#i added gold flecks to his eyes

[dustydumbass]

soft james w/ flower crown, it took me about 7 hours to finish this, 3 hours alone was only for working on the flowers, pls don’t flop.

also yes, i picked those specific flowers, i took the time to google them.

the flowers i used are:

Dahlia, single : good taste

Clematis : Mental beauty

Hydrangea : Gratitude for being understood; Frigidity and heartlessness

here’s the website i used if y’all wanna know : https://www.almanac.com/flower-meanings-language-flowers

#james marriott fanart #james marriott #jimbo mazza #softboy james marriott #the flowers are unnecessarily detailed #i added gold flecks to his eyes #clip studio paint #digital art

[incognit0slut]

SILENT PLEA

Part 1 of kinktober | main masterlist

Being a few feet away from your friends wasn’t going to stop you from seeking pleasure with your professor.

softdom!spencer x fem reader; Thigh-riding, teasing, semi-public, praise, age gap, power imbalance with teacher/student dynamic

words: 2,932

a/n: this one is dedicated to those who just wants to sit on his lap while being praised 🖤 (also i has to repost this bcs of some error it was so weird)

IT WAS HIS EYES. The rich, earthy tones of his irises with subtle flecks of amber and gold held a comforting warmth that seemed to radiate within, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You always found yourself captivated every time his gaze fell on you. It felt as if he had a secret language written in those brown orbs, one that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

Or it might've been his hands. You always knew he had nice, well-kept hands but the more you examined them, the more you noticed how enticing they truly were. The size of them always surprised you, as well as the length of his fingers, but it was the veins running along the backs of his hands that really made you dry at the mouth.

Maybe it was the age difference. The mature lines on his face, those crinkle lines around his eyes whenever he smiled only adding an appeal to his appearance. And the way he carried himself with a sense of authority was definitely a factor, one that never failed to make you weak in the knees.

But perhaps it was just him. All of him. The way he stood at his tall height. The way he laughed at his own joke. The way he spoke in his lectures—the enthusiasm palpable in his voice as he explained the difference between a trigger and a stressor while mentioning he was going to put them in the finals, something he shouldn't have probably done.

It was everything about him. His unruly hair. His tailored suit. His charming smile.

And there was the way that he called you, addressing your first name in a room full of people, yet every time you were alone with him, you felt special. You were always his good girl.

"You're such a good girl for me, you know that, right?"

You knew, because every time you did as you were told, he gave you more. More than what you wanted, more than what you needed. He knew you inside and out, and as much as you hated to admit what you were doing these past couple of months was deemed inappropriate, you still couldn't help it. Everything about him made you crave more.

That was why you found yourself perched on his lap after class. It was wrong on so many levels. Not only was it unprofessional for a faculty member to be sexually involved with a student, it was also looked down upon to be in a relationship with someone almost twice your age. But temptation won over rational thoughts, and you had to admit, the professor you had a crush on ever since he introduced himself in front of the class, was really good at tempting you.

"Spence..." You sighed out, hips squirming along his lap. Each of your legs was on either side of his thigh, and you sat there, waiting for him to do something because you were desperate. How could you not when he had been eying you throughout this morning? The subtle glint of mischief wasn't lost on you when he spoke in front of you and your peers, and now that you were finally alone with him, you wanted his undivided attention.

Spencer's hands gripped your thighs as his eyes swept along your body. They momentarily paused on the low dip of your shirt, your cleavage visible for his own pleasure, before he glanced back up to your face.

"We don't have much time," he reminded, yet his hands were sliding up your skirt. And he was right, there wasn't enough time. Staying in his class after everyone had left wasn't exactly ideal, but it didn't stop you from locking the door before you practically climbed on top of him. You knew his next class was about to start in fifteen—no, thirteen minutes. You had already spent the two minutes waiting impatiently for him to touch you.

Now you couldn't leave this room without having a part of him. You needed him, every fiber in your body was screaming for him, and if you had to beg for him to comply with your needs, you would gladly do it in a heartbeat.

"Please." Your voice was barely a whisper, yet he still heard you loud and clear. "I-I need you."

Your breath hitched as his thumb stroked along the outline of your underwear and it took a lot of self-control for you not to whine pathetically. "Yeah? Tell me what you need then."

You paused, opting to choose the right words that wouldn't sound so vulgar because, with the way your body was reacting, you could only think of wild, explicit things. Your eyes settled on his face, sinking in the way he was watching you intensely, and your words abruptly stopped at the tip of your tongue.

"Go on, use your words," he urged. "Tell me what you want me to do."

You let out a trembling sigh. Everything about him was already consuming you, but the moment his hands danced along your sides, you knew you had to have more. Lust surged within you like a relentless tide, pulling you deeper into its intoxicating depths. It was a feverish, aching hunger that clawed at your insides, demanding satisfaction. The simple warmth radiating from his hands gripping your thighs just wasn't enough. So you braved yourself and leaned closer, resting your hands on his shoulders.

"I-I want you to touch me."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "But I am touching you."

You looked at him through your lashes, biting down your bottom lip. "More," you pleaded. "Please."

He hummed a reply, his hands slowly leaving your hips before they trailed under your blouse, traveling up the length of your body before stopping right on your breasts. Your senses danced with anticipation, every nerve alert and quivering, as his hands cupped each flesh, squeezing them ever so slightly as you felt a thumb brush across a nipple over the thin layer of your bra.

"Like this?" All you could manage was a tiny nod and his smile grew wider. You couldn't help but buckle your hips when he rolled your nipples between his fingers, playing with them in a seductive tease.

"What else do you want?" He gently asked. You noticed the way his voice began to descend, gradually sinking into a deeper tone, and your eyes instinctively fell on his mouth. His lips were a perfect balance between fullness and subtlety. It was gently curved and so inviting that you wanted to feel the shape of them right against yours.

"I..." you started, your voice in a breathless whisper. "I want you to kiss me."

He let out a pleased sound, slowly sliding his hands out of your shirt. "I can definitely do that."

And then he was moving forward, pressing his lips to yours, caging you in with strong hands on either side of your face. You instantly melted like a puddle. You were ice and he was the sun, and the mere taste of him had your body dissipate in his arms.

He teased your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, lightly tracing the pink skin until your mouth parted in invitation. You moan quietly as the taste of him—faint traces of coffee and something incredibly sweet—greeted you. His tongue slid against yours, hot and eager to taste you as pleasure surged throughout your body.

Spencer slowly pulled away, trailing his lips down your neck before he sucked on the spot right under your ear. You could practically feel the smile against your skin as his hands traveled down your arms, holding you gently as he whispered, "Tell me what else you want."

The ache between your legs was too much to handle. A simple kiss was enough for your body to burn with lust. You needed the pleasure, you needed the release, and he was the only one who could give it to you. He was the only one who knew your body as if you were made exactly for him to ravish. Your eyes smoldered with an insatiable longing and your breath came in shallow, hurried gasps, each one a desperate plea for fulfillment.

It was now or never.

"I want you to fuck me."

He leaned back, if he was surprised by your choice of words, he didn't show it. Instead, he let out a sigh as his hands continued to move down your sides again. "Oh, sweetheart, it's not that I don't want to, but we both know I would need more than..." His eyes swept over the watch around his wrist. "...eight minutes to fuck you properly."

