#but every little thing puts you one step closer to finishing your WIP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ouroboros-hideout · 2 months

Text

WIP WHENEVER, WHEREVER

(we are meant to be together shakira shakira)

@olath124 tagged me for this, thanks friend!

Still rather low on content or WIPs I can show but it's something

ART

Don't know if I would call it art actually but I am currently making myself some Discord emojis of Aon aka Knife Queen aka Blorbo Girl.

That's the first one I got done. Because smirking is very important 👆 will do 3 or 4 more I guess. Laughing, something sad, angery and what ever inspiration brings along the way.

The Dogtown Noir pics where fun to do but I noticed real quick that I need a lot of focus to get some good shots. And I don't have that most of the time. I heard there is actually a city outside of Dogtown KEK maybe I will go there next and do some photos 💫

WRITING

Putting this last so no one is forced to read the wall of txt. I still have a lot of unfinished ramblings but nothing that would make sense to show. I started to write some small bits for my own amusement and positive vibes based upon a soft OTP promt list (or what ever it was called). It's only stupid conversations and I think it's nothing for AO3, so probably just throw it here whenever I finished one.

Write about your ship getting dressed up in fancy outfits together:

"Oh my god I hate this so much..."

Aon pulled on his black bolero jacket and looked at herself in the mirror next to the large closet in Kurt's apartment on the top floor of the Sapphire with an unimpressed expression.

"You don't like what I've chosen for you?" Kurt asked, still beeing busy in the bathroom.

"No... yes. I mean. No, I don't like all of this." She grimaced a little more and turned around to look at the elegant suit trousers and expensive shoes she would be wearing tonight.

"Fancy clothes, putting up with brainless snobs at glamorous parties. Pretending to care about what they do and who they are. I really don't know why you like that so much."

"You'll have fun, I'm sure of it." Kurt came back to the main room and took his leather harness, which was still lying on the bed, and put it around his shoulders. He chose a more elegant garment than usual for tonight aswell, as Alyona had demanded, but he wasn't going to abandon all of his military habits.

"I'll have fun at the bar. I know that for sure."

She was still tugging at the jacket, as if she was trying to minimize the revealing neckline of the top.

"And you had to pick something so provocative, didn't you? Well, at least it's not a glittery cocktail dress. You could have worn that yourself."

Kurt laughed heartily at the last comment, took a few steps over to her and fastened the last buttons on the collar of his black shirt.

"You look fantastic."

That didn't really convince her.

"Oh, shut the fuck up. I feel like I'm playing dress-up."

Kurt was now standing behind her, looking in the mirror with her, still smiling.

"Well, in a way, we do, don't we? If you want to get close to your prey, you have to wrap yourself in it´s fur."

Aon let out an amused snort. "You're such a poet Kurt, it's almost unbelievable," she replied sarcastically.

"Still, I'm glad you decided to come along. I don't think it will do you any harm to see something other than the workshop." He put his hands on her hips and leaned forward a little. At least he liked the sight of the two of them in the mirror.

"Hmmm, what I wouldn't give to spend all night fixing that Chimera-Junk gathering dust in your warehouse...", she replied with a playfully dreamy tone.

"You enjoyed the evening at the Totentanz. You can't deny that."

"You're seriously comparing your fancy-pants party to the thing at the Totentanz?"

"It was a party, you didn't want to go and you ended up enjoying it."

"Maybe because even the smallest circute in Maelstrom is a more interesting conversation partner than everyone you've invited today."

Kurt leaned a little closer to her.

"If you decide to stay here after all, I want you to come to every party. Not because I like to see you suffer, but because then I would finally have something to look forward to in the evening. Pleasant company and someone I can rely on."

"Don't get too excited. I might already have a plan to ruin everything."

"That doesn't matter. It would definitely still be a night to remember because you were with me."

Her face twisted into a grimace.

"Damn, you're such a suck-up. No wonder you've got all these snobs eating out of your hand."

"But the difference is that I mean my compliments to you seriously."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh again when he noticed Aon blushing and quickly turning away from the mirror so he wouldn't notice.

"Okay, let's get going. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can say I've tried long enough."

She hastily disengaged from his embrace and walked straight towards the door.

He followerd her right away.

"You stay until the end. I'll tell the bartender to keep you 'entertained'."

Think most of the ppl I would tag have already shown their awesome stuff lately so I will skip this time. See you next time!

#wip whenever #writing stuff #art stuff #ouroboros talks #OTP: Like Napalm

19 notes · View notes

coff33notforme · 2 years

Text

Masked dread

A/n: Just a Ghostface wip because I love this rat man ♥️ Also I plan to finish all my request don't worry I just had writers block and wanted to write something for me. Also gn reader ^^

EDITED because the format was atrocious

Warning: Cursing, Knifes, Blood, Mention of injurys

The walls of this silent house seemed to scream in anguish. Hot blood trickled down your bruised and muddied hand, the crimson liquid spilled out tainting the polished floor beneath you. Your hair was matted together, tangled alike with blood and dirt.

You knew the cloaked figure would be on to you in a matter of seconds, your trembling gaze shifted desperately to the red locker pressed against the concrete wall. You quickly limped to the locker. Your heart sped up, quickly becoming overwhelmed with the situation you now found yourself in.

Your ragged breath was going to give away your now painfully obvious position, if it wasn’t that then surely the blood trial now tracking behind you was.

Suddenly your body froze, at the sound of the heavy slow footsteps getting gradually closer. Swiftly you opened the door, backing all the way up to the back of the locker in one clumsy panicked movement, you slapped your unsheathed hand over your mouth.

Eyes darting from what you could see from the small misshapen holes in the locker. Your heart-stopped, your entire body ceasing to make as much as a sound.

The dreadful black robe, and taunting white mask, covering the face of a person you’ve oh so grown to hate. Every round you had with this man was fucking hell, he’d go out of his way to chase you completely ignoring the other survivors.

Any chance he got he’d use it to leave some sort of wound on you, you’d never leave a match untouched.

The masked man hunched down slightly, moving his head to the locker slowly. Your face went pale, as he slowly stepped closer and closer and closer until he was pressed up against it.

“I know you're in there…” he whispered, your eyes widened and the pit in your stomach twisted, as the doors flew open.

You let a mangled scream fly out of your mouth as you tripped trying desperately to scatter away from the locker as quickly as possible. Your heart sunk as you felt a harsh grip take hold of your shoulder.

You felt your body being pulled back as you coiled with the wall of the building, knocking the air out of your lungs in one harsh movement. Your muscles were yelling in pain as you laid defenseless, unable to move.

The man clicked his tongue solemnly, crouching down to your level, taking a hand full of your hair as you let out a pained gasp.

“Aw, I really thought you were going to put up more of a fight than that” he mocked, venom dripping from his snake-like tone. You felt the cold metal of a sharp blade being placed to your completely exposed neck.

“Don’t expect me to be gentle when you're the one who decided to make things difficult” he spat, his voice climbing down an octave leaving a hollow feeling in your gut.

“Now just hold still and be a good little -” he wasn’t able to finish his cooing as he was silenced with a swift punch to the face, his mask flung to the side. Revealing a raven haired man behind, now scowling at you with the fresh blood dripping from his nose.

“Still got some fight for me to stomp out?” he seethed the words managing to slip out from his gritted teeth,

“Fuck you.” you spat at him stumbling to arise quickly from your slumped position. You didn't get a second to think before you were being lunged at, the masked man now atop of you.

He held the knife dangerously close to your throat once more except this time you could feel the stinging pain of the blade now cutting through your skin. He smirked

“Tell ya what? You want to get out of here? You give me something and I’ll go easy on you, the rest of the round” he sneered, his voice oozing with confidence, he knew you couldn’t refuse he had the upper hand here and anything you tried to fight back with would be easily avoided leaving you with another bruise.

“What do you want from me?” you seethed, through gritted teeth, trying your hardest to avoid any movement that would send the blade deeper into your throat. “A kiss.” your eyes widened

“What!? No!” he shrugged,

“Your loss” you felt the blade cut deeper. You frantically tossed your head away from the knife, only cutting your neck a little.

“Fine! Fine! Just put the knife down” you shouted, eyes clenched waiting for the feeling of your throat being sliced in half, but to your surprise you felt a weight being lifted off of you.

You looked up to see the man now standing above you with a shit eating grin. You glared at him, he closed his eyes pointing to his cheek cockily. You rolled your eyes

“One kiss okay?” you said taking a deep breath you hesitantly leaned in. Suddenly the dark haired man turned to you grabbing your jaw harshly, as he pulled you into him kissing you passionately.

His lips were so soft, they brushed against your lips hungrily with a feather like quality to them.

As he pulled away smirking at your now flustered estate, you stuttered trying to think of something to say, anything, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to slap him across his stupid face or kiss him again with twice the force this time.

He came closer to you, his hot breath tickling your bare skin leaving a shiver crawling down your spine.

“Call me Danny” and with that he crept back into the shadows leaving you behind, light headed and trembling in delight.

‘Danny huh?’ perhaps he was starting to grow on you

272 notes · View notes

dreadsuitsamus · 1 year

Note

👀

this is from an angsty vegeta wip inspired by a post malone song!

You walk until the wine bottle is empty before heading home. Your alcohol tolerance has gone up a rather frightening amount, along with your desire to drink in the first place. It used to make you numb, but now it merely fills a void created by the larger void you no longer get to fill. You aren't drunk, but you are buzzed enough to feel bold when you approach the house again and see a light on. Warmth spreads through you, your face heating as if you've suddenly been thrown into a sauna.

Your lips curl into a snarl. Looks like someone finally found it necessary to show up for his anniversary. You stomp up the steps and loudly make your way inside, and are met with a battered, angry Vegeta standing with his arms crossed. His lips are sneering and his jaw is tight.

"What?" You snap, kicking the door shut behind you.

"Where have you been?"

"Ha! What's it to you?" This was bad. You'd been drinking, he'd just finished training. Both of you were too fired up and angry to be speaking to each other, the risk of consequences entirely too real. And though you recognized it, you promptly told the angel on your shoulder to fuck off. It's way past time he got a piece of your mind.

"'What's it to me?'" He repeats with a scoff. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? I am-!"

"ThE pRinCe oF aLl SaIyAnS." You mock, setting down the empty wine bottle and removing your coat. "Yeah, I know. That where you been lately? Prince-ing all the Saiyans? Oh wait."

If all these walls could talk, they would tell me sit down, man, shut the fuck up.

Vegeta was angry before, but now he's furious. You crossed a line, an incredibly sensitive one, just to hurt him. You've professed your love for him for years and years now; how could you think to hurt him like this? His nostrils flare and his hands are now clenched at his sides.

However, as wine makes you bold and warms your iced veins, you don't stand down. Your angry eyes meet his and you stand as tall as you can. His eyes glance to your emptied wine bottle and then he scoffs in disgust. "You've been drinking, you vile woman. Have you reached two bottles a day yet?" His tone is mocking, angry, just as yours had been.

"You can notice I've been drinking more often but you can't even remember your own anniversary?" You'd never be fast enough to land a punch, but it didn't keep you from wanting to swing anyway.

"You place too much importance on such things."

"You don't place enough!" You scream, stepping closer.

"It's not important." He starts closing the gap. "Of every little thing in this world, you choose to celebrate that day every year like we don't already know the day I began to court you. Nothing has changed, so what is the point, woman?!"

"A lot has changed, Vegeta! You, specifically, have changed. This is the most we've even spoken in weeks. And we're arguing."

"Maybe you should put down the bottle then." He spits. "And be in your right mind for once."

It takes you both by surprise. His eyes widen when he feels the contact on his cheek, and you furrow your brows when you feel the sting on your hand. You didn't even register your hand moving. Somehow Vegeta didn't see it coming either and allowed you to blindside him.

The back of your mind screams that it's because he has so much trust in you, and you can practically feel some of it siphoning back to him, slowly.

#vegeta x you #vegeta x reader #asks #wip

42 notes · View notes

rosella-writes · 2 years

Text

Find the Word

Thank you for the tag, @cleverblackcat 🥺 I don’t have a lot of wips cuz I have no patience and publish things almost right away, so I’ll share what I found in my catalogue. 💚 the words I was prompted to search for were dance, gentle, green, and desire.

Dance

Virelan kissed him, deep and earnest and needy, until he took a hissing breath through his nose. She released him long enough to ask, “Dance with me now?”

Solas all but cocked his head to the side. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“With no music?”

She smoothed her hand from the nape of his neck to rest on his broad shoulder. His grasp tightened at her waist.

“Hum Mythal’s song for me,” Virelan said, “and I will dance to it.”

He leaned forward and tucked his nose into the curve of her neck, taking her free hand in his. He pulled her closer until she was flush against him, pinned with his palm at her back. And when he began humming again, she could feel it running along every inch of her skin — the steps they took, then, were lighter than any she had taken in her life.

Gentle

Wait, my boy, Dorian had said. It isn’t safe. It isn’t a place for children, much less one with magic such as yours.

But he’d wanted to be with him, all the same.

Mamae had encouraged him to be patient, that all would be okay when they finished what they went to do in Orlais. But he saw her less and less, and soon didn’t see Dorian at all. He had only the Walker in his dreams now — his rolling voice and gentle instruction were more easily remembered than Dorian’s quips through the stone in his hand.

Tulin looked down at it. It had cracked ages ago, rendering it useless, but he had kept it all the same. It seemed so much smaller now than it had when he was younger — its corners no longer fit so perfectly in the curl of his fingers.

Green

“My king!” she shouted, the motion pulling on her new vallaslin scars. "It is done!"

But before she could continue, there was a groaning sigh like the rushing of wind through a copse of trees.

The knights around her froze. Virelan turned, dread mounting in her like bile, and fixed her eyes on the corpse of the beast — one that was a corpse no longer. Its eyes opened, green as ever, and it hefted itself up on its one foreleg with a grunt. The severed foreleg, no longer inanimate, writhed towards its host. Vines like tendrilling veins reached from the creature’s stump, stretching towards its lost limb, and joined it — it drew it back onto its body, knitting it into place, and the creature put weight upon it once again. It rose to its full, terrible height, its mossy smile once more stretching across its fearsome face.

“A year,” it rumbled, “and a day.”

And the fires in the mead hall extinguished once again, casting Deshanna, Virelan, and the knights into complete darkness.

Desire

“Who have you called to serve you before? Faith? Glory?”

