once more. It's been a tradition for the two of you since you started dating that when he's off filming, even amidst schedule changes and time differences, you spend one meal together a week. Most of time you're able to find peace, but for whatever reason this shoot had been hard, leaving you missing him more than usual.

Which is why you were really looking forward to tonight.

So for now, you shake it off, "it's alright. It's Nick," you smile, because that was the other thing that had been crystal clear when you started dating: Nicholas Cage was part of the package deal. "Now, tell me about set," you instruct him, because you've already updated him on your life back home through the countless texts you've sent back and forth, but you like hearing him tell his stories like this, where you can see the way he brightens as he speaks.

"Not tonight," he surprises you by saying instead, and that's when you see the spark that's ignited in his gaze, visible even through the screen. A look you know all too well.

"Javi, we are not..."

"Who said anything about that, Mariposa?" he quips, but he's still grinning when he takes a bite of his own food, and you're about to tease him again when there's another knock.

He groans. "Don't move."

You have no intention of going anywhere, so you simply laugh as you watch him answer the door for the second time, Nick again leaning in to wave to you. The conversation is shorter this time, and soon you're back to where you'd left off.

"It has been a while since we've done that," you tease him with a sly grin of your own, because even now, even like this, you can feel the heat building in your body as though he were actually sitting across from you. After all, there are some itches that only he can scratch.

The frown that he'd returned with after the last interruption disappears. "What would you do if I were there right now?" he asks, voice lower than it was before.

"Well, for starters, I'd finish this pasta," you joke, mostly because it's true, but you take the same moment to tug at one of the buttons on the shirt that's now just as much yours as it once was his. "But after that I'd get on my knees and..."

Another loud knock.

This time, Javi yells before he's even to the door. "Nick, I am trying to...to..." he fumbles over the words as he walks, leaving you in a fit of giggles. He swings the door open and Nick fully walks into the room this time, already in the midst of a monologue about what he thinks the problem is with the script, and Javi stands in the doorway, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Nick," you yell out, hoping he can hear you, and he does, stopping short as he turns in your direction. He looks at you, then back at Javi, then at you once more.

"Oh fuck, were you...?"

There's no other option than to laugh, because this would only happen to you. Nick immediately tries to apologize and leave the room, but you stop him, "It's alright if you need him for something. We can do this another..." you begin, but then you see the look on Javi's face. "Actually..."

"I won't interrupt again!" Nick promises with one final wave in your direction. He steps back toward the door. "And I'll see you at dinner," he says to Javi with a wink, and then he's gone.

Once he's locked the door and has returned to the bed, Javi falls back against it, raking his fingers through his hair before turning onto his side so he can face you again. "Where were we?" he asks as he props his head up with his arm.

You tilt your head to the side. "Right about here?" you ask, one hand reaching up to undo another button and this time, when he smirks, you know exactly what he's up to.

[natangelix]

Stress Relief

18+ MDNI | Javier Peña x wife!reader | one shot | 1.4k

With Javier Peña as your husband, you don't mind helping him unwind.

Genre smut, marriage au

TW/CW no Y/n, dirty talk, profanities, smoking and cigarettes, unprotected sex, fingering, p in v, jerking off

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Your body jolted you awake from the feeling of falling. As you were breathing hard, trying to catch your breath and calm yourself down from what scientists called 'your heart almost completely stopped', your hand ventured out to your husband's side of the bed. You were surprised to find that his side was cold, as if he had left the bed long ago.

Your eyes darted to the clock. In the dark, you could barely see the arrows, but it looked like the time was something around 3 am. Definitely too early to be waking up to get ready to work.

Once your heart had calmed down a bit and your breaths had evened out, you swung your legs down your bed and stood up. Your feet padded softly against the wooden floor, your steps awkward from how hard he went on you just before the two of you fell asleep.

Your husband was in the living room, still butt naked from your previous episode.

He was lying down on the couch, head and feet were propped up by each armrest on the sides. In his hand was a cigarette, half finished from how it looked in the distance. From between his lips and the end of the cig, smoke curled out, spreading through the room.

"Javi, baby, what are you doing here?" You stepped closer to him to lean and place a kiss on his lips, tasting the bitter tobacco through the kiss.

"Couldn't fall back asleep. What are you doing being awake at this hour?"

"Same. Got woken up then couldn't fall back asleep after finding out your side is empty."

"Lay down here." Javier scooted away from the edge of the couch, creating a space just big enough for you to snuggle to him.