Your breath hitched in your throat, then you watched as the curve of his lip turned upwards into a teasing smile.

"But I can't leave my sweet girl all desperate like this, can I?" Then his hands were back on your hips. "Why don't you ride my thigh instead?"

Your face heated up at the suggestion while your mouth slipped out a desperate whimper. Your skin flushed with a warm, feverish glow, and the world around you faded into obscurity as desire became your sole focus.

You were hesitant, but you were also desperate to find your release, so your body started moving on its own, hips rutting against the roughness of his pants. Pressing the growing heat surging between your legs onto his thigh sent a shiver in your system.

Much to his pleasure, Spencer's mouth stretched out into a thin and permissive smile, unable to hide his satisfaction. "That's it," he praised, fingers digging into your hips. His raspy voice only made you burn with red-hot desire. "Keep going."

Following his words, you moved your pelvis. What started out lazy and slow soon turned into sporadic thrusts as you tried to cling to any friction, grinding yourself against his leg with such fervor. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough.

Attempting to catch your breath, you buried your face into the crook of his neck to suppress your mewls of arousal as best as you could. But as he continued to massage your hips and manually move you back and forth on his leg, the effort quickly became useless.

"This feels good, doesn't it?" He murmured. "It's so cute how easily you get off with just my thigh, don't you think?" He said, giving your ass cheeks a firm squeeze.

You breathed his name as your eyes fluttered to a close. You grind your hips harder down onto his thigh, gasping against his lips when your clit caught on the material of his pants. Your toes curl as the fierce heat of pleasure overtook your senses. You were greedy with it, chasing after that spark as you rocked your hips steadily, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Doing so well for me," he whispered against your ear, hands gripping your hips as you rubbed yourself against his thigh quickly. He smiled when a soft, strangled moan escaped your parted lips, which encouraged him even more. "Look at you, drooling over my leg."

And just to prove his point, he pushed your skirt up along your legs until its material lay loosely around your waist. His eyes took in the sight of you. The way you were grinding against his leg frantically, the thin fabric of your underwear pressing between your throbbing cunt from the constant friction, slightly showing off soft, bare skin glistening under the light.

"So fucking wet," he mused, his tongue swiping along his lower lip as he watched you drenching him. "Just the way I like it."

It felt as if you were floating, so pleasurably dizzy it turned your head to mush. It was hard to keep yourself upright, eyes rolling back, body nearly giving out. And the wisest thing to do for you was to stop because you could imagine the mess you were making. You could also imagine the wet patch of your arousal staining his pants, visible for everyone to see.

"P-People will talk," you whispered between bated breaths.

"Let them." He rocked your hips forward, encouraging you to move faster. "Let them know your sweet pussy made this mess on me."

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips. You rolled your hips again, and the beginnings of something heady and sweet swelled within you. But in that heat of the moment, a sudden hush fell over the room, and your heightened senses caught the faint sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Your body stilled, every muscle tensed, and your breathing became shallow as you strained to listen to the distant murmur of voices.

Spencer suddenly leaned closer and ran the tips of his teeth along the outer shell of your ear once he felt your momentum slow. "I didn't tell you to stop, did I?"

You shuddered in response and found your pace again, faster and longer, continuing to knead yourself against his thigh. But then the sudden jolt of the doorknob sent a bolt of panic through you.

"It's locked," a muffled voice echoed from behind the door. "Isn't class supposed to start soon?"

Your ears perked up at the familiar voice before a second voice chimed in, yet still holding a familiarity you also recognized. "Is he not here yet?"

A small groan escaped your lips. There was no denying who those voices belonged to. They were your friends, albeit not that close, yet you were still acquainted with them and the thought of having people you knew standing a few feet away from you while you continued to rut your hips against him was making your head delirious.

"Do you know them?"

You nodded helplessly.

"Then maybe you should keep your voice down," he suggested, holding you closer to him. "Don't want them to know what you're doing in here, do you?"

He noticed the way your body stiffened.

"Or is that what gets you off?" He asked. "Your friends standing a few feet away while you're grinding desperately on your professor?" His hand sits on your lower back, drifting down to the tops of your ass, forcing you to rut forward.

It was so, so wrong, yet you couldn't stop the pleasure coursing through your veins at the possibility of being caught. The knowledge that your friends were just outside, on the brink of discovering your intimate moment, added an exhilarating layer to your pleasure.

"Spencer," you whined. "Please."

"Naught minx," he mumbled. "I think I like seeing you like this."

Suddenly, he jerked his leg up, catching you off guard and you whined instantly, unprepared to counter the pressure pushing up onto your sore cunt. Muffled cries of ecstasy escaped your lips, your teeth clenched in a futile attempt to hold back your moan.

It didn't take long until a pulsating warmth began to radiate from the pit of your stomach. Each passing second brought a rising crescendo, a mounting tension that threatened to shatter your composure. You whimpered, thighs shaking slightly as you continued the abuse toward your clit, somehow the material of his pants made the stimulation even better and it almost caused you to lurch forward in shock.

"That's it, use me," he encouraged. "So, so good for me. My sweet girl."

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your body quivered with a delicious ache. The intensity of it all was almost unbearable, and yet, you craved more, grinding yourself harder. Your muscles tightened, your breath quickened, your skin prickled with anticipation, and nothing could have prepared you for his next words.

"Cum on my thigh and I'll let you cum around my cock tonight."

That was it. You were instantly gone. The thought of having him stretching you was quickly engraved in your brain. The mental image of you spasming around his cock was enough for you to surrender into a blissful mess. The conversation outside continued and you made a concerted effort to keep your voice down, as waves of pleasure surged through you, causing your limbs to tremble and your muscles to spasm.

It wasn't until the sound of footsteps finally retreating from outside that a wave of relief ran through you, yet your breath still came in ragged gasps as he helped you ride out your orgasm and held you in place, making small ruts against himself with your spastic thighs gripping around him tighter.

"Oh my god—" he pulled you in for a kiss. Spencer's mouth devoured you, hot with a passion that made you dizzy. You whined into his mouth and bucked against him, little whimpers filling his throat. Then you felt his tongue on your bottom lip; you puckered your mouth, letting his tongue invade every corner of your entrance as a thrilling sensation shot right through your veins, finally riding out your orgasmic bliss.

When he finally pulled away, he watched as a string of saliva fell against your lips. He reached out and wiped the bottom of your lip with his thumb as his eyes glazed over your red and sweaty face. They flickered from your face down to your lower half as well as your equally drenched thighs. Yet despite the disheveled state of your hair and the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, you radiated a raw and untamed beauty.

Spencer always thought you were beautiful, but nothing could compare to the sight before him. Your once-pristine hair was tumbled in disarray around your shoulders, framing your flushed face. Your eyes, half-closed and smoky with desire, held an irresistible allure that seemed to draw him closer with every glance. Then there were your lips, kissed to a plush, inviting fullness, beckoned with a promise of lingering sweetness. You looked wrecked, like a hot, beautiful mess.

And he couldn't wait to ravish you tonight.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Immortal Danger

Apollo x DaughterofDemeter!Reader

Summary: Apollo marries a half-blood without realizing how dangerous it can be.