A snort of derision rattled through her bones. “Faith thought to prove his mettle with acts of devotion. Glory sought to appease me with accolades earned and duels won. Even Command, in whom I had every confidence, fell upon her own sword when put to the test.”

The sounds of displeasure, of curiosity, of scorn grew around her until there was nothing but an oppressive wall of noise crushing her skull. She gritted her teeth against it, her bare feet braced on the floor she could hardly feel. Her intense desire to stand strong, to prove, was what kept her standing under the onslaught.

“How,” Falon’Din’s voice boomed, “will you prove yourself worthy?”

She parted her lips to speak through clenched teeth. “I come with no weapon. I can offer no magics you have not already seen. I am no brilliant strategist.”

“You do not sell yourself well, little one.”

“But,” she insisted, growing bold, “I am Valor. I can endure.”

Tagging it forward to @dreadfutures @darethshirl @melisusthewee @thebookworm0001 if they’d like 💚 I’ll prompt with the words hope, grit, strength, and sky.

#tag game #my writing

12 notes · View notes

sca-rian · 2 years

Text

pairing: grian/scar words: 767 notes: small fluffy wip from my drafts. enjoy the little treat while I work on my actual projects <3

"Alone on a Friday night?"

Scar smiled at him from where he was sitting, on one of the tallest branches of his tree. Grian wondered how he got up there without dying, but it was Scar—he most likely did die, however, that was never enough to stop him.

"What next? Are you calling me pathetic?" Scar replied, his voice high enough that he could almost be shouting. Good thing they were by themselves. "Besides, aren't you alone as well?"

Grian smiled.

"Not anymore."

"Well, if you can get up here, I'd appreciate some company."

Grian missed having his wings—that was the worst part of starting on a new world—, therefore, he had to climb his way to the branch Scar was, as a regular human would. Grian made sure he was paying close attention to where he stepped, carefully enough to not die (Scar would never stop teasing him if he did).

"Why are you up here anyway? It's very inconvenient." He sat down opposite where Scar was, their knees brushing against each other. They both smiled.

"The view is nice," he answered, simply—and no misstatement to be found. "Besides, I just finished my tree. I have to give it a purpose while I don't work on the interior."

Ah, yes. Scar's starter treehouse—which was neither a starter nor a house, at least for now. Still, it was exactly what one would expect from him: impressive. Big enough for one to question’s Scar concept of what a first build should be like, but beautiful enough that no one would dare to criticize.

"It looks amazing, Scar. But don't you think you… overdid yourself a little?"

Scar smiled.

"I got a bit carried away with the size, I'll be the first to admit that." At least, he knew. "But I had fun, and that's what matters. Building trees is therapeutic, don’t you think?"

Grian wasn't sure if he agreed with such a statement. If anything, man-made structures and whatever the heck The Entity was were more of his style. Still, Scar always had a good eye for organic, nature-related buildings. He was talented, unbelievable so almost, and Grian knew he put a lot of thought into everything he did.

Grian was proud of Scar. Way more than he allowed himself to be out loud.

Scar stretched and then lazily rested his back against the tree branch.

"Tired?" Grian asked, gently bumping Scar’s leg with his own.

"Yeah." He yawned, and Grian had to hold himself back from yawning as well. "Haven't got decent sleep in a while."

Grian sighed, once again bumping Scar’s leg, although a bit stronger this time.

"Why'd you do that…"

Scar shrugged, but he still smiled.

"I don't have a decent bed yet."

You can always use mine.

But he stayed quiet, because they always took things slowly, and never really talked about it. In every single world, they would be drawn to each other: first as neighbors, then as business partners, until sharing a bed and a routine together felt natural and easy.

Then, it was a matter of time until they crossed the line; until Scar asked, gently, for a kiss or two. He would always receive permission, not only for a kiss.

Grian watched as Scar closed his eyes and his breath became lighter. He noticed the bits of dirt on Scar's face and his clothes, the leaves on his long hair—signs of hard work—, and smiled.

He came closer, his right hand on Scar's face, his fingers cleaning the bits of dirt off his cheeks. Then, he moved to Scar's hair, carefully—he knew Scar was protective of his hair. It felt soft on his fingers, despite the knots and the leaves, which he did his best to remove.

Scar smiled.

"Come here."

And so Grian did.

He sat on the middle of Scar's legs and rested his back against him. Scar hugged him from behind, and Grian felt adored. He felt it all coming back—the chills on his body every time they got too close

They couldn't avoid it.

"Your hair smells nice," Scar said, and Grian could hear his breath getting fainter.

"Shh." Grian closed his eyes, his head on Scar's chest. "Sleep, sweet prince."

"Promise you will wake me up early?"

Grian smiled.

"I promise."

…

Grian woke up hours later to their death messages and took him a minute to figure out what happened. When he respawned, Grian sat on his bed, laughing by himself, wondering how he could have been so naive.

But even with over thirty levels less, he still thought it was worth it.

#scarian #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #fanfic #desert duo #goodtimeswithscar #grian #gtwscar #boli writes

297 notes · View notes

0risha · 3 years

Text

RECOGNITION

series m.list

PAIRING : sukuna x fem!reader

SUMMARY : when an exchange student comes to jujutsu tech, Itadori is set on finding out why the King of curses is so interested in you.

TAGS : fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, jjk anime spoilers, some curse words, reader is described as a black female

NOTES : i’ve read a couple of works where sukuna meets his reincarnated lover so I wanted to try it out too, hope you enjoy. was supposed to make progress with my wips but I was in a sukuna mood. (◕ᴗ◕✿)

Sukuna feels your presence before he sees you. It’s one of those cliché moments where time puts its hand up to signal a standstill. Yuuji can feel it too when you pass by, your long braids swishing with each step.

He’s sure that he’s never seen you before but his shared body buzzes in remembrance. All the while, his emotions are overtaken by the unbridled feeling of wanting.

After that, Itadori never took it upon himself to ask Sukuna about the matter because the curse didn’t seem to want to.

Sukuna had become more and more suppressed, his usual pop-ups were a rare occurrence, even when Megumi was around. However, for the whole month you’d been at Jujutsu Tech, the King of curses had been intent on observing from his throne of woven carcasses, body hunched over to just watch.

You’re an exchange student, Itadori recalls Gojo’s past conversation about a new second-year that would be coming from the states. You’re strong — at first, Itadori couldn’t help but think that this revelation was the reason for Sukuna’s interest —your cursed energy being perfect sediment for close combat and dealing precise blows, all the same, Itadori could feel a grappling hook of something that seemed to be festering.

It’s dark and brooding and it stirs every time you come into contact with him. And Yuuji thinks he might go crazy because he wants to know your connection with Sukuna and it’s not like he can ask you because your aura screams — unapproachable.

His chance comes when all the first-years are assigned to a mission, you're there for extra measure. Gojo’s shaman instincts telling him that this mission was far too exceeding for him, Nobara, and Megumi.

Though just as Gojo predicted, it goes terribly wrong and Itadori keels over with an empty hollow where his heart should be.

His last thoughts are consumed with a screeching mantra of his late grandfather’s words. In the crevice of his flickering mind, they're big bold letters that drip with poisoned regret.

Before his vision goes black, the last thing he sees is a heart-broken Megumi and your face which is flooded with guilt.

When Itadori comes face to face with the King of curses, the stench of rotting death overpowering his senses, he mulls over the terms laid out by Sukuna to come back, alive.

To be reunited with his friends and become some type of savior —sukuna's words, not his— he'd give up the reigns of his body so Sukuna could talk to you whenever he chose.

For the exchange of his life, the rules weren’t bad, a part of him knows that this selfish override could cause problems for you in the future, but he still agrees.

When he wakes up to a pure white ceiling and the smell of bleach he doesn’t expect to see you towering over him. Moving up to a sitting position, his cheeks nearly bleed red because he’s naked. His eyes frantically flit over to Gojo who’s sitting in the corner of the room, watching the exchange. The white-haired sorcerer shrugs in a ridiculed manner —silently telling Itadori that it wasn’t his problem.

“You called me,” your voice filters through the bright room. His eyebrows crinkle in confusion. Sukuna must've did something.

When his eyes flit back to you, he’s met with your monotone expression, your cascade of braids framing your face. And for the third time in his life, he’s scared.

Your cursed energy, which for your level should leave little to no residual, is flaring with onyx undertones. Its sharpened jaws nearing closer and closer to Itadori in a beckoning manner. He's not sure why it's visible in the first place.

Gojo stays silent.

Brat, let me out. Sukuna, for the first time in weeks, pops up with a wide mouth on the palm of his hand. Without a second thought, Itadori allows him.

Whilst wading in his domain of subconsciousness, he watches the exchange. Your expression stays the same as you study Sukuna’s marked face.

“So hostile,” Sukuna bares, his powerful aura sifting through the room. You roll your eyes and crack a smile. Seamlessly ignoring the other man in the room— who you know Sukuna has a grudge with.

“Am I not supposed to be?” you cross your arms and ask. “Being friendly would get me in trouble.”

“You remember me?” The King of curses cuts straight to the point, the question being so unexpected that Gojo shuffles in his seat, his spine rigid with anticipation.

You nod stiffly. "I didn’t at first, not fully at least, but after coming into contact a few times, yeah.”

“It’s a shame I don’t have control over this body,” Sukuna presses a palm to your cheek, no doubt a loving caress. His deep baritone voice causing your skin to erupt into a turnpike for goosebumps to situate. “Do you remember how we parted last?”

“A sorcerer killed me or something,” you scratch the back of your neck under his intense stare. “Right through here,” you confess, pointing to the middle of your sternum.

“And you’ve become one?” Sukuna quirks an eyebrow, shoulders stiff with anger.

“I didn’t even know I knew you until a month ago, calm down,” you wave in dismissal. Itadori takes note in the way Sukuna visibly relaxes, your words washing him in a bucket of warmth. “Is that all? I’ve got a mission in thirty minutes.”

“I’m coming with you.” Sukuna jumps off the steel table, his bare feet touching the cool ground. You turn your eyes away from the bottom half of his body, ears growing hot in embarrassment.

“Eh? Is that allowed?” You turn to Gojo who’s still analyzing the situation beforehand and he shrugs with complacency. “Don’t let anyone see him,” Gojo warns, his stare serious even under his blindfold. You're not exactly sure what Gojo's thinking but you grasp the opportunity.

When you leave the autopsy room with a naked Sukuna by your side, careful to avoid any areas where Sukuna’s aura might be felt, you make it to Itadori’s dorm.

“Here.” You throw him Yuuji’s formal uniform and a pair of brown boots you find in the corner of his room. “I’m not wearing this,” Sukuna interjects.

“Huh?” Your upper lip curls up in confusion. “Then you’re not coming with me.” You turn to leave but he catches your arm in a tight grip.

“Fine, since you’re so damn adamant.” He releases his grip on your arm to slip into Yuuji’s clothes, when he finishes he turns to you with a glare.

“Good boy,” you praise, patting his tattooed cheek.

Internally, Itadori’s too bewildered to tease the curse. In all of his time spent with Sukuna in his body, he’s never seen the King of curses voluntarily listen to somebody else’s demands. The murky water he stands in ripples as he sits to observe everything that’s transpiring.

When you both reach the site you were assigned to, you sigh in annoyance. “What is it?” Sukuna asks, hands in pockets as he studies your face.

“I was hoping to have an easy day, they’re not dangerous or anything but there’s more than a dozen in there.” You point to the abandoned building, its steel beams bending with age.

“I’ll exorcise them for you.”

This is going completely against this guy’s morals, Yuuji thinks.

Your eyebrows fly to your forehead as you grow giddy with happiness. “Really?” You exclaim clambering up to wrap him in a hug.

“If you don’t let go, I won’t.” He grumbles, head in your neck while inhaling your sweet scent.

“Okayyy,” you inhale, trailing off, Sukuna not too far behind.

The exorcism is completed in fifteen seconds, tops. You stare in amazement at his lithe movements. His sharp fingers extinguishing cores with precise stabs— the same way he did his vessel. When he’s done he turns to you with an eyebrow raised, his hands wet with unspoken substance. You turn away with a humph.

“Was it not fast enough?” He walks towards you, concern written all over his expression.

“It was too fast,” you proclaim.

“Huh?”

“You’re a show-off,” you turn to exit the building, your braids whizzing past his face. You hear his roaring laughter behind you as you make it outside.

The smell of freshly churned earth enters your nostrils as you walk down a fenced sidewalk with bent daffodils. “Where are we going?”

“A ramen shop.” His gaze flicks over to study your face which is softened with what seems to be tranquility. His heart tides over with pride once he realizes that you feel content with him, a 1000-year-old curse.

However, he knows it’s the result of your memories that tie in with his; shared massacres and intertwined fates. Multiple restarts of what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of mingled hearts. But this time jump was different than the others.

You being a sorcerer is not the only obstacle, at all.

“Sukuna? Hey– you’re spacing out.” You wave a hand in front of his face to grab his attention.

“We’re here.” He looks up to see a small ramen shop, its logo old with age. As he enters the shop, he somehow finds contentment in being in a place that you like.

—

“You know you’re probably attracting sorcerers and curses alike as we speak?” You inquire, grabbing your ramen bowl from the waiter who nervously glances at Sukuna. His tattooed face also attracting unwanted attention.

“Mhm, I’ll just kill them if they interfere.” You whip your head to turn to the waiter who you’re relieved to see, had already left.

“I knew you’d say that,” you stuff your face with a handful of steaming noodles.

“Sukuna?”

“Mhm?”

“What’s gonna happen between us?” You flick your index finger back and forth. “It’s not like the other times, I’m a dedicated sorcerer.”

“So?”

“You’re the King of curses, I’m a sorcerer.” You repeat, dropping your wooden chopsticks to place your head on your propped fist.

“Already made a deal with the brat, I can talk to you whenever and wherever I want,” he pulls his face closer to yours.

“Yeah? What happens when they execute Itadori?” You curl your hands into balled fists, an unfamiliar emotion welling up in your throat. Somehow, it doesn't fit. It crosses your veins in a parasitic manner and your eyes glaze over.

“I’ll just come back.” He states matter of factly, voice coated with arrogance.

“You promise?” You whisper, holding out your pinky finger. You nearly scoff at your own action.

Ignoring the finger you bare out, he presses his lips against yours. It’s the same as he can remember, centuries ago. His body elates with a hum of electricity. And it's as if his body's creating a second space of void in which he feels his every sense being sharpened; the smooth curve of your full lips and the salty taste of previous ramen.