You were lying flush against him, your naked body pressed against his, chest to chest. His strong arm circled around you to make sure you wouldn't fall. Your head was resting on his bicep.

"Why couldn't you fall back asleep?" you asked, drawing circles on his chest with your pointer finger mindlessly.

"Thinking about work." He pressed a light kiss on the top of your head before putting the cig between his lips.

"You're always thinking about work," you complained.

"Can't help it."

You pouted. "So us having sex earlier didn't help?"

Javier chuckled after blowing a smoke into the air. "It helped, but since I'm no longer inside you, my mind wanders again."

An idea suddenly popped inside your head. "What if we try again? Second time's the charm or whatever the saying goes." You began to untangle yourself from him without waiting for his answer.

"I believe the saying was 'third time'." His eyes followed your every movement as you stood up. "But aren't you still sore?"

"I can handle one more session." With a wink thrown his way, you headed back to the bedroom.

That was enough to tick him. Quickly inhaling what was left of his cig and tossing it into the ashtray, he stood up to chase you. You didn't even get to lay down on the bed before he tackled you to it from behind. You let out an 'oof' as your body hit the mattress face down.

"You don't get to tease me like that just to leave me, babygirl," he whispered to your ear from behind. His breath smelled like tobacco and smoke, combined with the rasp in his voice, they successfully made your head spin and your cunt clenched in need.

You bucked your hips back, your ass meeting his dick that was hard once again as his balls slapped against you. The motion got him to hiss.

"Baby, don't do that if you don't want to face the consequences." He gripped your still-sore cunt with his big hand, squeezing it like it was a toy and not a sensitive body part before letting it go again. "You're already wet again? So naughty."

"Javi," you moaned to the sheets.

"Okay, baby. Let's do this once again." With skilled fingers, he played with your clit. He twirled his fingers around, making circular motions that brought you waves of pleasure. He rubbed on your clit and smeared your slick all over your cunt.

Your moans once again filled the room as he began to insert his fingers. "Pussy check," he would usually say.

He scissored his fingers inside you, thrusting in and out of you, and curled his fingers to touch your most sensitive spot. From years of your marriage, he already knew how to make you putty under his hands.

You involuntarily gripped the sheets of the mattress as your toes curled in pleasure. Your moans drowned the sinful noises coming from the ministrations of his fingers.

With his free hand, he began to jerk himself off. This time, it was your moans mixed with his that could be heard throughout your room.

"Javi, I want-" you said but unable to finish, your mind was unable to form coherent thoughts at this point.

"What do you want, baby? Tell me." He pulled out his fingers out of you, leaving your hole gaping and clenching for his attention. His other hand was still busy working on his hard-on.

"You. I want you." You whined at the empty feeling.

Wordlessly, he obliged, aligning his shaft and began thrusting inside you. The low groan that he let out sounded like music to your ears as pleasure began to spread through you again. Even after years of being married to him, you still weren't used to his size.

Javier, being a good husband that he was, thrust himself into you inch by inch, letting you adjust to him before pushing in another inch. Meanwhile, his hands went to your breasts, gently fondling them in his big hands as his lips sucked a spot on your neck.

It was when he was fully bottomed out inside you that he started to pull out. He didn't even pull out halfway before forcefully thrusting his dick back into you, forcing his tip to kiss your cervix.

"More, Javi. More," you moaned under him. Your words began to slur the longer he was inside you.

He kept on going, thrusting harder and harder into you. Each thrust knocked your breath out of you but instead of complaining, you were a moaning mess. Each time he bottomed out, his balls slapped against you, enhancing your pleasures to a new level.

At some point, Javier was getting sloppy, his breaths were getting more ragged. You knew he was as close as you were.

Your guess was confirmed when he said next to your ear breathlessly, "Are you close?" He reached out with one hand to play with your clit, sending even more waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You nodded into the mattress, feeling the familiar tightness in your lower stomach.

After a few more thrusts, Javier whispered, "Cum with me."

With a loud cry of his name, you finally let the coil snap. The pleasure and bliss weren't any less that your first round earlier, your husband would always make sure every round was better than the last.

Seconds later, he bottomed out as he shot his seed with a satisfied grunt. As usual, his fingers never stopped their ministrations on your clit, carrying you through your orgasm and only stopping when you got oversensitive.

He pulled out just far enough so he could pump himself into you, making sure his seed was deep in you. Some that managed to leak out were coating your clit, he purposely smeared them all over.