Warning: PJO universe but no real PJO plot, (kind of) smut, threats, monsters, Ares slander

Word Count: 4.7K

Masterlist | Part 2

A/N Sam Claflin is my personal headcanon for Apollo and if he isn’t cast for the Titan’s Curse season I’m gonna cry

“Am I even allowed to be here?” I asked as Apollo and I materialized in his home on Mount Olympus.

“Probably not but Demeter’s already gonna be pissed when she finds out we eloped in Vegas,” Apollo smiles, pulling me down onto the couch. I laughed as he did so, taking a chance to look around. I was in awe. The ceiling to the sitting room was just a giant skylight and the sun seemed to perpetually shine through it. There were balconies in the column of the sun, revealing the upper levels of the extravagant manor decorated in gold.

“This place is incredible,” I said in awe.

“Yeah, Annabeth did a great job with the remodel. And it’s all yours,” he swore, his lips brushing against my cheek. “Everything that’s mine is also yours.”

“Really?” I challenged teasingly. “Then can I drive the sun chariot.”

He faltered. “Well… after Thalia, I don’t think-”

“I’m joking,” I assured him. “I don’t want to torch Antarctica. Or make North Africa freeze over.”

“I’ll give you lessons some day,” he promised. “Maybe when you’re a goddess and that human nervousness about dying instinct fades.” I laughed before he sprung up. “C’mon,” he said, pulling me up from the couch. “I wanna show you the bedroom.”

“Very subtle,” I chided him.

“I know,” he agreed with a cocky smile as he began climbing the stairs. “But you’re my wife now.” We went up so many levels I was beginning to get tired but Apollo was already practically dragging me up the stairs. When we went to a set of double doors I thought we were done with the stairs but there was one more flight. I followed him up, eyes widening as I realized his room made up the entire top floor.

There was a circle in the floor covered by glass with a view to the sitting room, allowing the sun to shine through the whole house. But the ceiling of the room itself was a glass dome, flooding the whole room with light. Surprisingly, it wasn’t ridiculously hot but that’s a perk of being the sun god. Several plants grew in various pots around the room—I had a sneaking suspicion he added them recently—and the walls were lined with various weapons, mostly bows and arrows. The bed itself was tucked into a sort of alcove, with pillows lining the edge of it, leaning up against the walls so as to make the whole alcove a soft bed. I noticed curtains hanging in front of the bed to shield it from the rest of the room, as well as a contraption above it against the glass probably to block the light from above.

Apollo came up next to me. “I know you’re a light sleeper so I had the curtains put in to block out the light.”

“This is incredible,” I said in awe. “But uh- do gods sleep?”

“We don’t have to but I love sleeping,” he smiled. “It’s one of the best things humans invented.”

I stepped closer to the bed, reaching down to feel the soft mattress. “Gods, do you know how long it’s been since I slept in a bed that wasn’t a twin size mattress?” I asked. Even though at 24 I was far older than any of the other campers at Camp Half-Blood, I had to stay there as the outside world had become too dangerous for me. Once I turned 22, Chiron finally let me have a room in The Big House because even the oldest campers besides for me were still around 17.

“Well,” Apollo began, getting closer until I was laying down on the mattress and his face was so close to mine I could see the gold flecks in his eyes, “I was thinking we’d consummate our marriage in this bed before sleeping,” he suggested, kissing me.

“I’d be open to that,” I laughed, kissing him back. Using godly strength, he managed to wrap an arm around my waist before pulling me up closer to the middle of the bed so our feet weren’t hanging off. As he kissed me, I could feel his hand find the zipper on the back of my wedding dress. But just as he started to bring it down, there was a bell and a shout.

“Apollo?” a masculine voice called through the house.

Our lips parted, and he rested his forehead on mine with a groan. “I hate him.”

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Hermes. Look, he can’t see you. He and I are cool now but he still can’t see you.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll just stay here.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to my forehead before running downstairs to an incessant Hermes. As he went down the stairs I watched in amazement as his tux transformed into a t-shirt and shorts. Once he left I started looking around the room more, wary of the giant glass circle in the middle of the room. I went up to the weapons, finding various plaques describing what momentous kill each weapon was responsible for. A little bit self obsessed to have in your bedroom but, hey, that’s Apollo.

As the gods moved to the sitting room I could hear them through the glass. “I know you’ve been dating a demigod,” Hermes’ voice came. “Chiron just sent a distress signal about a missing half-blood.”

“So…?” Apollo’s voice came, trying to act nonchalant.

“I’m saying that the girl you’ve been dating is the missing half-blood. Chiron is worried sick because apparently she’s powerful but will attract a lot of monsters. And Ares is still pissed at you for putting an arrow through him during World War I. She could be in danger of him while not under Dionysus’ protection.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, man. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“I haven’t known you to go even two days without seeing the person you’re dating.” I could hear the accusing tone in Hermes’s voice. And Apollo knew he was backed into a corner.

“Yeah well, dating a half-blood is hard. Chiron and Dionysus have her on lockdown. And do you know what Demeter would do to me? You remember how she lost it when Persephone ran off with Hades. How am I going to explain that I’m dating her half-human daughter?”

“Well you better pray Ares doesn’t find out about her or he’ll probably kill her just to piss you off.” Kill me?

“Look I’m going to have father turn her into a goddess soon anyway. She’ll be fine.”

“You’re awfully nonchalant about your little human going missing. Is it because she’s actually here?” Hermes accused.

“No!” Apollo said unconvincingly.

“Y/N!” Hermes called. “I know you’re here. Come on out.” I froze. What do I do? Obey the god or obey the other god?

“She’s not here and even if she was, she’d listen to what I said.” I didn’t move, contemplating whether or not I should hide.

“Fine, then you won’t mind if I check your bedroom.”

Σκατά. I could just hide in one of the many other rooms in the house. Hermes probably wouldn’t take the time to check every room. But once I reached the top of the stairs, the door at the bottom opened revealing a very pissed Hermes and distressed Apollo. Curse godly teleportation.

Hermes turned to Apollo. “Wanna do some explaining?” he asked sarcastically, observing my white dress. I just backed away, giving them space to come up the stairs. “Seriously, man. She could be killed because you married her and brought her here without permission,” Hermes explained as they walked up the stairs.

“But no one else is going to know because you’re not gonna tell them,” Apollo said, getting in between me and Hermes. “Right?”

He sighed. “Hi Y/N, congrats on getting married,” he finally greeted me.

“Thanks,” I answered hesitantly.

“Why is she even here?” he asked Apollo.

“Well, we were supposed to go talk to Zeus but I’m working the courage back up,” he laughed awkwardly. Hermes gave him an unamused look. “What? I’ve been single for millennia and then I’m just going to go up to father like ‘Hey, I finally decided to get married. By the way, it’s to a half-blood can you make her immortal too?’”

“So why is she still here?”

“Well Chiron has almost walked in on us having se- OW!” I cut him off with a pinch to his side. “What?” he asked, turning to me.

I could feel the heat rushing to my face now. “Shut up,” I chided him.

“Hermes of all people gets it!” he insisted, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “You can’t honestly say you’ve never brought a girl to Olympus. Like Penelope? Pan’s mother. Because Odysseus would’ve tried to murder you had he walked in on you two.”