But before the kiss can go any further, you're pulling back.

“That was uh…” You blink once, twice, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. When you look back to Sukuna, you instead are met with Itadori’s clear face.

“The hell are you doing, brat?” Sukuna bares his teeth on the right side of Itadori’s cheek. ”I- I’m sorry just got a little uh.. flustered.”

“The fuck are you getting flustered for?” Sukuna growls.

“I- uh..”

“It’s okay Yuuji, you can switch again another time,” you sympathize with the boy. His cheeks are coated in red.

“It’s getting late, eat some ramen so we can go.” You chuckle. Itadori nods as his hand reaches towards a pair of chopsticks.

“Touch my ramen and I’ll kill you again, you damn brat.”

back to m.list

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x poc reader #sukuna x black reader #jjk x reader #jjk x poc reader #jjk x poc!reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x you #itadori x reader #itadori x poc reader #itadori x black reader #anime x black!reader

1K notes · View notes

sfb123 · 3 years

Text

Sapere Aude - Part 11

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: PG-13 Adult language, discussions of death, conspiracy, blackmail, and other adult themes.

Warning: The Royal Heir Book 3 Spoilers all over the place.

Disclaimer: I have no current affiliation with any other Via Imperii themed stories. Any claims that I have pre-read anything are false.

Word Count: 2,909

A/N: First of all, I have a couple of new readers (hi, thank you, I love you) if this is your first Sapere Aude, stop here, go back, and start from the beginning. This series has a lot of bombs and surprises, so none of this is going to make sense, and it’s going to make it less exciting if you aren’t reading from the beginning.

Sorry, another long wait for a chapter. I got stuck, and distracted, and like a million other things. The Choices Insider email last week kind of lit a fire under me. When I started writing this (in December) the plan was to have it finished before the last book came out, so I have like a month to get through this. I’m going full out on getting this completed now, I will be working on nothing but this until it is done, and am hoping to finish it in time for the next book to come out so that PB has plenty of time to steal my ideas.

This chapter took a while for me to work through, but @jessiembruno was amazing and helped me every step of the way, and got like a million rambling text messages from me once the idea dam finally broke. And then pre-reading and leaving me some amazing love notes, and super helpful suggestions. She also kept encouraging me, and pushing me to work on it when my mind would wander into new ideas, or thoughts on some other random WIP that I started throwing together. I love you, and I am so grateful for this friendship that goes way beyond any of this. By the way, you are an AMAZING writer, and I will continue to shout it from the mountain tops as long as I live.

As always with this series, I need to thank @txemrn for pre-reading. I was having SUCH a miserable day and feeling so shitty about myself (for non-fandom reasons), and your reactions to this chapter made me laugh out loud for the first time in what felt like forever. I appreciate you so much my dear friend.

And of course, thank you @twinkleallnight for my beautiful series moodboard.

Tags: Listed below, you know the drill.

Liam exited the bedroom and walked toward the sitting area. He paused at the end of the hallway to observe his wife and his daughter sitting on the couch. Riley had her blouse in hand, sewing on the button Olivia sent her for her undercover mission. She was showing Eleanor how to sew, talking her through every stitch. The princess was watching and listening intently, taking in every word her mother said.

He leaned his right shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he admired his family. He didn’t understand how it was possible to fall even more in love every time he looked at them. All he wanted in this world was their happiness and safety, and now here he was, sending his wife straight to the enemy.

“Hi Daddy!” The angelic voice of his daughter pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hi Princess. Are you being a good helper for mommy?” He lifted Eleanor off the couch and sat in her seat, placing her on his lap.

“Best helper a girl could ask for.” Riley held her hand out, palm up, and Eleanor gave her a high five.

Liam enjoyed the company of his family for a few more moments, before placing a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “Alright Eleanor, why don’t you go play in your room for a little while? Mommy and daddy have to talk about grown up things.”

“Yes, daddy. Will you come play after?”

“Of course, I believe I am owed a tea party.” He gave her a hug before setting her down and watching her run to her room. When she was gone, he turned his attention back to Riley. “How are you feeling, love?”

Riley cut the lingering thread from the button and placed her blouse on the table in front of them before responding. “I mean, obviously I’m nervous, but I’m optimistic that I’ll come back with something we can use. How are you feeling?”

He sighed and pulled her close to him, kissing the top of her head as it landed on his chest. “Riley, I love how much you worry about me, but let me worry about you right now. Let me be your support system. Tell me truly, how are you feeling?”

“I’m...I’m terrified.” She pulled back and looked him in the eyes, tears beginning to pool in her own. “I’m trying so hard to be strong, to put on a brave face, but this is fucking terrifying. We don’t know how deep it goes, we know some of the people that are involved, but how do we know that that’s everyone?”

“You’re right, there are a lot of unknowns, and that’s scary.” He cupped her face in his hands, wiping a falling tear with his thumb. “But I truly believe that we are going to end this. That you are going to end this. Don’t forget, you are the Champion of The Realm.”

“Yeah, but I’m sleeping with the guy who makes those decisions, he may have been a little biased.” She shrugged, half joking.

Liam removed his hands, his expression becoming more serious. “Riley, that’s not funny. You have earned every single thing you have received since you arrived in this country, our country. I don’t ever want you to believe that my feelings for you overrule my judgement when it comes to your abilities. You are the strongest person I have ever met. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“IF anyone can do this. What if nobody can?”

“Then we will face the fallout together. Like we always do, like we always will. We are the King and Queen of Cordonia, Liam and Riley Rys. We are a force to be reckoned with.” He raised an eyebrow as he parroted back her reassuring words from a few nights before.

She smirked at him. “Hey, no fair, you can’t use my own words to prove your point like that.”

“Yes I can, old negotiation tactic.” He winked at her and stood from the couch reaching for her hand. “Come on, we still have the whole day ahead of us. Let’s go have a tea party with our daughter, then I’m taking my girls out for dinner.”

****

Two days later, Riley was sitting in the back of an SUV heading toward the Fierro Estate. She was doing her best to quell her nerves, but she couldn’t help her hands from fidgeting in her lap.

“You seem on edge, ma’am. Is everything ok?” The sound of Mara’s voice cut through the silence, startling Riley.

“Oh...yeah, I’m fine Mara. I’m just not really sure what to expect from this meeting. Last time I went to one of these events, I found out my mother in law wasn’t actually dead. I don’t know if I could handle another surprise like that.”

Mara chuckled at her concern. “Don’t worry your majesty, this is a simple strategy meeting followed by a dinner. You have met all of the members, so there will be no surprise guests this time around.”

Riley nodded and turned her head, watching the scenery pass by as they continued to their destination. Her mind was racing thinking about what this meeting would have in store. She practiced taking pictures with the pen, and activating the recorder she had sewn into her shirt. As they got closer to the estate, she felt her heart rate speed up, and the knot in her stomach tighten.

When they arrived, Riley was ushered into the grand room, which had been set up with a large table. The other members were standing around in small groups chatting until it was time for the meeting to begin. Riley fidgeted with the pen, twirling it in her fingers before lifting it to her face and tapping it against her chin and clicking it several times. She hoped it came off as a nervous habit, providing cover for the fact that she was actually taking pictures around the room.

She gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin at the feeling of a hand gently being placed on her shoulder. She whipped around to see Eleanor smiling softly at her. “Riley dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, Eleanor. Hello.” Riley held her hand to her chest, trying to get her heart rate back to normal. “It’s ok, I’m just a little nervous. Not really sure what to expect from this meeting.”

“Don’t worry, I promise it’s just regular business, nothing earth shattering. Come on, it’s time to get this started, and you’re sitting next to me.” Eleanor wrapped her arm around Riley and led her to the table. The other guests took this as their cue to follow, as the meeting was about to get underway. As Riley sat, she adjusted her skirt and blouse, using the opportunity to activate the microphone embedded in her button.

As the chapter president, Eleanor kicked off the meeting by greeting their newest member, Queen Riley, and explaining that she was there to help push their initiatives though with the King. Riley clenched her fist ever so slightly, a trick she used when she was trying to keep her expression neutral. They continued on, reviewing the minutes of the last meeting, it all seemed to be pretty mundane, things that wouldn't even necessarily cross hers or Liam’s desk.

Then they opened up the floor to new business, and Neville stood to address the room. “I would like to revisit the Auvernal alliance.”

Riley was able to maintain her stoic expression, but her body tensed at the mention of Auvernal. She and Liam had made it perfectly clear that there would be no alliance. “I don’t believe there is anything to revisit there.” She chimed in. “King Liam and I determined that the alliance would not be beneficial for Cordonia.”

“Actually, I believe you determined the alliance would not be beneficial to you and your husband.” Neville rebutted, crossing his arms over his chest. “You didn’t want to marry off your daughter, you didn’t bother thinking of what the alliance could bring to our country.”

“Are you questioning the decisions of your monarchs? I urge you to remember your station, Lord Neville.” Riley raised an eyebrow and stood a bit taller.

Neville scoffed at her threat. “And I urge you to remember that you may have slept your way to the top in Cordonia, but the Via Imperii is bigger than the monarchy, and in this society, I outrank you.”

“Well, if being the Queen doesn’t matter in this room, then there is nothing stopping me from coming over there and beating your a...”

“Ok ok ok, let’s all calm down here.” Eleanor grabbed Riley’s arm, stopping her from charging at Neville. “Let’s all sit down and have a rational conversation, weighing out the pros and cons of an alliance.” Riley and Neville both sat down and exchanged narrow glances. “Now Neville, since you have brought this proposal to the group, you will go first. Please explain to us your thought process on revisiting the alliance.”

Neville nodded and smirked at Riley. “It is clear that combining the financial security of Cordonia with the military strength of Auvernal would make us an unstoppable force. Besides, we need the extra protection given our country’s recent history.” He glared at Riley once again.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Riley huffed.

“Look at the instability we have faced in recent years. Our crown prince abdicated, his successor, our current king, broke off a perfectly suitable engagement to marry a foreign commoner who was marred in scandal.”

“He released a statement that cleared that whole thing up. The scandal is irrelevant.” She could feel her cheeks heating up.

“Do you really think people stopped talking about it? You can’t really believe that it won’t be a part of your legacy as our Queen.”

Riley slouched down in her seat. She knew she should remain composed, but bringing up the Tariq scandal hit a nerve that she didn’t know still existed. One of her biggest concerns in continuing her relationship with Liam, and accepting his proposal, was that his success as King would be overshadowed by the scandal she had faced. She had thought that after all these years, it would have been forgotten, but Neville bringing it up just brought everything back up and made her realize it would be something that was attached to her name forever.

“Besides the personal problems our royal family has faced, there have been multiple attempts to overthrow them just within our own country. Sons of Earth, Duke Godfrey, Barthelemy Beaumont, just to name a few. Other countries are seeing this, and it won’t be long before they try to come for us as well.” Neville continued.

“While I don’t agree with his delivery, Lord Neville does make some valid points.” Emmeline interjected, the rest of the room began murmuring in agreement. Riley couldn’t hide her shocked expression as she felt tears start to build up in her eyes. She blinked them away, she was not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing their queen cry.

Eleanor took back control of the room before turning to Riley. “Riley, would you like to counter? You and Liam worked directly with Auvernal during the marriage alliance talks, you clearly have some insight that we may not be privy to.”

Riley took a deep breath to get her emotions under control before standing to address the room. “Aside from the fact that Bradshaw and Isabella are deplorable people with hell spawn children, the main reason that we decided an alliance was not in the best interest of Cordonia, was because it was clear that their interest was not an alliance, but a hostile takeover of our country.”

“Perhaps we would prosper under their rule. I haven’t heard of any coup attempts in Auvernal, it seems to me like they’re doing something right.” Neville spoke up.

“So that’s it then? You all think Bradshaw and Isabella would do a better job as your king and queen, so I’m just supposed to convince Liam to relinquish the throne?” Riley threw her hands up in frustration and stepped away from the table.

“Your majesty, we’re not making the final decision right here, right now, we just want to remain open to the idea and explore some options.” Emmeline tried to talk Riley down. “Perhaps you and King Liam could take a meeting with them, a friendly lunch maybe, just to open the lines of communication.”

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you all expect me to agree with this!” Riley was now pacing the room, overcome with a nervous energy.

Eleanor stood and lifted a hand to quiet the room. “Alright, that’s enough. I think we’ve gotten as far as we’re going to get with this conversation tonight. Dinner is being set out in the dining hall. I suggest we adjourn for the day. Let’s all compose ourselves and think about all sides of this conversation. We will pick up the conversation at the next meeting.”

As the members started filing out of the room, Eleanor approached Riley and gently placed her hand on her arm to keep her still. “Are you alright Riley?”

Riley shrugged Eleanor’s hand off of her, anger clear on her face. “Of course I’m not alright. I basically just had a room full of my subjects telling me that my husband and I are doing a shitty job, and they think those monsters are better suited to look out for their best interests. Of course I’m not fucking alright!” Riley moves in closer, lowering her voice but not losing any of the anger in her tone. “I thought you were here doing this to protect Liam. Do you really think that this is protecting him? Handing his kingdom over to Auvernal?!”

“Riley, I always have Liam’s best interests at heart, I promise you that. Why don’t you head home, take a couple of days to relax and take everything in. I will set up a meeting for you and I later this week to talk about everything and work out a game plan.”

“Fine, I can’t stay here anymore anyway. And I definitely don’t have an appetite for dinner.” Riley walked out of the room, looking for Mara so that they could get back to the palace. She stepped into the dining area and saw Mara standing in the far corner talking to Neville. She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath before approaching the pair. “Mara, we will not be staying for dinner. We are returning to the palace immediately. I want to be home to put my daughter to bed.” She wasn’t going to give Neville the satisfaction of knowing she was leaving because of what he started.

“Of course, your majesty.” Mara nodded and exited with Riley.

The ride home was silent. In all the years that Mara had worked for Riley, she had never seen her this upset. She wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it, or what would be considered overstepping her duties, so she decided to stay quiet and let Riley speak, if she wanted to. She didn’t.

They arrived at the palace and walked together to the royal quarters. As Riley placed her hand on the doorknob to enter, Mara cleared her throat to get her attention. “Your majesty, I know this was a difficult evening for you, but I do feel I need to remind you that discretion is key in the Via Imperii. His majesty cannot know what happened tonight. You will need to lock those feelings away for the time being.”