You whined under him, wanting to cuddle to him since the entire round you couldn't. "Javi-"

You didn't even need to finish your sentence and he was already on it.

He pulled out of you, some of his cum leaking out of you, making a trail to the mattress which he skillfully gathered on his fingers before pumping them back into you. Then he, with the tenderness of someone who was forcefully hardened by his job, turned you around on your back before gathering you in his arms. With one hand, he cradled the back of your head, nuzzling your face against his big broad chest.

"I got you, baby." He rubbed your back in soothing circles.

You raised your head from his chest to look up at him. "But you're the man of the hour. What do you feel now?"

He pecked your lips before answering, "Better. Much better now that you're in my arms."

With a satisfied hum, you nuzzled your face back to his chest, inhaling his familiar masculine musk that your brain already saw as safety and comfort. As his hand was playing with your hair, you felt yourself slowly but surely slipping back to slumberland.

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[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Through the Night - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Seven of Pedrotober 2025: Lucien, The Uninvited Pedrotober is hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. Find the complete prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober 2025 catalog HERE.

Pairing: Lucien de Leon x f!reader Summary: He's in love with someone else, but you still welcome him into your waiting arms time and time again. Rating: M for mature but mostly for one singular suggestive line in the first paragraph. Nothing overtly explicit here though, just vibes and emotions. Word Count: 752 a/n: If you saw me accidentally post this just a bit ago half done, no you didn't. Anyway, I just watched The Uninvited about a week ago and god did I CRY. I loved the dialogue in this film and I really wanted to write something that felt fitting for not just his character, but the entire vibe of the film, so here we are!

He's in love with someone else. You're certain of it. You have been for a while, really, because you can feel it when he's rutting you into the bed, the chains around his neck tapping lightly against your chin despite the drastic distance that lingers between you. You can sense it when you wake in the morning to find the sheets at your side left cold like some kind of sick metaphor for the relationship you cling to like a lifeline. You know it because he told you once. Not directly, but the quiet parts still felt like an echoing choir in your head and the message had been crystal clear.

And yet, he still comes to you. Each and every time. And, each and every time, you welcome him with open, waiting arms as you will yourself to forgive him of his transgressions, because you're just as lost as he is. You have been for almost twenty years, since the first time he'd lost her and, in turn, you'd lost him. He's been searching ever since - in the bottom of bottles and in lines on the table and in women. Sometimes in you.

But not tonight.

He'd left before the sun went down. He'd been honest about where he was going. He told you that he needed to apologize. Not to you, but to her. The one he'd lost and had never gotten over and who had started him on the path that caused his life to constantly intersect with yours. So you let him go, helped him with the buttons on his shirt, pressed your lips to his before he left, because at the end of the day, she was the one you had to thank. You were only here because of him, but he was only here because of her.

The world grows dark, not just outside but inside, too, when the city is stripped of its power and you're left in the soft glow of the candle you dug out from the back of the bathroom cabinet. You wait, just as you always do, until the unmistakable sound of keys against the door pulls you from the space between here and there and then and now back to reality. You don't move from where you sit on the couch, your legs crossed under you, because you know what his presence here means. You've always known that, too.

He once spoke to you of Christmas cards. Of kids that don't look like you and of a house that doesn't feel like home. He told you about a life you so desperately wanted but wasn't yours to keep. And now, as he stands before you with a head hung low and a haze you've never seen in his eyes before, you realize that maybe it wasn't his to keep, either.

You want to be mad. You want to scream at him and throw him out into the street like countless others have told you to do for years because the fact that he's here, looking like this, means that he told her. He told her what you've always known but he hadn't been brave enough to say. Not then, but, finally, now, and it hadn't gone the way he'd hoped it would. The picture in his head destroyed the same way he destroys yours time and time again.

So, yes, you want to hate him, but you welcome him into your arms instead.

His name is a soft whisper from your lips as you gather him against your chest, pulling him down until he presses you into the plush couch and releases the weight of the world onto you. The weight of his world that you've been so content to carry for all these years, all this time. The weight that you know you would carry for him time and time again, even if he won't return the favor.

Because you understand Lucien. You cannot hate him because you are him. He's loved and he's lost just as you have, and yet you both hold on. You cling to each other and to the hope that maybe, after all this time, something will be different. That they'll see you have more to offer and that your stories were meant to be something greater. You hold him like he longs to hold her and, when you breathe your love into the darkness, you can only hope he hears the quiet parts as you do, like a chorus, echoing through the night.