“That’s different!” Hermes insisted.

“How?”

Hermes tried to think of an answer for a few minutes before he gave up. “Fine, whatever. But either get her back to camp or tell Zeus what’s going on before anyone else can get their hands on her.” He left no room for argument because he quite literally disappeared in a flash of light that second. Thankfully Apollo had the foresight to cover my eyes for me because Hermes had turned into a ball of light before I could react.

My husband sighed as he looked down at me. “I guess I should return you, huh? I’m sorry I just can’t face Zeus today.”

I smiled softly at him. Truthfully I was in no rush for immortality. I wasn’t quite ready to leave my life behind either way but when Apollo burst into my bedroom declaring that today was the day, I just went with it. Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw I leaned up to kiss him. “Whatever you want, you’re the one who has to take responsibility,” I reasoned.

“Thank you,” he murmured, capturing my lips. “Do you think you can be missing for just a couple more hours?” he asked, pulling away from me.

“Probably,” I agreed. He was immediately scooping my legs up before dropping me onto the bed.

My new husband spent the entire night drawing orgasms out of me until I finally got him to stop. That was the thing about gods, sometimes they didn’t know when to stop because they didn’t always understand human limitations.

I was still breathing heavily from my last peak when I fell asleep on Apollo’s chest, so exhausted.

~

Despite the fact that the sun was down, Apollo could still see his new wife clearly through the moonlight streaming through the glass ceiling. He had laid there for hours, admiring her relaxed features and reveling in the touch of her skin on his. It was nearly five o’ clock and he’d have to get up soon. As nice and sunny as summer was, he hated having to get up so early to get the sun chariot ready.

He gently stroked the hair away from her face, pressing the lightest kiss against her forehead so as not to disturb her. Sitting up, he rearranged the pillows and blankets to cover her before sliding off the bed. He threw on some clothes, leaving a t-shirt for his wife when she woke up before disappearing to the moors of England. Humans thought the sun was always going around the world in a circle but for the west, the sun began in England because that’s where the dividing line fell between the east and the west.

Setting up the sun chariot to do it’s course, Apollo set it off, watching it crest up in the sky like every day. Before he could turn to leave he sensed a new presence behind him. Turning, he found a very smug looking Ares. Trying to play it cool, Apollo smiled. “What are you doing here, brother?”

“I heard about a missing camper,” Ares began. “And then Aphrodite told me about a certain marriage certificate. Filed both on Earth and Mount Olympus.” Apollo cursed internally, that wasn’t supposed to be sent to Olympus for another week. The one time bureaucracy was efficient.

“Ares…” he began, intending to work out some sort of deal but the god of war interrupted him.

“I don’t know where you’re keeping her but until she’s immortal, she’s fair game to kill.”

“You really wanna piss off Demeter like that?” Apollo challenged, hoping her mother could provide her a little protection if he couldn’t.

Ares shrugged. “She has plenty of other children. And it’s not like I’m killing Persephone.” Demeter’s first daughter truly was the apple of her eye. She loved her demigod children but she’d get over their deaths. “Should’ve thought about this before you decided to put an arrow through me in 1918,” Ares sneered.

“That was like a hundred years ago!” Apollo insisted. “Don’t put her in the middle of this. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Should’ve thought about the consequences of your actions before you fell in love with a demigod,” the god of war taunted before disappearing in a flash of light.

The sun god let out an enraged grunt before transporting to his house. He practically ripped open the curtains surround the bed to make sure his bride was still there. He let out the biggest sigh of relief seeing her still laying there, unharmed. But now she was stirring due to the sudden light flooding her eyes.

~

I groaned as the sun hit my eyes and a body came to lay next to me. “I’m sorry,” Apollo said, crawling into his spot next to me. “I really wish you could go back to sleep but you need to be back at camp now,” he said. I could now hear the urgency in his voice as I opened my eyes.

“Why? What happened?” I asked, sitting up.

“Look, I uh- may not have thought this marriage all the way through,” he said nervously, handing me a shirt.

My heart dropped and pain flooded my body. “What?” I asked. I cursed myself, I knew it was too good to be true. I thought that after seeing each other for five years he was being honest about wanting to marry me. But I guess five years to an immortal god is the equivalent to a week for a human.

Apollo turned, finding my hurt expression. “No!” he immediately tried to clear up. “No it’s the fact that you’re in danger now. I don’t regret you. I’m so happy you’re my wife now and that you will be forever. I just didn’t think about the other gods’ reactions.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, relief washing over me.

“I could never regret you,” he said, coming over to sit beside me. “I love you. So much,” he swore, pressing me into his chest.

“Is this about Ares?” I asked. He suddenly froze. “I overheard you and Hermes downstairs,” I explained.

“Yes, but I swear to you nothing’s gonna happen to you. You just have to stay at camp. Ares won’t harm you if you’re in Dionysus’ territory,” he said urgently. If his grave tone was any indication, I was in serious danger. “I’m gonna talk to Zeus. We’re already married and I consulted the Fates when I met you so he’ll probably approve your immortality,” he rushed out, handing me shorts to throw on.

I was at a complete loss of what to say so I said the only thing I could think of. “Okay, I trust you.”

He smiled, lightly grasping either side of my jaw. “We have to go. I’m gonna transport with you just outside of camp. The other campers won’t be able to see me but you’re gonna say you snuck out to visit your dad because you were… I don’t know… having a hard time being the only adult at camp?” he suggested.

I nodded, grasping his hand. Immediately we were standing on the side of a familiar rural road. I looked up at the hill in front of me, just over it was Camp Half-Blood. Turning, I found nothing next to me but Apollo’s hand still intertwined in mine was proof he was still there.

He untangled his fingers from mine and gave me a gentle push on my back to encourage me to walk. I did so hesitantly, slowly walking up the hill. As I spotted the gates of camp. Stood on either side of the arch, were two campers in full battle armor. I could hear an indistinct yell as I approached. Probably alerting Chiron to my reemerged presence.

When I finally reached the “safety” of camp I could sense that Apollo was gone. He had kept a few paces behind me but disappeared once I got past Thalia’s former tree. Meanwhile, there was a new threat currently facing me as both Chiron and Mr. D stared down at me disapprovingly. They so rarely agreed with each other and Mr. D so rarely even bothered to pay attention to us that I knew I was in deep shit. “Y/N,” Chiron said like he was scolding his 16 year old daughter, “come with me.” He turned, trotting away as I followed after him like this was a walk of shame. Dionysus just disappeared.

Once I finally reached the Big House, I spotted Mr. D and a woman in the room. She radiated warmth and life despite the rage coming off of her. “Mother?” I asked.

“How could you!” she immediately yelled. “You were seeing a god behind everyone’s back? Not just any god, Apollo,” she spat angrily. “And then next I hear you’re married to him?” she asked in disbelief. “Y/N, do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into? I’ve already lost one daughter to a god. I won’t lose another one.”

Had I not been speaking to a goddess I would’ve lashed out at her. It’s not like she was ever really there for me. How can you lose someone you’ve never been there for? “You’re not gonna lose me,” I insisted, biting my tongue. “You haven’t lost Persephone either, she’s only in the Underworld for a few months. I will be on Olympus with you.”