Riley pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded. She knew she was going to fall into Liam's arms and cry the second she saw him, and then she would tell him everything, but she couldn’t let Mara know that. “Liam and I will be staying in for the rest of the night. You are dismissed for the evening.” Riley walked into her quarters and shut the door before Mara had a chance to respond.

As soon as she closed the door, she leaned back against it and dropped her head into her hands. Liam came walking into the room, the smile that appeared on his face when he heard the front door open quickly faded as he took in the sight of his wife sobbing at the front door. “Riley?” She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face as she tried to catch her breath. He rushed over to her and pulled her close, she buried her head in his chest as he stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head trying unsuccessfully to soothe her. “Shhhh, it’s alright love, I’m right here, I’ve got you. Tell me what happened.”

Riley could barely speak, but she slowly tried to explain everything that had happened that night. Liam walked her to the couch as she spoke, she needed to sit, anything to help her relax and calm down. He stared at her in disbelief as he listened to his wife tearfully recap her evening.

On the other side of the door, Mara pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket, selecting one of the contacts and bringing the phone to her ear. “My lord, you were right. We will need to put your plan in motion.”

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia @athena-penrose @bbrandy2002 @chemist-ana @choicesficwriterscreations @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordoniaqueensworld @emkay512 @gabesmommie1130 @gkittylove99 @hopelessromanticmonie @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @kingliam2019 @lucy-268 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mile9213 @mom2000aggie @pixie88 @queenrileyrose @secretaryunpaid @sweatyrysconnoisseur @tessa-liam @theroyalheirshadowhunter @twinkleallnight @txemrn

Sapere Aude:

@burnsoslow @busywoman @gardeningourmet @ofpixelsandscribbles

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612

Liam:

@amandablink @yourmajesty09

60 notes · View notes

lambourngb · 3 years

Text

a skeleton of something more [3/7]

previously here. malex wip based on the trailer for season 3, some spoilers and my own speculation. I’m failing at the daily serial because keeping to 2K is impossible, but hoping to have it finished by next week.

Warnings: NSFW content, not forrest long friendly

*** NOW ****

Alex shut off the streaming hot water reluctantly, and shifted back on the new shower bench to lean his head against the tile.

His fingertips were pruned from the long shower, his attempt at using the scalding water to try to wash away the dirt he felt covered in after being away from Roswell for so long. Pointless endeavour, when he knew the filth was more than skin deep at this point. It was in his bones. It was in his blood, the way the Manes name still opened the worst doors. Alex touched the corners of his smile with his hands, looking for the edge of the mask he wore around Deep Sky and finding only the bristle of his beard growing in, a very late five o’clock shadow.

The steam of the shower was slowly fading, bringing back the visual details of his naked body. His stump was slightly swollen, the marks of wearing his prosthesis for too long, but it was hard to feel safe without it on, doing the work he was doing around even more paranoid men than he was. Three years past his injury, the scars were still ugly to his eyes as he cupped his fingers over the end of his right leg, but time had faded the lines from an angry red to a wizened white.

Alex hoped that time would do the same to his soul.

He moved his hand from his stump, over to his thighs to stretch the lingering soreness from his legs. He ignored where his cock laid, half-full of blood from the simple pleasure of a hot shower; the desire to let himself feel good was far from his mind. Instead he focused on returning functionality to his body after the long, cramped ride on that bus. That was the physical challenge, the emotional one would be trickier.

It helped that he knew Michael was still there, in his house, probably fixing something else that had been neglected during Alex’s time away. Finding something that was broken or damaged, and then making it whole just with his touch, that was what Michael did naturally. Alex was no exception to that.

Every muscle was loose finally, thanks to the improved water pressure beating on the knots of tension until they turned into putty. Beyond the simple improvement of the plumbing, Michael had also relocated the shower taps to the wall next to the bench, so he could sit safely and turn on the water without balancing on one foot in the front of the stall.

New grab bars lined the bathroom walls as well. Alex had worried about the expense until he recognized the chrome and black rails from the boxes he had bought a while ago, before shuttling them off to the garage. Michael had apparently found the abandoned project and had finished it for him. The longer the trips he made away from Roswell were, the more involved the upgrades Michael made in his absence. He would need to prepare a cover story in case Forrest noticed the changes, a renovated bathroom went far beyond changing out bulbs in a light fixture.

He was getting closer to ending the sham relationship with Forrest, but he wasn’t there quite yet. His first night back in Roswell he had managed to steer Forrest away from his house and more importantly, his bed, but that was only a temporary reprieve. Tomorrow it would all begin again, playing the role of a grieving son looking to ‘understand’ his father, docilely following Forrest’s lead in ‘discovering’ the alien threat, letting the other man comfort him, but this time, that would all happen in front of Michael.

Michael knocked on the half-open bathroom door to get his attention, before stepping inside carrying a bath towel. “Are you still alive in there?”

“I am, but I want to marry this shower,” and you, he finished silently. Michael looked pleased by the comment as he stood outside the glass doors, waiting patiently as Alex pulled himself up from the bench and carefully hopped toward him. As he drew closer, the proud expression changed to one of open hunger as Michael took in his nakedness, cataloging the changes on his body. Downtime while he had been away from Roswell had often been filled with trips to the gym, exercising to work through his frustration at the slow pace of developments regarding Deep Sky. Weight lifting and core training had kept his hands away from his phone when the desire to check in with Michael took hold.

There was only so many times he could pass off a call to Michael about his mail or paying a bill for his house.

Alex held out his hand for the towel, while Michael stared at him, his gaze almost physical as he lingered over the swells of muscle. He snapped his fingers at Michael to break the hypnosis.

At the sound, Michael blinked, but then avoided his hand to wrap the towel around Alex himself. Warmth from the soft linen enveloped Alex, a sign the towel was fresh from the drier. He closed his eyes under Michael’s safe hold, enjoying the blatant pampering as Michael gently patted Alex’s wet skin dry. “I don’t mind sharing you with the shower, especially if it means you’re not wearing clothes,” he murmured in Alex’s ear, nosing the lock of wet hair away.

Shivering under the ghost of Michael’s lips, Alex felt something start to knit and heal inside him, blanketed by more than just the towel. Love. Feeling more like himself, Alex teased Michael back, “You could have joined me.”

“It was tempting, very tempting, but then who would have made dinner if I had taken you up on that offer?” Michael tucked the towel around Alex, and then offered his arm as a support while Alex hopped toward the pile of folded sweats to wear.

“I have a lot of appetites, Michael, food is barely in the top five. And I can eat later, after you leave,-” Alex held his clothes in his hand, not moving to get dressed just yet.

“You can, but you won’t eat. As soon as I walk out that door, I know you’re going to park yourself in front of your computer and spend the rest of the night hacking, just like you’ve done nearly every night since this started.” Michael waited with a raised eyebrow for Alex to deny it.

Caught by both the frustration that Michael was right and by the ticking clock in his head that counted down the end of this precious time together, Alex conceded. He pulled his sweatshirt down over his head grumpily, “I didn’t spend every night hacking.”

“Just the nights when you weren’t with Forrest Long.” Michael said it quietly, turning away to hang up the wet towel.

Alex tucked his crutches under his arms, before reaching out to catch Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, it doesn’t mean anything, you know that, right? It’s just…friction.” He studied Michael’s face, worried that perhaps his patience with everything was wearing thin.

Over the last year, as he moved deeper and deeper into the circle of men that made up Deep Sky, Michael had been his lifeline to his real identity. A voice on the line, late at night, warm and beloved, reminding Alex what was important and keeping him grounded. During the day, his resolve had felt less certain. He had forced himself to echo the words of Jesse Manes to curry favor, ducking his reflection in the mirror when the hateful words started to come easier and easier to him. Then there was the feeling he had, when he had to accept Forrest’s offers to visit him in Los Alamos, the way he had felt weirdly relieved to see a familiar face, even if it was someone he couldn’t trust.

Hearing Michael’s voice led him back to himself, and then little by little, the updates were less mission-related and more personal. It had led them back to each other. By the second month, Michael had stopped dancing around things, admitting to Alex just how much he missed him and by the third month, Alex was slipping away to meet with him at half-way destinations to seal his words with actions.

It was reminiscent of his early days in the Air Force, finding Michael in out-of-the-way places where no one knew them. Back then, Alex had DADT and military physicals to dodge. Michael had to take care in leaving no marks on Alex’s body, while Alex had had no such restriction. Michael would leave those encounters, mauled with love bites and fucked thoroughly, while Alex stayed as pristine as his neatly pressed uniform. Eleven, twelve years on, the need for discretion had changed, from the military to Forrest Long.

That was the elephant in the room. Alex was still having sex with Forrest, mostly when he couldn’t avoid it with a trip out of town, like when he accompanied Forrest to Deep Sky owned properties. It was just friction, putting his body in motion to do a job, much like he had when he had deployed abroad. He had lost any amount of shame for what he was doing to the other man after the first time, when he had found a detailed write-up about his own visit to the Long Farm that Forrest had filed and sent to the mysterious leader of Deep Sky.

“I know.” Michael replied, his smile weak but real as Alex brought him closer for a slow, thorough kiss.

Alex inhaled the scent of rain into his nose as Michael melted in his arms and the kiss deepened between them. This was the opposite of friction, as they slid easily together in the doorway of the bathroom, until Alex’s stomach betrayed him thoroughly and growled. Michael broke away with a laugh, and Alex noted with relief that his earlier fragility had completely vanished from his eyes, as he headed toward the kitchen, “Come on, I made you your favorite for dinner, spicy tomato soup.”

“With strips of cheese toast?”

Michael looked offended at the question. “Of course.”

That was proof that Michael had been listening to him closely during their late night conversations, the way the subject migrated from business to the personal, until Alex had flat out whined over how terrible the food was at one of the Deep Sky outfits. “Forget looking for aliens, they should look for a new chef.” And then they were off and running about comfort food, with Michael sharing his fondness for canned spaghettios, they tasted fine cold. Sharing his own fond memory from childhood of his mother making soup as a rare show of maternal care. Melted cheese dripped over cut up toast, then dipped in the tomato soup.

The clock was still ticking in his head, counting down the end of this brief interlude of happiness. Alex laid back on his couch with a tray of soup on his lap and tried to soak in every minute. The thrill of sharing a meal together, sitting side by side on his couch with the evening news droning on in the background. It was a type of domesticity that he never thought he had wanted until Michael. His thoughts turned away from the wholesome toward the carnal as he watched Michael pucker his lips together to blow on the steaming bowl.

The food was delicious, but that was a distracting sight for anyone, let alone someone who knew just what Michael’s mouth was capable of doing.

Michael flashed a wicked smile when he caught Alex staring, picking up his strip of toast to dip in his soup and then licked it indecently clean. The perfect bow of his mouth around his food, his tongue chasing his lips for every drop of spilled soup had Alex shifting on the couch. The production lasted until Michael hit a hot place in his bowl, squeaking in shock, sending Alex into a peal of laughter at the affronted look on his face.

“Fuck, that’s hot!”

“Yes it was.”

“Asshole, I meant the soup!”

Alex laughed long and hard, his head tipped back against the couch, and after a moment, Michael joined him. Tears came to his eyes, the laughter set off each time they looked at each other. There was a point, where Alex realized he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like that, at least not in the last year outside of talking to Michael on the phone.

It was worth it. All of it. Infiltrating Deep Sky, spending half of his time around people who would cheerfully murder an alien, even using sex to get information, the price was not too steep to pay if it meant he could protect this moment, preserve it and repeat it forever. To see laugh lines around Michael’s mouth, instead of the press of fear, he would fuck the Devil himself if it meant Michael was safe.

He slowly sobered on the couch, his laughter gone at the thought of losing this. Michael placed their empty dishes in the kitchen and then drew Alex’s foot into his lap to rub. “I can practically see the gears turning now. Relax, okay? Watching the clock doesn’t help.”

“I know,” Alex agreed quietly, pressing his foot into Michael’s grip. “I’m feeling a little guilty here, with all this pampering.”

Michael dug his thumbs into Alex’s instep, drawing a loud groan of appreciation as he worked on releasing the knots of stress. Too much time in combat boots, the calluses were thick and tough under Michael’s hands but he kept rubbing regardless.

“If that guilt motivates you into taking better care of yourself-”

“I know, I am trying. But what about you?” Alex gestured toward Michael’s face with his own look of judgment, “are you sleeping enough? Eating enough?”

“I’m also trying. It will be better once this is over. Once you get to meet the head of Deep Sky, and hack him, we’ll both sleep better.”

“If it’s ever over. I’m starting to think the leader of Deep Sky is like the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

Instead of pulling on the threads of pessimism, Michael tugged on Alex’s ankle as he crawled closer to him on the couch. As a subject change, it was a welcome one to Alex. Why dwell on the future, it was better to enjoy the present. Michael’s hands smoothed over the soft fleece of the sweatpants, sending a thrill of excitement through Alex. He slipped down on the seat to allow Michael room.

“Is it okay to pamper you a little more?” Michael asked, his eyes dark as his fingers slipped inside the waistband of Alex’s sweats. He teased at the taut muscles, stroking his fingers over the soft rasp of hair trailing downward.

“What did you have in mind?”

“When’s the last time someone’s sucked this big dick of yours?”

There was a dark hint of teasing in Michael’s voice, he was daring Alex to say a name. Forrest’s name. It was the type of playful provocation they could use with each other now, safely, the result of their late night phone calls to each other. When time was valued, what was the point of secrets between them?

Alex licked his lips absently, giving Michael a thorough head to toe look of consideration, before answering honestly, “It was in Santa Fe. At the Silver Saddle Motel. A very hot cowboy sucked me until I was hard, and then rode my dick all night long.”

Michael blinked, not expecting that answer, but pinked in pleasure. “Oh…well then, you’ve been deprived because that was months ago.” He pulled down on Alex’s sweats, letting the band of elastic tuck neatly under his balls and sat back to admire the view. Alex shifted under his eyes, his cock straining upward as Michael bent his head down. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s a short guy, all of this probably doesn’t fit in his mouth,” Michael commented, wrapping his palm around Alex’s cock firmly.

“Yeah,” Alex gasped, hitching up into Michael’s grip, “small mouth, it’s hard to even kiss, impossible to fuck-” His voice gave out as Michael licked the bead of pre-cum with tip of his tongue before stretching his mouth wide. There was a way that Michael approached cock-sucking that Alex could never get over. The look of hunger and that deep breath he always took, as if he had to hold himself back to keep from gorging himself on Alex’s cock.