“Locked in Apollo’s morally depraved sex mansion,” she spat, clearly upset. My jaw nearly dropped, I was so shocked she actually said that.

“Demeter, as valid as your worries are,” Dionysus reluctantly said, “there is the more pressing matter of Ares trying to murder your daughter. And he’ll keep trying until Zeus grants her immortality.”

“Are those boys still fighting about the arrow in 1918?” Demeter demanded.

“Wait, Ares wants to kill me because Apollo shot him?” I asked.

“Yes, it was an accident but Ares never forgot. Especially because it allowed the Allied powers to win. At the time, Ares was kind of betting on Germany to be the next big thing but then when the Allies all blamed it on Germany, Ares wasn’t happy.” Chiron clarified. “And he wants to destroy Apollo’s happiness in revenge.”

“I don’t want you seeing him,” my mother suddenly demanded, still hyper-focused on the wrong topic. Even Chiron and Mr. D rolled their eyes at that. “He’s a no good playboy.”

“We’re already married. I’m not gonna just stop seeing him. And I knew what I was getting myself into. I made sure he actually wanted a relationship with me before I got attached.”

“Oh please-”

“He married me, didn’t he?” I interrupted.

“Demeter, if it’s any consolation he does seem to genuinely be in love with her,” Chiron defended me. “Apollo has never married in all the millenniums he’s lived. He has finally settled down.”

She looked reluctant to accept his argument but didn’t say anything else.

“S-so what do I do now that Ares wants to kill me?” I asked. “Apollo said that he wouldn’t touch me under your protection,” I looked at Mr. D.

The god of wine still looked reluctant to participate in all this. “Well technically camp belongs to all the gods and I cannot ensure your safety. Besides, Ares has never minded breaking a few rules of war. I’ll have to bring you to a more secure place whilst Apollo tries to convince Zeus.”

Demeter sighed. “I will go help him too but after you are immortalized we are discussing your living arrangement,” she said with a stern finger. Before I could reluctantly agree she was gone.

“Come,” Chiron said with a hand on my back. “You must pack only your essentials. Then Dionysus will take you to the convent you’ll be staying at.”

“Convent?” I asked, stopping in my tracks.

“Well, I am the god of cults,” Mr. D reasoned from behind me. “I have a few of my followers there but enough real nuns to disguise you. You’ll be safe there.”

~

I was only at the convent for two days before I was in danger again.

I had been getting along fairly well with the other nuns. Except for one. Her name was Peggy and she seemed too friendly and was always trying to be alone with me. With this being a place that housed Dionysus’ followers I thought nothing of it until I found myself alone with her.

I had been doing my daily chores of dusting the entire convent when Peggy entered the room I was in. I thought nothing of it until I heard the lock click into place. When I turned I didn’t find the nun, I found a gorgon with a grotesque smile on her face. “Daughter of Demeter, I hadn’t expected to see you here. I heard about your little predicament.” I glanced to the open window across the room. If I could just get outside I could trap the gorgon in nature. “Poor Apollo will be so heartbroken when he realizes his bride is dead before he was even able to give her immortality.”

Grabbing a lamp, I hurled it at the monster while she was still talking. It bounced harmlessly off her, shattering but I was already throwing myself through the window. Jumping through a second story window face first probably wasn’t the best idea but I needed to get her onto the ground. As I hit the ground I felt my wrist crack but I didn’t even have time to consider it because the gorgon was bursting through the window after me. She barely missed jumping on top of me but I rolled out of her path. As she was still regaining her bearings I willed the roots of the earth to wrap around her.

Thousands of roots sprung up from the ground tangling each other and the gorgon until they secured her. Any monster worth their myth could cut through my vines but they would come so fast that the monster couldn’t keep up until they were immobilized by the earth. Once the gorgon stopped moving and had just become an unrecognizable mass of weeds, I willed them to pull her into the ground. I’m sure it was a horrific way to die, having every nutrient in your body sucked out of you from underground until you could only become a pile of ichor that would remain in the earth forever.

As soon as I sensed that her life force was gone, I allowed some vines to wrap around my wrist, using the resources of the earth to heal my broken bones. As I let out a sigh of relief at the pain subsiding, I saw a faint flash of light. Now standing a hundred feet away from me were twin brothers, each standing around six feet tall, in full Greek battle armor. I knew enough about mythology and the context of my situation to know that these were Phobos and Deimos. If they weren’t standing between me and the convent I’d try to run there for safety.

“I’m so glad that gorgon was here,” Phobos said. “If it weren’t for you using your powers we never would have found you.”

Σκατά. Well, I just took down a gorgon, I could imprison these two. I let the earth crawl up their shins but they both just looked at each other with smiles before bursting into flames. Their explosion was so violent it threw me back a few feet.

I let out a groan as pain exploded in my body. Peeling open my eyes, I found the earth underneath their feet scorched and they were laughing. I tried to grow vines around myself to pull me into the earth as protection but a blade was suddenly cutting through them and I was being pulled up by my guimpe. Curse these stupid nun outfits.

“Wait, wait, please,” I begged.

“Too bad for you we don’t get to kill you,” Deimos taunted in my face, still holding me by the guimpe. “Ares is gonna torture you to death and send the footage to your husband.”

I did the only thing I could think of. I spat in his face.

“Ew!” he yelled, dropping me to the ground. I wasted no time tearing off into the woods, barely paying attention to Phobos berating his twin.

I continued on, tearing through the woods to get far enough. Seeing a flash of light, I turned the other way, trying to escape Phobos and Deimos long enough so I could hide. “Y/N!” I heard a familiar yell but I didn’t bother to stop. For all I knew, that was one of the twins playing tricks on me.

As I tried to jump over a branch my skirt got caught, sending me to the ground with a crash. Again, curse these nun outfits. Before I could get up though, there was a weight on me. I immediately began screaming and thrashing, assuming it was either Phobos or Deimos but two hands on my face made me look straight ahead. I calmed down realizing it was Apollo currently sitting on top of me.

“Hey, hey, you’re safe,” he assured me. “It’s just me.” As I started calming down, he pulled the veil off my head. “There we go,” he soothed, pulling me up from the ground. As he was still trying to calm me down, Phobos and Deimos appeared behind him. He whirled around, pushing my body behind his. “Zeus granted her immortality. She is under his protection!”

“What we don’t know can’t be held against us,” Phobos laughed.

But before he could do anything, I found myself in a new place. Olympus, I recognized it. Staring up in awe at all the thrones and the magnificent room made of marble. Eleven gods sat around me, including Ares. A completely golden throne that seemed to shimmer was empty.

I looked around, ensuring my head was bowed to all the gods—especially Ares—I finally reached Zeus, falling to my knee.

“Y/N L/N,” Zeus’ booming voice seemed to echo across the room. “You have been granted immortality by the virtue of your husband, Apollo. With the approval of myself and the fates. I hereby grant you goddess status: Y/N, goddess of healing, daughter of Demeter, and wife of Apollo.”

I don’t know what I was expecting but it was as if an unknown burden I didn’t know I had was lifted.