Alex had been deprived. Very deprived.

Slowly Michael slid his lips down on Alex’s cock, taking him deep into his mouth. His tongue, warm and firm, dragged downward. Alex cried out in pleasure, it felt so good, his hips rocking upward imperceptibly as his iron-strong control was rocked by Michael. He kept his eyes trained on Michael’s mouth, the reddening stretch of his lips wrapped tightly around his cock. Michael looked up, catching his eye and then bobbed his mouth downward.

Reaching downward, Alex placed his hand against Michael’s jaw and traced his thumb around the edge of his mouth. “So good, you take me so well, Michael.”

The praise had Michael blinking in pleasure before he redoubled his efforts in sucking. Alex gasped again, sinking deeper into Michael’s throat until his lips were kissing the sparse hair, down to the root. Fuck. He was ready to come already. Worse than the clock sweeping toward the end of the evening, was his body ready to end it now.

“Close, I’m gonna-” Alex warned, his hands going to Michael’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Michael off of him, or keep Michael in place to feed him his cock in case he backed away as Alex teetered on the edge of orgasm. His grip clutched uselessly on him, but Michael showed no signs of stopping his efforts.

Kicking at the couch cushion, he lost the fight to hold back, as he felt his cock hit the back of Michael’s throat. There was a tightening around him, throat muscles working hard to swallow, and then Michael wrapped his hand back around the base of Alex’s cock to stroke him in time with his sucking. His free hand gently squeezed Alex, before rubbing a knuckle along the seam of his balls to his perineum. The outside touch against his prostate was enough to have Alex coming hard down Michael’s throat.

God it was so good. Michael knew every place to touch him. He knew to keep his mouth on Alex as he came, swallowing his release sloppily, until come and saliva leaked from his lips. It was over far too fast, but Michael held on until Alex felt the tears of overstimulation burn in his eyes. Slowly Michael softened his lips, letting Alex’s spent cock slip lazily from his messy mouth and then met Alex’s gaze with a knowing glint.

Michael knew exactly how depraved he looked.

It was too soon to get hard again, but Alex felt the twinge of it as he stared at Michael. His hands were greedy, cupping Michael’s face between them before wiping up the spill from Michael’s lips with his thumb. Two could play at that game, he thought as he brought it to his mouth.

“Fuck,” Michael swore softly, “Look at you, tasting yourself.”

“I’d rather taste you,” Alex patted the couch he was laying down on and straightened his disheveled sweatpants. “Take off those jeans and wrap those great thighs of yours around my head and let me suck you.”

“Actually, I’d rather take you to bed.”

Alex glanced at the clock behind Michael. It was close to midnight. He knew based on experience that Forrest would be by in the morning with coffee, before Alex was fully awake. It was a transparent way of trying to catch him off guard, to see if Alex would slip up with news about Michael, or any other alien. After every short trip back to Roswell, the other man had made sure to find an excuse to be in Alex’s house.

“I know I can’t stay, but I don’t want to leave.”

“I never want you to leave either.” Alex chewed on his lower lip, as Michael waited. Sensing his advantage, he tilted his head seductively, spilling his curls over one eye and then made a transparent pleading face at Alex. Laughing, Alex conceded, “Okay, okay, you can stay for a little while. Help me to bed, and set an alarm.”

***

#malex fic #roswell new mexico #not forrest long friendly #alex goes undercover #season 3 spoilers

49 notes · View notes

madasthesea · 3 years

Text

I’ve sort of accepted that all those Irondad WIPs I have are never going to get finished, not only because Marvel has pretty effectively killed my interest in the MCU, but also because I haven’t felt like writing in over a year now (not cause anything’s wrong, I just haven’t really wanted to).

HOWEVER. There’s a fic that I was going to write about Venom Peter and while the story as a whole is definitely not even close to presentable, there’s a scene I really, really love and still want to share with people even though it has little to no context. It’s under the cut if you’re interested :)

(A bit of backstory for anyone who wants a bit of context. This whole story was supposed to be based on season 3B of Teen Wolf, with Nogitsune Stiles, for anyone that watched the show. Basically Stiles is possessed by an evil trickster spirit, but it takes a little while for it to take over and only comes out in bursts. It gets to the point that the audience, and the characters in the show, never really know if it’s Stiles or the Nogitsune pretending to be Stiles.

There’s a scene where Scott, Stiles’ best friend and a werewolf, is stabbed through the stomach with a sword. They get away from the bad guys and Stiles soothes Scott like he’s going to take out the sword so Scott can heal with his magical abilities. He puts a comforting hand on Scott’s shoulder, grabs the sword handle, then twists it in deeper instead of pulling it out. This scene is based on that.)

Peter looked down at Tony’s arm, the skin already swollen and red.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

It did, but Tony had had worse and telling Peter that it hurt would just make him feel even guiltier than he probably already did.

“Not much,” he said with a small smile, trying to catch his eye. But Peter was still looking down at the injury.

Peter stepped closer, his head tilting to one side. “That’s too bad.”

Tony’s head jerked up, teeth snapping together in surprise. Faster than Tony could blink, Peter’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm, his grip tight enough to bruise. Looking Tony dead in the eye, he began twisting it, sending white hot agony racing up Tony’s arm as his elbow popped out of place, the broken bones grating.

“How about now?”

Peter’s eyes were alight with curiosity, a childish sort of fascination. He tilted his head to one side as he watched Tony’s face contort in pain. He looked like Tony had just shown him something new in the lab, like they were tinkering with the Iron Man suit.

Tony swayed and Peter put his other hand on Tony’s waist, supporting him.

“Whoa, I’ve got you,” he murmured in that soft tone he used with Morgan, with May, with Tony when they were talking late at night. Tony was going to throw up.

He swallowed convulsively and he tried to even his breathing.

Peter smiled. Then wrenched Tony’s arm again. A hoarse scream clawed up his throat and even that hurt. His eyes watered uncontrollably from the pain.

Looking like a scientist observing a mouse in its cage, Peter reached up and wiped one of his tears away with his thumb, fingers brushing almost tenderly against Tony’s jaw.

Then he raised his thumb to his mouth and licked the tear away. Tony’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

Peter made a sound of appreciation. “You’re afraid. But not for yourself, right?”

Tony eyed the creature in front of him, the one that had taken his kid and used him to wreak havoc and sow destruction in the lives of everyone who knew him. The one that had no intention of letting Peter come out on the other side of this alive and whole. No, he was not afraid for himself.

Peter stepped away, letting Tony stagger backward until he hit the counter, pain still radiating throughout his body.

“Did you know,” Peter said, casually circling to the other side of the island, looking through cupboards as if searching for a snack after school, “that he can smell emotions? Only if they’re particularly strong or he’s really tuned into the person. Like you. That’s how he finds people to help sometimes, he smells their fear. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Peter lingered near the knife block for a long moment, thin fingers dancing over the handles in a reverent manner that made Tony’s stomach clench in anticipatory fear. Then he moved on, peered into the fridge.

“I didn’t know that, when I chose him. It was merely providence.” Peter pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge, squinting at the ingredients. After a moment, he wrinkled his nose and dropped it on the floor. Tony heard liquid spatter over the wood and huffed.

“My kind, we are... hungry. Starving. All the time. A bit—” he shot a grin over his shoulder at Tony “—like a teenage boy.”

“If all you needed was a burger run, you could have just said so,” Tony snapped, watching as Peter sniffed the jar of mayonnaise. “So, what, I get a few thousand calories in you and you’re on your way?”

Peter laughed; a familiar snort of amused teenage sass that made Tony’s teeth hurt with how almost-right it sounded. “Not quite,” he murmured. “Some of my kin are satisfied with mere food,” he said with disgust and a cup of yogurt was also carelessly tossed to the ground. “But I require something a little more filling.”

“If you say human flesh I’m gonna spontaneously combust,” Tony warned, his mouth dry.

His injured arm bumped the counter as he shifted his weight and his world briefly whited out. When he opened his eyes again, panting, Peter was suddenly right next to him, eyes fixed on Tony, inhaling deeply. He looked half mad, desperate. Hungry.

“All that feeling and you let it go to waste.” Peter leaned even closer.

“Ok, seriously, back off.” Tony retreated until his heels hit the stairs. He clenched the railing with his good hand.

Peter smiled, a sharp glinting thing and for a moment Tony felt all his animal instincts kick in, half of his brain screaming run and the other half yelling save Peter save him savehimsavehimsavehim. But Peter just turned, meandering toward the sink.

“I’m not a vampire, I’m not going to drink your blood,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “I eat what you feel. The stronger the emotion, the better.”

He paused in front of the pictures on the shelf.

“Like the anger of a child whose father never loved him,” he murmured, picking up Howard’s picture. Tony grit his teeth as the frame was flicked over Peter’s shoulder, shattering into pieces on the floor. The creature controlling Peter picked up the other frame, the image of Tony and Peter together. The photo that had saved the galaxy.

“Or the grief of a father whose love for his son was stronger than the laws of the universe.” He turned back to Tony.

Tony jumped as the frame was brought crashing down against the marble counter, splintering the wood and tearing the picture as shards of glass exploded outward. A sliver caught Peter on the cheek, cutting him.

It was instinct to reach out to him, to attempt to calm and comfort and protect. Tony didn’t stop himself fast enough.

Peter’s smile suddenly looked much less like Peter, much more like an alien wearing his skin. His laugh echoed off the kitchen walls.

“Imagine your grief when I kill him in front of you. Imagine what it will taste like.”

Goosebumps erupted over Tony’s skin, his heart tripping in fear at the very thought. The memory of ash on his hands, of Peter begging filled his mind and he choked on his next breath. Peter’s grin widened, something feral and foreign.

“Why,” Tony gasped, “Why would you kill him? Don’t you need him?”

“For now,” Peter agreed, casually stepping over the mess on the floor, closer to Tony. “But I’m afraid he’s wearing a bit thin. I’ve almost used him all up.”

Tony’s knees went weak.

“He’s almost too exhausted to fight me, now. Still won’t shut up, though,” he hissed, closing his eyes for a second as if hearing a very loud, unpleasant noise.

“What?” Tony asked, his head spinning. He sat down heavily on the stair behind him. Peter tilted his head, humming.

“You should hear how much he’s screaming.”

“He’s—” Forget throwing up, Tony was going to pass out. “—he’s screaming?”

Peter came closer, a predator stalking his prey. Tony knew he should pull himself together, knew that the thing enjoyed his distress, his pain, but he couldn’t fight the image of Peter, locked inside his own mind, screaming at the parasite controlling him.

“Oh, yes,” Peter murmured, his voice low. “’Not him, please,’ he’s saying. ‘Don’t hurt him, don’t you dare.’ He likes to threaten me. Not very intimidating, but I do admire his creativity.”

“Stop,” Tony whispered.

Peter reached a hand out and seized Tony’s chin, gripping with bruising fingers. Tony stared at him, hatred and love in every cell of his being. He could never hate Peter. He could never forget the way Peter’s face looked as an alien stared down at him, intent on nothing but destroying everything he loved.

“’Please, I’ll do anything,’” the creature continued to narrate. “’I’ll stop fighting. I’ll stop. Don’t kill him.’”

“Peter, no!”

The thing went silent, as if listening to something Tony couldn’t hear. Then he straightened, smiling down at Tony.

“What’s he saying?” Tony asked. “Peter?”

Peter considered him for a moment, glanced around at the cabin around him. “I think we’re done here.”

“What? No,” Tony argued. Peter ignored him, turning and disappearing out the door in the blink of an eye. Mind still trying to catch up, Tony rushed to the door, looking out at the trees and lake. There was no sign of him.

#my writing #I guess #sorry guys I really wish I could have finished all those stories I had planned #but I just really really do not see that happening

38 notes · View notes

elriel-oblivion · 3 years

Text

So I started this in the last week of 2020, and I'm ready to post it 😊 I've still got a couple other wips I'd started before this one but I haven't been bothered to finish those lol so I'm putting this one out first. Anyway, this'll be 6 parts long; I'll prob put up the next part in three or four days.

I'll put word counts so you can gauge how long each part is and if you wanna read it 😅 Also lemme know if you'd like to be tagged

Word count: 2.2K

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part I

The shadows were colder than usual tonight. On better days, their chill wrapped Azriel's bones in an icy embrace, a comforting freeze numbing any semblance of feeling in his wasted heart.

But this miserable night, they were searing cold, the kind of cold piercing the highest of mountain peaks; the kind of cold that penetrated the brain itself. He shivered as he travelled through those shadows, dark mists and wisps coiling like vines about his head.

Maybe he was deliberately searching for the coldest areas. Maybe he wanted a complete absence of feeling: physical, emotional, spiritual. It would certainly be easier to feel nothing than trying to quell the frigid rage inside. How could an avalanche be stopped once it started?

Further and further he moved through his shadows, dawn chasing him from a few hours away. Mountains and villages surged past through those charcoal mists, making way to depthless forests and ravines. He clenched his jaw tight against the cold, memory guiding him home.

But the fresh blood he'd seen earlier, and the mutilated remains of that little girl, one wing torn off and lying bent at the edge of the dirt path ... Her unseeing eyes were glazed, that shine as bright and true on his mind as the glint of moonlight on the blade of Death. And her scream. Cauldron, it curdled his own blood.

He'd been but a minute late. A matter of seconds were all that stood between him and the sadistic bastard who'd brutalised that child. Barely a heartbeat in his lifetime.

He blinked once to rid himself of her stare. Twice.

The image remained, muddying with his path home. His hands clenched and unclenched, nails biting into his skin, but the girl's hazel eyes and her ashen skin and the fingers outstretched for that severed wing remained an imprint on his vision.

Why was this affecting him so much? It wasn't the first time he'd seen horrors like this. But if Azriel wanted to be honest with himself, some days were harder than others simply because they were. Some days, the despair rattled his core and tossed him far out - because he was a person and emotions, feelings, these things were too abstract to be boxed in.

Everything had a limit. Had Azriel ever truly reached his?

Sometimes Azriel himself didn't understand how he kept it all in. How he didn't react or display any sign of having seen or heard the things he did. Sometimes he was repulsed by himself because of it. At least Cassian and his rare vomiting showed some of the humanity inside.

Azriel gave away nothing. Was there even humanity in himself? Everyone but his family looked at him like he was an unhinged monster imprisoned by his Illyrian skin. Like he was moments from escape and they would be his first victims.

Or - not just his family. Her. Elain. Did he consider he family? Perhaps it was too early, or even too inappropriate to do so.

Either way, how could he stain the sudden image of her with himself, with the horrors he'd just seen, had always had the displeasure of seeing? She was lovely and warm and beautiful and he was dark and cold and hideous.

Elain. Something inexplicable stirred in him at the thought of her.

He tried to calm it, this heat, this single star in his midnight sky. But it remained. And it grew.

And he was disgusted. Ashamed. He was not worthy of her.

And it ached. Another unrequited love.

That word snapped something in him. Mocked him.

Love.

A choking sound ripped from his throat and he welcomed it, let it mount into a scream, let it tear through his body and soul. Like that monster was finally breaking free. It was invigorating yet scorching. It burned him from the inside out but the cold of those shadows permeated his mind so heavily, he forgot the essence of corporeality and only his soul seemed to drift.

His ragged breathing sounded, throat parched. Where was he? Through the shadows, all around him, there seemed only darkness. Was he flying? No, the shadows sang their usual baritone thrum as opposed to the high harmony of the wind.

Above, no stars glistened. His eyes strained but nothing peeked through. It wasn't often that his shadows became this thick; usually thin and wispy, they now shrouded his being, coalescing over, in him. He became the cold, a shadow, darkness itself, floating through the ether, higher and higher like ashes on the wind.

But even ashes settled down at some point.

Unless his soul truly were ascending, unless this truly were death. It almost seemed too easy. All the battles, those two great wars, the poison that shot through his veins and stole his breath as per Hybern's whim. Poison that sometimes woke him up in cold sweats, a phantom memory of its iciness picking through his body as though he were being cut up by the sharpest blade ...

Sometimes it even felt like his own blade.

No, this couldn't be death. A mere scream, the image of lives lost, a bloody fight - he hated to admit that these were commonplace among his memories, his life. But in doing so, he knew death was too easy an aftermath for what had happened tonight.

Death, an ascent. But he was sure when his time came, his stained soul would descend like the demon he was.

So he grounded, drifting down weightlessly until the solidity of rock steadied him. He would not go to that darkest of places yet. But he was still exhausted. So damn tired of everything. He feared that if he dropped into a slumber right now, he'd not get up for a lifetime. As it was, his legs almost gave out, but he forced some remaining strength back into them. All he had to do was get home now.

He stepped out of his shadows; Devlon's camp was quiet around him. A fire to his far right sputtered in the harsh winds and Azriel swept himself back into his shadows.

This time he travelled faster, composing himself, locking his muscles and bones up, clenching his jaw. He let that familiar cool comfort drain his rage, cleaning it through his veins before it settled in the frozen lake of his heart where the rest of his darkness lay, inescapable through the impenetrable foot of icy wrath and sorrow. He savoured his shadows, a confidant in their own right, thanked them for their understanding and the escape he found within them.

But they were growing warmer now. Azriel squinted through them as they shifted him across land and water - the scape of Velaris and its brilliant lights greeted him. Closer to home now, he could breathe with a looser chest but this was still unusual; his shadows shouldn't be warmer, they should be cool and refreshing, like the autumn night breeze beyond.

His wings rustled, body reacting to his shadows' autonomy before his thawing mind caught up. 'Where are you taking me?' he murmured.

Mist swirled about him and the shadows deposited him at the far edge of the dimly lit back garden at his High Lord and Lady's riverfront estate. Why would they bring him here? Rhysand and Feyre were at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were together in Illyria and Mor was at the Winter Court. As far as he knew, Amren was at her own apartment so the only person left was -

'Azriel!' came Elain's voice. It was distant in a way it shouldn't be.

Azriel leaned against a tree, pretending to fiddle with the Siphon atop his left hand. Breathing was difficult but he swallowed and exhaled in a shudder.

He needed to fully compose himself before anyone saw him like this. If only his damn shadows hadn't taken control for those last few moments, he'd be in his own home and lying in that swirling darkness in peace. Though, he supposed, it was his own fatigue that had yielded that control.

'Azriel!' Elain cried, stopping in front of him. Her face was caught between a frown and a wince and her arm was raised slightly. 'You don't look okay.'

As always, he was momentarily stunned by how unafraid this small female was of him. Here he was in his full armour, every bit the monstrous warrior that sent his people scurrying into their homes and locking their doors, and yet Elain stood strong before him. Like she saw not a killing machine but a person.

She never even commented on how his shadows made to disappear around her. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

He swallowed before he let out what he thought was a light laugh. 'I'm fine, don't worry.' But he could hear the hoarseness of his voice, now facing the consequences of that scathing scream. And his limbs felt even heavier than before, like someone had injected liquid lead into them.

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she whispered, lowering both her gaze and arm.

He paused, trying to catch her gaze. The constant light in her eyes whenever she looked at him was a balm to his soul. He could use some of that right now.

He reached out an arm, so impossibly leaden right now - if he could just get to sit down -

'Can I wash your hair, please?'

He started. 'You want to wash my hair?'

Elain's eyes flicked back up to skirt over his, up to his hair, where they stayed pinned. 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

Shit. He hadn't even thought of his appearance after that bloody fight earlier. How that had slipped his mind? He ran a hand through his hair, and surely enough, crumbs of dirt rained down.

Although, he really hadn't expected to turn up here of all places. In the privacy of his own home, he wouldn't have cared if he were missing a whole damn limb, if only it meant he could sleep like the dead.

Not to mention that sleeping with a little mud was the least an Illyrian warrior's problems. But Elain's care was something of a punch to his gut. When was the last time someone had truly tended to him for reasons that weren't battle or holiday related?

'You've managed to get some on your face, too,' she said, brow furrowed as she stared at his cheek.

Her eyes were so deep and focused, he wished they would just meet his once. But of course, that level of scrutiny he'd come to learn from Elain meant shyness. Just shyness. She was so endearing, he could've laughed with such fondness if he weren't so damn tired. He wished this whole damn night would be over already.

His leg faltered slightly and he stumbled forward.

'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

He raised his brows at her, but she simply took his arm and began leading him towards the house. She looked so small before him but didn't slow despite dragging his bulk behind her.

Halfway across the garden, he pulled her to him with his free arm, his shadows saving the both of them the energy of walking through that mansion of a home.

'My bathroom,' she murmured. Elain didn't balk through the five seconds of that darkness, didn't even look surprised. She showed no sign of hearing the spike in his pulse either. Thank the Mother.

He set them in her bathroom, and she didn't look at him once as she flitted around the chamber, pulling a chair from her bedroom to the sink and grabbing a towel, soap and a jug from the cupboard. Standing there, his breathing began to smooth out.

The window was open, a chill breeze sweeping in. The faelights were dim and their placid light sent a dusky illumination over Elain's features. Some bottles of oils and herbs sat on the edge of the bathtub. Azriel had heard of people using oils for bathing, but herbs? Perhaps they were like flower petals, used for their scent.

Towel in hand, Elain waited at the sink, placing the soap and jug down. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this.'

Azriel nodded, tapping his Siphon. Within seconds, that second skin of cold scales and gleaming wrath was safely stored away. Just his plain black trousers and tunic were left.

Elain's eyes caught every moment of the transformation. 'It's beautiful, all of it.'

He didn't even know if she was speaking of his armour or the basic clothes underneath or what, but his face warmed slightly, wings rustling.

'Please sit,' she said, gesturing to the chair. As he did, she wrapped the towel around his shoulders, fingers hovering above his forehead for a few seconds.

Those seconds felt perennial. He almost shuddered as her fingers made contact with his skin. Her hands were so gentle as they pushed his head back, and he shifted in the seat. He lowered his wings, and she stepped into the space he provided. She was still as he got comfortable, only turning the tap once he was settled. There was a slight crease between her brows, and he clenched his fists to keep from smoothing it out.

Sounding so much like his own mother that his throat tightened, she whispered, 'You can close your eyes.'

So he did.

Feedback is welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

#elain archeron #azriel #elriel #acotar #elain x azriel

110 notes · View notes

little-ligi · 3 years

Text

The Sorcerers’ Guild – Quest 1 – Adiós Avalon

Helloo!! Another short little ficlet about resurrected Arthur failing to manage a simple everyday task in the modern world (which was partially inspired by a canon era fic where he fails at exactly the same task that is sitting in my wips folder only half written... (I’ll get to it at some point 🙈))

Day 3 - “Oh! You were going for a hug this time!”

“Here, let me help,” Merlin said, taking the electric razor out of Arthur’s hand.

Arthur’s hand fell to his side, his head dropping in defeat as he slumped down to sit on the side of the bath.

“I just can’t work it out,” he complained quietly.

Arthur was different since he’d returned from Avalon. He’d lost his confidence, become more reserved. And he was now prone to bouts of moroseness, drifting aimlessly around the house after Merlin, desperately trying to understand things, but more often than not being stumped by the simplest of tasks.

Like shaving. In Camelot, Merlin had shaved him, using a lethal looking straight razor. But modern Merlin did not own one of them and only had the electric one. Luckily, Arthur’s facial hair didn’t grow too quickly and he had managed to avoid shaving in the few weeks since his return. But now the scruffy stubble had begun to annoy him and after several days of running his hand over his jaw and grumbling, Merlin had dragged him into the bathroom to show him how the electric razor worked.

He had talked through what he was doing as he’d shaved his own face, then handed the razor to Arthur as he went to get dressed. After which followed a lot of swearing and muttering until Merlin went back into the bathroom to find Arthur covered in shaving foam and fighting with the cutting length adjuster.

He’d only just managed to hold back his laugh at the state Arthur was in.

“Would you like me to do it for you?” he asked now as he set the correct level, ducking his head to catch Arthur’s eye.

Arthur kicked his feet into the bathmat, sighing. He looked up at Merlin and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin had noticed that the resurrected Arthur also seemed softer, more inclined to be nice to Merlin. He even said thank you on a regular basis. And every now and then he would move towards Merlin as if going for a hug, before promptly seeming to remember himself and punching him on the arm or cuffing him around the ear instead.

“Of course. I always used to anyway,” Merlin said, letting them slip back into the familiar master and manservant roles that Arthur understood.

Standing in front of Arthur where he still sat on the bath edge, Merlin put one hand on Arthur’s cheek, tilting his head and stretching the skin taut as he pressed the electric razor to his jaw. Arthur’s body visibly tensed as he tried not to flinch away, his hands reflexively clenching in his lap. Slowly Merlin worked over his face until his chin and cheeks were smooth and slightly pink.

“There we are, all done, back to your usual clean shaven beauty,” he joked when he finished. He gently washed Arthur’s face and patted it dry with a soft towel before rubbing in some aftershave balm.

As Merlin cleaned out the head of the razor, Arthur stood up and admired himself in the mirror, turning his head from side to side as he slid a hand over his hairless jaw.

“Look good?” Merlin asked, putting the razor away in the cabinet beside the sink.

Arthur hummed his approval, nodding several times before turning away from the mirror.

“Well, um…” He brushed his hands off on his pyjama trousers, grinning sheepishly. “Thanks.”

He stepped towards Merlin with his hands raised. Merlin ducked away from him on instinct, expecting the customary fond smack around the back of the head.

“Merlin!” Arthur complained, his arms drooping and the expression on his face halfway between irritated and hurt.

“What?” Merlin pulled a face at him.

“I wanted to…”

Merlin’s eyes went wide and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

“Oh! You were going for a hug this time!”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur scowled and folded his arms, taking a step backwards.

“Oh come on,” Merlin wheedled, his hands jumping to Arthur’s arms, pulling him in closer again.

Arthur resolutely kept his arms crossed over his chest, not looking at Merlin as his newly bared face tinged even darker pink. He stuck his jaw out mulishly. No matter how much the resurrection had changed him, Arthur was still as stubborn as a goat. And now of course he was angry because he thought he had made a fool of himself, on top of his embarrassment at not being able to work the razor.

“Arthur…” Merlin chided fondly. He tugged Arthur’s arms away from his chest, slipping between them and wrapping them around himself. “Come on.”

Arthur gave in to the slightly awkward hug, his arms loose and his hand slapping Merlin’s back. But he didn’t try to pull away afterwards so Merlin tightened his own arms around Arthur’s shoulders. After a moment he felt Arthur sigh and sink into it.

He squeezed Merlin, the hands on his back snaking further around so Merlin was fully constricted in Arthur’s strong hold. Not that Merlin minded. He was hugging back just as firmly, one hand running up and down Arthur’s spine, keeping his pliant body against his chest. He smiled and rubbed his cheek against Arthur’s soft smooth one, feeling the warmth of his skin. Proof that he was alive. Proof that he was back.

Merlin could hold onto him like this forever.

#bbc merlin fanfiction #merlin fic #merthur #resurrected arthur pendragon #ligi writes #sorcerer's guild #adios avalon #day 3 #i just love the image of merlin shaving arthur ok #there is just something so intimate about it #so caring #i will finish the canon era one too #at some point

52 notes · View notes

howdywrites · 3 years

Text

Chapter Zero

→ an In The Woods Somewhere excerpt

This is from my zero draft of ITWS that won't be in the new draft I'm starting for Camp NaNo. I still thought it would be fun to share since it gives a little insight into Jackie (park ranger main) and a side character named Benny who works under her. NOTE: there is a lot of info in this that's changed as I've outlined so some of the locations will be inaccurate.

Warnings: brief mention of recreational drug use (mushrooms)

Length: 2.3k words

[ WIP Intro ]

Breath burned aching lungs. Boots stomped in slick, dark mud. The icy mist clung to every hair on bare skin and the drumming of heartbeat became the rhythm in which Jackie fell in time with. She jerked, ducking beneath a low hanging branch. Her hair whipped as she cast a worried glance over her shoulder. It wasn’t following her anymore.

A disgruntled skunk and her litter of kits watched her sprint from the home they made in a thicket of bushes. If she had stuck around for just a second longer, Jackie would have paid dearly for her grave mistake. Up on [the mountain], there wasn’t a proper shower to be had at the lookout. In fact, there was almost no running water to be had at all. That’s exactly how she preferred it - being one with nature in every sense of the word.