I stood, unsure what to do but all of a sudden a force was hitting me. As Apollo wrapped his arms around me I knew he had been what knocked into me. “My wife’s a goddess!” he yelled, still hugging me, much to the amusement of the other Olympians.

~

A/N I'm gonna be so fucking fr I had no plot going into this I just wanted to write about Apollo so if anyone has any suggestions or requests of a part 2 that ends this better I'm happy to write them

Masterlist | Part 2

#apollo #apollo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo series #pjo tv show #greek gods #greek god x reader #myths #mythology #greek mythology #greek mythology x reader #sun #sun god #sun god x reader #x reader

[sky-kiss]

Say You're Mine for the Ages

A/N: This is…essentially spoilers for my longfic lol. But it could change by the time I get there. Also, all those kinks I said were gonna be in this? They ain’t. Naw. I’m in corpo hell this week. There is no sexiness in corpo hell. 18+, named D!urge. All that.

You can also read it here if you prefer.

R/T: Say You're Mine for the Ages (18+ ish)

Silence. 

Silence. 

At the end of all things, in the wash of blood and madness, all was still and silent. Raphael wondered if it wasn’t some trick—perhaps he’d gone deaf. The rustle of fabric as Baalphegor crossed the caldera promised he had not. She cut a striking image against Cania’s monochrome terrain—cinnamon and ash—as she crossed to Mephistopheles’ corpse. 

The poets liked to speak of the emptiness of such victories—vengeance would leave one hollow, they said. Raphael felt anything but—the Fiend howled in his head, some great beast adding its song to the Archduke’s more flowery exultations. Won, he’d won. Mephistopheles dead, the Lord of Murder dead. Bhaal’s essence…

…Bhaal’s essence. It tasted like blood; it felt like raw power. It was standing at the eyes of the storm, feeling the winds tear at you, and laughing. The power of true divinity—his.

Theirs, he corrected, a shiver chasing along his spine. Where was the irritation the thought should have elicited? Where was the fury? The emptiness, the loneliness, the rage, as he clawed ever upwards? 

Silence, Raphael thought, closing his eyes. All was silent.

The Archduke felt his Duchess as she crossed to him—like strings of power or flesh, sowing parts of her to him, shared tissue, shared power. There was a resonance—divinity her sire imbued to her by virtue of birth and the mated essence he’d stolen. 

“Look,” she breathed. Joi lifted her hand to his temple, tracking downwards along his cheek and the trickle of blood. His Duchess stared, searching his face as if seeing him for the first time. Her free hand curled behind his neck. “Look at you.” 

Raphael traced her lower lip. “Name me—you have earned the honor. Be the first.” 

“Raphael,” she murmured, stroking his face. Her eyes burned—green like envy, flecked with gold—his queen, the joining point of so many sins. Her voice was low, her words a hymn. “Archduke of Avernus, Lord of Ambition—a god.” He shivered, kissing her—this thing, this goddess, this other half of his divine essence—drowned in the taste of her and the rush, completed…whole. Her fingers threaded through his hair, inhaling the air he breathed into her lungs. His Joi spoke against his lips. “My god.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

The silence broke. 

There was only noise in the aftermath—Mephistar's citadel and its halls, all full of music and laughter. Lords and Ladies from each of the Infernal Courts rotated around him, offering their praise. False praise, yes—every smile was the edge of a blade pressed to his back—but why should that matter? The devils no longer looked upon him with disdain. They stared with jealousy. 

And Asmodeus offered a new title—the son of Hellfire's birthright.

"Hail, Raphael," the Dark Prince said, voice dark. He held his goblet high, dark hair hanging loose over his shoulders, handsome like roaring thunder. "Archduke of Cania, Prince of the Eighth, Lord of Ambition." Raphael sat up straight, jaw squared. A feast hall of Dukes and Duchesses, all eyes fixated upon him. Asmodeus sat at the head of the table, Lady Baalphegor on his left. And the place of honor? His. The Lord of the Nine's eyes glittered like rubies. "Hail Raphael—Right Hand of Asmodeus."

They cheered for him—hated him, this half-blooded bastard who had moved so far beyond every devil assembled. Raphael bowed his head and held up his goblet. 

His Sire's throne, realm, title—everything belonged to Raphael. Mephistopheles' name would fade to nothing, and there would be only Raphael.

Blood thundered in his ears. The words rose to his tongue, heady and well-practiced. The devil might even have meant them, as magnanimous as he felt. Raphael stood, bowing his head. "Hail Asmodeus, Lord of the Ninth—the Shield of Law, a wall against the Abyss and her chaos. Without him," he flicked his gaze from the Lord to the Lady Baalphegor, beautiful, seeing too much. She tipped her head to him, hiding a smirk in her wine. "The tide would wash over us, one and all."

The corner of Asmodeus' lips ticked up. Ah, clever boy, it said. 

The Lady of Murder shifted beside him, eyes dark, smiling as he took his seat. Joi slipped her hand into his, touch settling on his upper thigh. Heat radiated from her skin, through the robes, licking outwards—she squeezed. 

The conversation turned towards more neutral ground: the Blood War, Raphael's plans for Cania, if he would continue his Sire's experiments—banal. 

Joi's touch strayed upward.

Why should they be denied? 

~~~~~~~~~~

How many centuries had he spent wandering Mephistar’s halls? 

It was a tale for the poets: the cambion child, alone, his Sire’s eyes upon his every move, and pureblooded devils waiting for the slightest misstep. 

He had outlasted and surpassed them, one and all. Cania and Mephistar were his, and he intended to stake his claim well and truly. He would contact the Ice Devils, and he would…

…would…

It’s difficult to think. 

There’s a savagery to his divinity, worse when she’s near. The threads binding them together drew taut, as if she’d yanked them, pinned the strands beneath her heel to keep him close. Raphael tipped his head back to make room for the press of her lips and chuckled. Joi’s teeth scraped across his pulse, sucking a vibrant purple bruise on his throat, more stark against his red skin.

“They want you dead,” she murmured—but with the Lady of Murder, this was far from a warning. She radiated pride and adoration, and her touch spoke to reverence. 

"It is the way of the Hells." He fisted a hand in her braid, tugging hard enough to create space between them and force her to look at him. Joi smiled, and the relative sweetness of her expression belied the underlying hunger coiled between them. He traced her cheek. "Greedy little beast—you want them to try." He nipped at the tip of her nose, avoiding the press of her lips. "Try to kill me." 

"Try being the operative word, my love—I'd never let them get far." 

Raphael clutched her throat, dragging his lips up and across her forehead. "Tell us why."

He knew the answer: to kill for him—to defend what belonged to her. Greedy, he thought again, but not unkindly. Joi's right hand found Raphael's—she brought it to her lips, kissing the back of his knuckles. Such a tangle of limbs, so tightly entwined but still…lacking. 

Age had a way of putting carnal appetites into perspective. The satisfaction of owning or conquering flesh paled in comparison to a kingdom. It could not compare to power. The needs of another would never compare to his own. 

But his Duchess was power, not a foreign entity but an extension of himself, twinned, mated. 

He could want her—it was no different from pleasuring himself. 

Raphael squeezed. "Answer."

 "Because," she breathed. "You are mine—I protect what is mine." 