“Fuck-” A patch of thick mud sent her sliding into the wooden Trail 46 sign that pointed southeast. Jackie held on to it, leaning over with her chest heaving while she caught her breath. A spring of curled hair fell over her forehead from under the brim of her uniform hat. Taking one last deep breath, she swept it back under and ran her hands along her two thick braids to make sure her rubber bands were still attached to the ends.

Static crackled from the radio on her hip. A voice snickered at her from the other end.

“I didn’t know you could run that fast,” the voice teased her, his laughter turning into crackles. Jackie lifted her head and dragged her eyes along the ridge behind her. Ancient trees and wild brush lined the rocky ledge. She squinted, trying to make sense of the map of greens and browns. Despite her year of working in Wyoming, she struggled making out shapes in the woods that weren’t blocky signs. “Surprised you didn’t lose your hat.”

Jackie unhooked her radio and held it up to her mouth. It trilled and went quiet. “Where are you? I swear to god, Benny, if you scare me again you owe me a cone at Marie Bettie’s on Monday.”

She stood there, a hand on her hip and her radio up by her ear. A crease formed between her brows. Birds flit from tree to tree down Trail 42, drawing her eye. Frowning, she didn’t see Benny there. Nor did he respond on the radio. She hesitantly clicked it again. “Benny I’m not playing. Where the hell are you?” She couldn’t hear herself on the other end. Wherever he was hiding, he had turned off his radio so she couldn’t gauge where he was.

Stepping out into the middle of the trail, Jackie circled around like an uneasy horse, feet pressed firmly into the packed dirt. A small creature of amber red and white darted out from a nearby thicket of prickly bushes and skittered across the trail. She gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin. While distracted, a pair of hands touched down on her shoulders, fingers curling over her uniform.

Jackie screeched, launching herself forwards out of the grip of the intruder. The ranger hat on her head tipped off, rolling and bouncing off the gravel. Her arms barely caught her in time to save her face from getting superficial scratches. Squirming, she rolled onto her back and scrambled into a squat. Benny stood there, cackling loud enough to send a few birds flying from their nests in the trees. His smile took up most of his face. Smile lines deepend and the prominent gap between his teeth was on full display.

“I got you good, didn’t I?” He leaned in, holding a hand out for her. Despite the adrenaline soaring through her veins and the annoyance that tumbled within her, Jackie sighed and grasped at it for help off the ground. Freckles splattered his sun-kissed skin, his cheekbones turning to apples with his grin.

“Yeah, yeah. You owe me two cones, now, Wonderbird. Double scoops.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! You know volunteers don’t make squat here-” Benny stooped down to pick up her hat, dusting it off for her. It was true. When he first joined the park just six months ago, Jackie had been assigned as his mentor. The junior program was offered to any college students pursuing their line of work. To get a taste of life as a ranger. They didn’t make a salary, but their summers spent in action were funded by park leadership in the form of bunks and food. A far better deal than what was offered to her in Tennessee. She took up her hat and repositioned it proudly on top of her head. “But I guess it’s the least I could do for doing that.” He pointed down at her green trousers.

A small tear cut across her knee, thankfully protecting her skin from being lacerated by her fall. Sighing, Jackie lifted her leg and inspected the hole. “Luckily I brought my sewing kit with me to the tower. C’mon, let’s finish our rounds. Think the captain has extra radios for tonight? Last thing I want is to not be able to contact anyone - especially this weekend.”

The end of summer break brought in the most guests outside of the spring season. Mostly college students looking to get out of town, but not willing to commit to the cost of going to the Bahamas or Miami all the way down south. Jackie couldn’t remember most of the breaks from her college days. She crunched to get through with her degree as fast as possible. Any break she got was filled with studying or working wherever she could. She would have liked to go somewhere tropical and warm for her breaks, but she preferred the serenity that usually came with visiting state parks instead.

“How many people usually camp here during breaks?” Benny kicked a pale gray pebble into the grass alongside the pack dirt walking trail.

“Could be hundreds. Maybe even close to a thousand or more. Really depends.” Earlier that day, they had already received an influx of campers eager to stake their claim on the best spots in the park before the hoards arrived. Easily several dozen of them, all scattered between RV hookups, the rentable cabins and clearings for tents. “Just be glad you’re not working at any of the offices this weekend. I’d take firewatch over disgruntled campers any day.”

“I can’t thank you enough, you know.” An elbow bumped Jackie’s arm and she glanced at the grinning young man. “If it weren’t for you, Richards probably would’ve never let me take over tower 24. He told me you put in a good word for me.”

Smiling down at the ground, Jackie shrugged and reached out to give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It wasn’t all me. You’ve got the passion for this. The drive. Can’t say the same for some of the other volunteers-”

A trill of squealing laughter caught her attention. The two of them paused right at the fork. One path remained wide open with wooden signs encouraging guests to stay on the correct path. The other had overgrowth and a dirt path so narrow, one could hardly call it a trail at all. The usual rope gate meant to block it off had been cut. Both ends laid useless on the ground with frayed edges. Another bark of laughter came from the end it shouldn’t have.

“Damn…” Jackie muttered bitterly under her breath. Just when she thought they could wrap up for the afternoon. Benny puffed out his chest and stood up taller.

“C’mon, ranger,” he chirped, marching towards the rocky side path. “No dilly dallying!”

“You just want to write up a citation.” She snorted and followed alongside him. “You’re starting to sound like the captain.”

Snaking down the path, the trees overhead grew thicker and wider. Branches from lowly pines scraped against their arms. Creatures that remained unseen skittered into their hiding places. The closer they got to the three or four voices chattering away up ahead, the more signs they saw. Brand new, the signs were nailed into the untouched bark of the trees along the path or plastered on wooden signs hammered into the thick dirt.

WARNING: do not proceed! This area has been sanctioned for investigation by the State of Wyoming and local police. Any violations will result in a $500 fine.

“Have these signs always been here?” Benny’s voice lowered to a faint whisper. Jackie stepped carefully around a pile of stones gathered around the base of a thick oak. Her boots slid against their jagged surfaces. “I don’t remember them putting these up.

“I don’t either. I remember some feds were here on Wednesday, but they weren’t up for much small talk.” They stood proudly in their dark suits and shade, holding boxes of flyers and paperwork and speaking in hushed tones to her higher ups. The single chance she had to greet one of them was met with silence. Very rude. “I don’t think this was a missing person’s case, otherwise we would have been informed about it.”

Like something out of a sci-fi movie, bright yellow caution signs littered a shady grove at the end of the short path. The sound of water trickling from a nearby stream joined the quiet voices. The blocky lettering on the big yellow signs yelled at them.

DO NOT DRINK THE WATER! Do not disturb local flora as issued by the governor of Wyoming.

“Dude! You’re going to get us in trouble!” A nervous voice murmured beyond the trees. There, by the creek, four college aged kids stood around a mossy puddle. Two girls and two boys, all wearing their UW school colors. Most likely freshmen given their wide eyes and round faces. One of them stood with his jeans rolled up to his knees in the shallow water, a fist full of curling brown mushrooms that looked like kelp. They went silent at the sight of the two rangers.

“This path is restricted.” Benny took the initiative, his voice wavering just a bit at the end of his statement. Jackie let him take the reins. If he really wanted to do this for a living, he would have to get used to this. As he went over what rules they broke being there, she made her way over to a damp patch of tall grass between two moss covered trees.

Squatting, she spied even more kelp-like mushrooms. They stuck out of the grass like limp, decaying fingers out of a grave. Jackie narrowed her eyes and used a pen from her breast pocket to jab at it with as gentle of a touch as she could manage. It released a pussy substance and a musky scent that reminded her of the single frat party she attended her last year in school. Similar to weed, but different. From looks alone, she couldn’t nail down from which family this fungus derived from. In fact, she couldn’t recall anything remotely similar in all her years of study.

“You can’t do that.” The kid in the water whined, trudging out of the water. He tossed the picked mushrooms. “C’mon, man, we’re just trying to have a little fun! I gotta pay for books next week!”

Jackie looked over her shoulder in time to see Benny’s head fall like a disappointed teacher’s. He sighed and shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to reply. Tucking her pen back into its spot, she dusted her hands off and stood.

“Here’s what we’re going to do-” She put her hands on her hips and took over for him. She spoke with authority and a rigid stance. “I’ll let you off with a warning, as long as you four keep to the official trails and stay out of trouble. If me or any of my associates catch you out of bounds again, it’ll be a $700 ticket. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The kid slipped his wet feet into his Nike sandals and hung his head. Blonde hair stuck to his pink face and despite his towering height over her, he still looked like a boy. It only made her feel older than she was. The other three murmured in agreement, following behind him. She watched them shuffle up the path until they disappeared behind a thicket of pines.

“I thought I could do it,” Benny sighed, his head swiveling side to side, checking for litter or anything else the rowdy guests may have left behind. Jackie moved to stand beside him and ruffled his mess of red hair. The way his nose scrunched and his shoulders relaxed from the playful exchange reminded her so much of Andre back at home.

“You did better than I did the first time I tried writing a citation - I cried.” Her sidekick blinked, surprised, and chuckled.

“But you’re so good at it. You’ve got a mom voice - in a good way, I mean.”

“Geez, I’m not that old, Wonderbird. First them, and now you? I’m aging by the second. You’ll have to explain to Richards why my knees are bad and my hair is graying when summer’s over, you dingus.”

Benny all but collapsed forward with laughter, holding his stomach and slapping his knee like a cheery grandfather. Jackie smiled so wide her cheeks ached. She had to avert her gaze to not let the homesickness creep in. She would miss him when he had to go back to school. Just like she missed Andre.

The mushrooms among the grass piqued her curiosity again. She stooped down beside them and inspected them without touching. Who knew what they did and who knew why the government and college kids were so interested in them.

“What are they? They were grabbing a lot of them.” Benny squatted next to her, reaching out to touch one. Jackie gently smacked the back of his hand and shook her head.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t touch them. Let’s get to the office, the captain’s waiting for us by now.”

ITWS Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @lordkingsmith @celestialbunnistories @aeslin-writes @writinginslowmotion @chayscribbles @theramwrites @tiredlittleoldme @sapphcon-ic @hazard-writes @lookingmuchimproved @themidnxghtwriter @draculinawrites @aetherwrites @svpphicwrites @maxgraybooks @writeherewaiting @sjjsalamanders @thelittlestspider @ashen-crest @writtendevastation @ravesthewriter @adie-dee @christine-thinks @cream-and-tea @reeseweston

#itwsdrab #murdereddarlings #writeblr #itws #horror

58 notes · View notes

kyloxmoegi1993 · 3 years

Text

Loki Oneshot

Author's Note: wazzzzzzzzzzup??? So I am writing the second chapter of the Loki series I started it's a wip. I'm trying to write in between work, moving, and life in general so please be patient. Please enjoy instead this Oneshot that was on my mind. Enjoy!

***Start***

It had been months since being named the Goddess of Healing and Ailwyn learned new things everyday. She had learned many things from several people and walked among humans on midgard with Thor learning some of their ways, she learned the caution of hindsight from Heimdall, studied the teachings of Frigga's medicinal library. She was learning to answer prayers and how to aid her worshippers and had become exceedingly good at it. There was, however, one thing she couldn't learn. Or one person rather....a man... Loki.

Ailwyn had been rather fond of the god of mischief for as long as she could remember. Her feelings wavered for awhile when Loki overtook the throne after Thor had been banished, though she would admit seeing him rule did turn her on a bit. However, her love for him never died even if the flame dwindled ever so slightly. He was there at her ceremony and they even shared a dance together. One filled with unspoken tension and emotion. She had sworn she had seen curiosity sparkle in this spring green eyes of his. He hid it well though. VERY well.

"Where has the little butterfly gone?"

Her emerald eyes opened and she looked down to see she was indeed floating above her throne and looking down at the infamous Loki himself. Bringing herself down to the ground she cleared her throat.

"Loki. It's not often you wonder into the Goddesses Temple. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Unbeknownst to her his gaze followed her as she passed by him. He watched her loose but form fitting gown hug her form and accentuate the movement of her hips. His gaze moving up her noted how her dark chestnut colored hair fell in soft ringlets along her back, seeming to bring our the color of her creamy alabaster skin. She was absolutely gorgeous and worthy of the title of goddess. He had watched her grow from child to the breathtaking woman that stood before him. He had to keep his composure. Smoothing back his hair he chuckled and followed her through a garden she kept.

"I just happened to be this way and seeing as you are the newest goddess I'd check on you. See if there was anything I could provide for you or...educate you on."

This wording grabbed her attention and she glanced at him as she checked on a new plant hybrid between a pomegranate and a cherry. She called it a Pimrey. It was the size of a cherry but tasted like a combination of both cherry and pomegranate.

"Educate me? On things such as what? Manners? I think I could teach YOU that."

There it was. Her quick tounge he had come to adore. He lived for the small bangers they exchanged with one another. Not many people matched him in that realm.

"Careful butterfly...you wouldn't want to be ensnared by the spider's web would you?"

Ailwyn rolled her eyes and threw an apple at him that he caught one handed.

"You wouldn't be threatening me would you Loki? I'm sure your father raised you to know better than to threaten a goddess."

She watched him take a bite from the apple and she swallowed a bit too thickly when the apples juices rolled out the corners of his mouth. Absentmindedly she licked her lips but noticed his gaze lock onto the small movement. That's when she knew. He hadn't come here to "check on her", he had come to finally tell her how he felt in a way that only he knew how.

"Ah. I see...well, I mean no harm," wiping his mouth his gaze flicked back up to meet hers, "I shall leave you to your prayers butterfly."

Turning on his heel, he continued to eat the apple and panicking she reached out to him with magic halting and surprising him.

"Ailwyn.... release me butterfly."

She walked in front of him and took the apple flinging it across the room.

"I was enjoying that."

"What do you want Loki?"

The pair gazed at each other, heat seeming to intensify between the two. The games had to end. It had to be now or never.

"I told you why I came...unless you do need me I do need to return to the palace."

She stared him down for a moment longer then bowed her head releasing him and stepped back.

"Very well my lord."

Starting to walk off she pulled out her chapstick she had gotten from earth catching his attention once more as she placed it on her lips.

"What are you doing?"

She glanced at him confused before answering, "Putting on chapstick. I got it from Earth when I went with Thor last month."

Coming back to stand in front of her he watched, gaining a look of concern from her.

"What flavor is it?"

"Strawberry why?"

He studied her gaze and knew what to say now to gain her back.

"Could I have some?"