~~~~~~~~~~

Mine—growled into the flesh of her inner thigh. The devil dragged his teeth across the sensitive flesh, biting hard enough to draw blood. Raphael sat back, admiring the ruin of his Duchess—sweat-slick, skin painted with an amalgamation of blood and her arousal. He dragged his thumb through the worst of it, painting ragged lines of crimson up to the apex of her thigh. She sighed, spreading her legs—beautiful. The Lady of Murder remained so lovely, fangs flecked with blood. 

His blood, hers—did it matter? He thought not. 

“Ah, but look at you,” he purred, voice pitched low, like every bad idea, every promise made in the darkest stretches of the night. Some sick thrill chased along his spine as he watched the muscles in her stomach flesh, her pulse leaping as he sunk his fingers back into her spent body. If he closed his eyes, the world would take some dizzying turn. His Duchess cried out, hooking her right leg around him to draw him close. 

Soon, so soon, but he wanted to revel in this final indignity against his Sire. Mephistopheles’ private chambers were alive with sound—the new Duchess of Cania, voice pitched in praise to Raphael, reaching for him, worshiping him. She came apart around his touch, shuddering, arching, tail thrashing until he twined his with hers. 

How delightful, how delicious to have such a creature so securely bound to his will. 

Joi pushed up on her elbows, shaking, crooking a finger at him. “Come,” she ordered. 

And he smirked, leaning over her, shifting his weight to rest more comfortably in the cradle of her thighs. She sighed, reaching between them to find his length, leading him—he seats himself so easily. As if she’s made for him, molded, and that gratifies his pride more than he’d care to admit. “And who are you to order me?”

They knew the answer too well, their shared divinity twisting and tugging—rapture every moment he sank into her, screaming fury every time he pulled away. Together, one, for the first time since their victory in Gehenna. 

“Your Duchess, your goddess…” she sank her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, panting, whining, canting her hips to take him deeper. He should cut out her tongue for her impudence. Tear out her eyes for staring at him so sweetly. So many things, all so far off. “Beautiful Raphael—my love.” 

 Hers, greedy beast, the truth of her claim written in the lines scored down his back. Hers, the sentiment underpinning every heresy she breathed in his ear—their churches would grow great. They would push into the Abyss. They would remake it in their image. 

They would shape eternity. 

So let it be done. So decreed Raphael, Lord of the Eighth, God of Ambition, Right Hand of Asmodeus. 

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x dark urge #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #oc: joi #look i dunno what this is #but i did finish it #longfic

[xuchiya]

brewing romance {c.jongho}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

The bell above the cafe door chimed a cheery welcome as Jongho pushed through the frosted glass. He wasn't there for his usual afternoon coffee, though, no it was meant for a different reason. His gaze immediately snagged on you, the new waitress with a smile that could melt a glacier. Your laughter danced around the room as you took an order, the sunlight catching the flecks of gold in your hair. The way your hair flows gently in the comforting zone of the cafe had him melting on his knees.

It was unusual for Jongho to act so lovey towards someone hence anyone he had come across as he grew up. Jongho believes love comes to him when fate decides, but he had concluded that fate already did. But he isn’t prepared about what is gonna happen when he is under the influence of love.

He felt a ridiculous tug in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite place. Was it the adorable way you tucked a stray strand behind your ear, or the genuine warmth in your eyes as you interacted with each customer? Whatever it was, Jongho knew he had to talk to you.

Unfortunately for him coming at the wrong time, the café was bustling. Every booth was occupied, and the line snaked its way out the door. Jongho sighed, deflated.  He couldn't just walk up to you and disturb you in the middle of your shift.

He shuffled to the counter, catching Wooyoung— his friend— also the resident barista, raising an eyebrow. "Just a latte," Jongho mumbled, feeling a strange shyness. Wooyoung, known for his teasing demeanour, smirked. "Finally making a move on our new girl, huh? Took you long enough."

Jongho flushed, "It's not like that…" he stammered, then quickly added, "Actually, can you make that two lattes?"

Wooyoung's smirk widened, but he busied himself with the coffee machine. Time crawled by as Jongho nursed his first latte, stealing glances at you whenever he could. The way you work effortlessly had him thinking how you were gifted with such beauty that never fazed. Imagining the hot clouded environment of the shop had him sweating on the neck yet you never break a sweat, not even one!

 Finally, the familiar lull before closing time settled on the café. Customers trickled out, leaving behind a comfortable quiet. Each of the staff— including Wooyoung— had a sigh in relief as the last customer thanked them before exiting.

He watched you meticulously wipe down tables, a hint of tiredness around your eyes. Wooyoung, who had been observant to Jongho who looks like he is close to shitting himself, said, “Don’t waste your muscles, lover boy and kiss the girl.” Jongho glared at his hyung, who is shaking his eyebrows, before looking back at you. Taking a deep breath, Jongho approached you, the second latte cupped carefully in his hands. "Excuse me?" he began, his voice a bit too loud in the sudden silence.

You turned, surprised, then your eyes softened as you took him in. "Yes?" you inquired politely, a hint of suspicion lingering in your gaze. You have not much notice his presence due to the hectic hours of the cafe but as the tension slowly dies down, you have taken notice of him by the same tall chair for the past few hours, conversing with Wooyoung.

Jongho held out the latte. "This… this is for you. The café was so busy, and I wanted to talk to you, but…" he stammered, feeling like a fool.

You looked at the coffee, then back at him. His sincerity shone through his nervousness, disarming your suspicion. "Oh," you breathed, a smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

Jongho relaxed a little. "I saw you working all day, and… well, you looked really tired. I thought maybe you'd like some company." You considered him for a moment, then a playful glint entered your eyes.  "Are you sure you just weren't trying to score a free latte by flirting with the waitress?"

Jongho's face flushed again. "No! Absolutely not!" he stammered, then seeing the amusement dancing in your eyes, he added, "Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, I just—"

The bell above the door chimed, a reminder of the closing time. You sighed, placing the rug back inside your apron, "My shift is over. How about a walk in the park? And then you can finish telling me why you bought me a coffee."

Relief and delight flooded Jongho. "Really? I'd love that."

Together, you stepped out into the cool night air, the warmth of the second latte forgotten. As you walked, laughing and talking, Jongho knew tonight had been anything but ordinary. The park lights twinkled, mirroring the spark that had ignited in his heart the moment he saw you, your smile the glimmer under the lamp post or the gold shade of bulb coming from the booths.

He doesn't know how or when it happens, loved just happen. It may be unusual for him but if this is what he’s gonna see every day as he visits the cafe love? Then it is worth waking up for.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez atiny #ateez jongho #choi jongho x reader #ateez choi jongho #choi jongho imagine #choi jongho #jongho fluff

[blue--ingenue]

"Evasive Maneuvers" - Part 3

Read the next part

Summary: You've been in love with Sebastian since the moment you knocked him on his arse on your first day. Entering your sixth year, you finally begin working up the courage to confess your feelings when he suddenly becomes the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in decades - and subsequently becomes the school's most eligible bachelor.