A giggle escaped her lips as she went to hand him the tiny capsule.

"Sure, kind of hard to-"

Before she could finish her sentence she was caught off guard by his lips crashing to hers in a hot feverent kiss. Backing up she let him pin her to the wall as the kiss deepened their tongues battled for dominance. Heat coiled inside her belly seeming to fan out in waves as his lips moved against hers.

Finally, he pulled back looking into her eyes and resting his forehead to hers panting. Leaning up slightly she pecked his lips over and over until he chuckled cupping her cheek with one hand.

"You...." Licking his lips he hummed in appreciation, "are a temptress..."

Pressing her body to his and surprised when he pulled her closer with his other hand she smiled.

"Took you long enough darling...I was beginning to think you'd never notice me."

Feigning shock he placed a hand on his chest as if she had wounded him.

"Not notice you? I think every man on Asgard has noticed how beautiful you've become and how disappointed they'll be to know that you're mine."

Pulling her closer she gasped feeling his hardness pressed against her lower belly. Her gaze flicked downwards before meeting his and she smirked.

"Hmm....I may need confirmation of what you just said. You are known to be quite the liar."

Growling, Loki pulled her close and in between kissing her neck roughly started as such.

"You. Are. Mine," Stopping at the base of her throat he placed gentler kisses, "any man stupid enough to cross you will deal with me."

Breathless she held onto him feeling intoxicated from his touch.

"Yes Loki...I'm yours..."

His tell tale smirk crossed his features as he swept her off her feet carrying her back through the city to the palace and to his chambers where he would ensure for the rest of their days she knew just how much he truly cared for her. His little butterfly.

*End?*

Author's Note:

Ooooooooo y'all did you feel the steamy chemistry? *Fans self* whooo. I hope you enjoy it and look no sex! I CAN write without being sexual 🤣 . Thank you all for the support and as I said before chapter two will be out soon. Please tell me if you want a continuance of this little Oneshot. I MAY be persuaded to do so. Who knows 🤔

Below I shall post pictures of the looks.

Ailwyn's Dress Loki's Outfit

#loki of asgard #loki #loki fanfic #loki x reader #oc #marvel #Thor #fanfic #fanfiction #fantasy #romance #his butterfly 🦋

18 notes · View notes

wolfish-trickster · 3 years

Text

A block

Loki x reader

Word count: 1 548

Summary: when a writer's block hits you, your amazing boyfriend is there for you

Warnings: angst, implied smut (teeny tiny bit) and besides that just good old fluff

A/N: kinda messy oneshot, possible typos and grammar mistakes, enjoy <3

You were lying in your bed. Raindrops were softly tapping on the nearby window, lulling you. Light from your opened laptop was illuminating your bedroom, keeping you from falling asleep.

Not the light, rather the opened tab. Word document. Empty. Not a single word. You turned your body towards wall and hid your head under a pillow.

It has been like this for at least two weeks. You used to have so many ideas, so many stories that begged to be let out of your head onto the paper. Or a computer screen.

That was a long time ago. Your head was empty now. No idea. No new adventure. No nothing.

You tried anything. Meditating, reading books and watching movies for inspiration, even writing down some of your dreams right after you woke up only to realise they make absolutely no sense.

You wanted to write again. You wanted to create. But you just couldn't anymore.

'It will pass,' you told yourself. 'It will pass and soon I'll create again. Just like before.'

It didn't pass. Not one bit. You don't even check tumblr anymore. You felt miserable even without seeing all those beautifully crafted stories written by people who actually do something instead of lazying around, like you are doing now. Curled up on your couch, watching a movie you don't even pay attention to.

You felt like the laziest piece of garbage in the world. Like, how can writing be so hard? Just sit down, hit bunch of keys and create senteces. That's it. It's THAT easy. So why does it feel like the most difficult thing to do?

You groaned and hit your face with a throw pillow. 'You're stupid. So stupid. Lazy, stupid, illiterate-'

"Darling? I'm back," Loki's voice called for you, stopping your negative train of thoughts.

You stood up and ran to hug him. You could've knocked him down with the force you collided with him, if it wasn't for his godly strength. You nuzzled his neck and murmured. "I missed you. I'm so glad you're here."

Loki wrapped his arms around you and brought you close. "I missed you as well. How have you been without me?"

You smiled at him. "It doesn't matter. I'm better now, when you're with me," you stood on your toes and softly brushed your lips along his thin soft ones in a loving tender kiss.

You felt his big hand cup your left cheek, turning your face slightly to the side and deepening the kiss. His tongue met yours in a passionate dance only you two knew steps of and danced only when you were all alone. His hand slowly slid down to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. Your fingers got lost in his coal black hair, tugging here and there, making him moan into your mouth.

You loved moments like this. When you reunited after a long separation and it was just the two of you again, two people who simply love eachother. These moments make you forget everything that troubles you. *He* makes you forget everything that troubles you. The pain and guilt over your laziness in your chest disappeares, beeing replaced by a warm love Loki was pouring into you.

After your mouths separated with a wet pop you stood there, forheads touching, eyes closed, smile playing on both of your faces.

Loki's quiet voice broke the silence. "You said you are better now, which means you were unwell before. What happened?"

You shook your head. You wanted that pain away from your chest for a little while longer. "I don't really want to talk about it. Not now."

Loki's hands moved from your waist to your hips, drawing small circles with his thumbs. "Alright. I won't pressure you. You will tell me when you are ready. I can take your mind elsewhere. Much more-," he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on the side of your neck, "-pleasurable place. If you allow me."

Of course you did. You didn't want to think about anything other than him tonight.

Loki's heartbeat under your right ear slowly woke you from your dream. His arm was wrapped around your waist, his naked legs tangled with your own under your sheets.

Loki's affections took your mind off your misery, but it soon returned. It's only a matter of time till Loki asks if you'd written anything new. He always asked about your creations. His disappointed face after telling him you haven't written a word for nearly 2 months haunted you in your dreams.

It started to dawn. Loki was a morning person and with every new ray of sunlight a new wave of anxiety washed over you. What if it's the first thing he asks? What would he, a skilled poet and story writer, say about you and your inability to write even a small drabble?

"Mhm, mornin' darlin'," he mumbled with extremely raspy voice and the deepest british accent you ever heard and pressed a small kiss to your temple. You snuggled into his chest and mumbled a quiet 'morning'.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

You felt his fingers run up and down your spine. "Right now?"

"Right now."

"But I wanna cuddle with you..." you pouted at him.

Loki chuckled and pecked your pouting lips. "Tell you what my love, I'll go make a quick breakfast, then we can lazy around in our bed the whole day. What do you think? Besides, I think you need it, you are working so hard all the time the word 'lazy' and 'break' probably left your dictionary."

And there it was again. The guilt. You didn't think you worked hard at all. If you did, you'd have finished all your drafts and WIPs while he was away.

You were so grateful he had closed eyes, he didn't see the sadness crawling back on your face. You forced some strength into your voice. "That sounds lovely."

Loki then stood up, put on his favourite sweatpants and padded barefoot into kitchen. You pulled his pillow to your chest and inhaled the smell of him. It calmed you down a little. But the thought of other people being productive and you just lying in your bed being SO LAZY to even make yourself a breakfast didn't leave your head.

'I can at least reread my story ideas, maybe that will start my creativity' You sat up, your eyes fell on your table where your laptop is. Where it usually is. But its place is empty.

'Fuck'

You started to panic. You remembered you left it in the kitchen. OPENED. UNLOCKED. LOKI WILL FIND IT. HE WILL SEE.

In the speed of lightning you put on some clothes and ran to kitchen.

You were late.

Loki was sitting at the table, your laptop opened infront of him. His face was the epitome of poker face. He lifted his head and looked at you standing in the doorway. "Sorry dear, I didn't mean to look through your laptop. I was just curious if you have written anything new and- are you okay?"

You didn't realize tears were running down your cheeks until he brought you back to reality.

"I'm sorry Loki," you wiped your tears.

"Why are you sorry? Writing is your hobby, not your work. You don't have to write all the time," he walked to you and cupped your left cheek, his thumb wiping new tear away.

"I know, but.... Everyone is still writing and I'm not. I mean- writing is so easy and I can't even do that anymore! I'm just lazy a-and out of imagination and m-my grammar is horrib-" Loki stopped your rambling with a single finger against your lips, making you look into his face.

"My love, whoever told you writing is easy is a filthy liar. Nothing about creating a whole world using only your words is easy. And while you can have grammar mistakes and typos here and there, I always get lost in the story I barely notice them at all. You are not lazy for taking a break."

"But this is not a break," you hid your face in his chest, hugging him to you. "I don't have any ideas. I want to write, but I don't know what about," you felt his fingers thread through your hair, caressing you.

"Then start out slowly. Write about your memories. Small parts of your life that make you smile. They are all little stories only you know and can share with the world. And sooner than you notice, inspiration will hit you again and you will write just like before. But for now, my darling, baby steps."

His words helped you, a lot. You still kept your face pressed to his chest, listening to his breath, his heart. His fingers were gently scratching your head in a calming rhythm, his other hand kept your torso pressed to him.

"I love you Loki, thank you for helping me," you stood on your toes and kissed his cheek.

"Always my dear," he kissed your forhead. "Always."

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki #fluffy loki #loki fluff #domestic loki

94 notes · View notes

aye-write · 3 years

Note

Hi, Aye-write! I'm wondering if you have any advice on preparing contest submissions! (I suppose it could work for publishing submissions too) I've already put out a request for beta-readers, but there are also the jitters to tend to! I wonder if you have any tips to help writers feel more confident in their work so they can accept critiques without abandoning a story out of shame hehe

Hi nonnie! Thank you for your question, and apologies for the delay in getting it out to you, life has been whacking me over the head with a great big stick lately xP

Congratulations for taking the steps to submit for contests/publishing etc! It's a huge achievement and you should be very proud of yourself!

As for dealing with accepting critiques, that's something that I personally had to overcome so I'll share a couple of the things that helped me:

1. You are not the only one going through this Every writer, from the most popular bestsellers to the youngest of the newbies, will have gone through exactly what you are going through. Constructive criticism can be hard to take sometimes, but every writer will experience it. Every writer has had thoughts of "I'm not good enough". Every writer has worried they won't achieve their dreams. The things you are feeling are normal. Read about other writers and how they felt on their writing journey. You are not alone.

2. Think about what you've achieved What do sending to betas, submitting to comps, and querying for publication all have in common? They all require something finished. Don't forget, before you send out your work, you have completed this piece of work*. You have made something from nothing. Something exists in the world because of you. That is a tremendous achievement and is a step that so many writers don't reach. You have already done something incredible by finishing. Be confident with that.

If you can, leave your work alone for a while. A week maybe, longer if possible. Then go back and read it again. You will be reading your work with fresh eyes. You will see it more like the way a reader sees it. Distance is important with your work. Don't put your blinkers on. Take time to experience your work and enjoy it. Read it for pleasure. Gush about it to your friends. Make moodboards and aesthetics, AUs and playlists, just really enjoy it. If you love your work, that is what matters. Rejection and concrit should not have the power to take that away from you.

* - If you have not finished a work before, in any capacity, if you haven't taken a piece of writing from inception to completion, stop what you're doing and FINISH something. You will learn more from starting and finishing one short story than you ever will for starting countless WIPs and never finishing them.

3. Recognise that good feedback is there to help you We all have that little dream of giving something to someone to read and them immediately going "I love it all, don't change a damn thing". But while that's lovely and affirming, is it really helpful? Are you learning anything? Are you growing and developing your skills as a writer by only getting positive things? Humans learn and grow by making mistakes. By trying things. Maybe they don't work, maybe we adapt and try again. So we might not like that little red pen or comment box when we open up our feedback, but it's like manure. It's there to help you grow.

Now, this hinges on the possibility that you get good feedback. And good feedback is like gold dust to writers. If you find a beta-reader that gives you good feedback, for God's sake, hang onto them. If they're someone who can tell you things that you NEED to hear, if they're someone that can explain and back up their reasons for not liking something/suggesting a change, then yes, you want to keep them in your circle. But what about bad feedback? And I don't just mean feedback that is purely negative - "This is awful, this is shit, why would you write that?" - because that kind of feedback can be easily put to one side because that is not constructive, it is not helpful, and it has no bearing on your or your talent as a writer.

Bad feedback can also be about other things. And this is where picking good betas comes in. If your prose is very lyrical and flowery, and you give your book to someone who likes straightforward writing, perhaps their feedback of "make the prose simpler" is not valuable. That's a preference. Not to say that your writing is bad, it just might not vibe with them. It might not be their cup of tea. Picking a beta that vibes with your style is important. So, if your flowery prose lover beta comes to you with a concern that your prose is complex, that may be worth listening to.

And what happens if you get bad feedback? Well, nothing, really. You might lick your wounds a little bit, but here's the thing. You do not have to listen to all feedback. You do not have to do what your betas want. A good beta will work with you to create the story you want. A bad beta will try to turn your story into the story they want.

4. Rejection is not personal Rejection is not personal. Yes, it feels like it is, sometimes, but it's not. Think about it this way. Someone brings you some desserts to judge at a fair. They're all beautifully made, made with high-quality ingredients, look fantastic, etc. But the problem is... one of the desserts is made with apples. You don't like apples. So you might not give that one a prize, no matter how nice it looks or how tasty it is. It's the same with querying/publishing. Being rejected may not be any indication of the quality of your product. It's just that you gave apples and the judge likes oranges.

It is important to remember that this is just one opinion. Sticking with the dessert metaphor, next year, the judge on the panel loves apples. You submit your same apple dessert and they love it. First prize. Remember, if you are rejected, that is one opinion. And it is not about you, the writer. It is not personal. Agents/competition hosters see hundreds, if not thousands of WIPs in a year. Rejection can't be personal because they don't know you. They are judging your work - and at that, only a tiny percentage of your work.

5. Don't give up! If you are rejected, if you do get bad critique, if the voice in your head tells you that your writing is worthless, allow yourself to feel those feelings. Allow them to exist. And then pick yourself up and keep going. You are the only one who can tell YOUR stories. It is 100% okay to be sad/mad/etc., if you get a rejection but use those emotions to motivate yourself to keep going. Remember the growth mindset. It's a no this time. It's not yes yet. Every no is one step closer to a yes. It might be a no this time, but next time could be yes.

Remember: it only takes one yes.

#writing #writeblr #writing advice

24 notes · View notes