Author's Notes: i'm having so much fun writing soft sweet Sebastian :) which means the next part is, of course, the sweet Garreth- jealous Sebastian chapter. thank you so much for reading, and for your sweet comments! each one is like a little treat i throw to my adhd brain to get it to write more

P.S. - let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist <3

In the days following quidditch tryouts Sebastian’s presence became increasingly sporadic. He had always excelled in academics, and now that Anne was back by his side for their final two years of school he felt that he truly had the time to absorb everything their professors had to offer. Every minute not spent at quidditch was consumed by a steadily-growing list of assignments. Well, almost every minute. Despite his packed schedule he always found a way to spend time with you. Whether it was a rushed breakfast before his first lecture or a stroll among the stacks at the library, you never went more than a few hours without his presence.

You were just buttering a vanilla scone and chatting with Natty when you heard the familiar cadence of his footfalls. Your cheeks reddened immediately and whatever you two had been chatting about flew in one ear and out the other. Natty noticed your change in posture, took one glance at Sebastian’s approaching form, and gave you a conspiratorial wink before getting up to leave. You shot her a grateful smile as she gathered her books in her arms and took off. She knew you’d fill her in on all the details later.

“Good morning, Natty,” Sebastian greeted as they passed each other. She glanced between the two of you before replying, “Indeed it is.” Sebastian plopped onto the bench next to you and you turned to face him, scone laying forgotten on your plate. His hair was damp, as though he’d just showered, and you pushed away the thoughts that spread a certain warmth through your chest and up to your cheeks. His brown eyes glittered as morning sun streamed through the stained glass windows and highlighted flecks of gold. You smiled as you looked him up and down before once again picking up your abandoned breakfast.

“What?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. You allowed your affection to slip into your smile as you tilted your head. “Nothing, it’s just good to see you,” you replied easily. Sebastian’s popularity had skyrocketed since joining the quidditch team. You were happy for him, to be sure, but the gaggle of girls that sat through his practices and trailed after him in the halls ignited a jealousy in you that you had never felt before. All this culminated in you upping your flirting with Sebastian. He responded in kind, and your back-and-forth banter pulled on your heartstrings with an unbearable ferocity. He had been play-flirting with you since the day you met, but you hadn’t the courage to reciprocate until after he’d taken the fall for you in the Restricted Section. While you meant every word, it was clear that flirting for him was as natural as breathing. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing his friendship if you decided to tell him the truth. At least for now you could almost pretend that he meant every flirtatious wink, grin, and suggestive whisper he shot your way.

Sebastian hummed in a tone that indicated he knew she was holding something back, but he didn’t press on. “You see me every day,” he commented as he ladled porridge into a bowl. He dumped a generous helping of sugar into the mix before spooning some into his mouth. A fleck of porridge stuck on the corner of his mouth and you laughed. You leaned close to him and adopted the most demure voice you could muster. You traced a finger from his cheek to the offending bit of breakfast and swiped it off with the tip of your finger. 

 “I do,” you whispered. “And each time is just as delightful as the last,” you retreated back to your spot, but not before licking the porridge from your index finger with a deft swipe of your tongue. You held his gaze for a second more before bursting into a fit of giggles. A few moments later you glanced back at him, expecting a mirror image of your own amusement, but Sebastian wasn’t laughing. In fact, he seemed petrified. If it weren’t for the scarlet flush in his cheeks, you’d have suspected someone had hexed him when you weren’t looking.

“Seb?” you asked, now genuinely concerned. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Instinctively you placed the back of your hand upon his forehead before placing your palm against his cheek. 

“You’re burning up! Did you wear that extra scarf I told you to wear to practice last night? Have you caught a cold?” you fretted. He swallowed and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, coloring his soft lips a plush red. You couldn’t stop your gaze from drifting down to his lips. Involuntarily, you shuddered. Mortified, you were about to jerk your hand away when he caught you by the wrist. His grip was firm, yet gentle and you suddenly realized how close the two of you had drifted. 

“Yes, I- I’m quite…” he was hoarse, voice trailing off as his eyes darkened. You were bewildered. You couldn’t have moved even if you had wanted to. As though someone had snapped their fingers and pulled him from a trance, he seemed to remember himself. He dropped your hand and your heart stuttered at the sudden loss of contact. He straightened his back and cleared his throat. Whatever mood had possessed him was gone in an instant. “I have something for you,” he declared.

You plastered on a fake smile and scooted back, keeping a healthy distance between the both of you. “Oh?” He reached into his robes and pulled out a familiar blue and brown box. Despite the fading ache in your heart, you grinned. You accepted it gratefully and tore into the packaging, catching the chocolate frog before it could make good on its jump.

“When did you have time to stop by Honeydukes? I thought practice ended just before curfew last night,” you questioned before taking a bite and sighing contentedly. Sebastian watched you with a fond smile. 

“I flew by Hogsmeade after Imelda dismissed us. I’ve gotten a lot better at sneaking past the prefects in Central Hall since our little escapade in fifth year,” he grinned. You picked up the card tucked into the bottom of the box. A miniature captain of the Pride of Portree stood proudly, her arms crossed and broom propped up next to her. You held out the card for him to inspect. 

“I reckon I’ll be seeing your pretty face on one of these in a few seasons,” you teased. Sebastian preened, puffing out his chest and running a hand through his curls. “You think I’m pretty?” he grinned. You rolled your eyes.

“Pretty insufferable,” you responded. This banter was much easier. No room for misinterpretation or wishful thinking. He perked up, hand flying to his other pocket.

“I almost forgot! I got you something else, too,” he exclaimed. A few moments later his fist curled around something you couldn’t quite make out. His earlier blush had returned with a vengeance and he seemed almost…sheepish? He coughed nervously. “Close your eyes,” he murmured. You obliged. Your heart was thumping like a runaway rabbit. So loud was the heartbeat in your ears that you almost believed the boy next to you could hear it. He gently unfurled your right hand and dropped something light and metallic into it. “Alright, you can look,” he said.

You opened your eyes and looked at the small gift. It was a necklace. A delicate silver chain slipped between your fingers and shone in the sunlight. In your palm, secured to the chain, was a crystal. It was rough-cut and encased in elegantly looping silver. You could have sworn it was changing colors with every turn of your palm. You squinted, inspecting the pendant closely. The swirls reminded you of something. “It almost looks like - ”

“Your ancient magic,” he finished. With deft fingers he stood, took the necklace from your open palm, and secured it behind your neck. “Well, the symbol, anyway,” he said quietly. He was rubbing the back of his neck and hadn’t yet met your eyes. You didn’t realize you’d been grinning until your cheeks started to ache. 

“I bought it from a traveling merchant as I was leaving Honeydukes,” he explained. You gazed down fondly at the little crystal as he began rambling. “It’s a ‘mood necklace.’ Not like one of those muggle trinkets, mind you. This one actually changes colors to match your mood.”

He noticed you still hadn’t said anything and went on, “Not that there’s anything wrong with muggles! I know you came from a muggle orphanage before coming here. If you don’t like it, I could always return it. Or, er, I’m not sure the merchant will still be there, but-”

“Sebastian!” you cut him off with a laugh. “I love it,” you assured him. He grinned, his relief palpable as his shoulders visibly released the tension he’d been holding.

“I mean, I knew you would,” he said, chin tilted up with a confidence that was so typically Sebastian. You turned the crystal, trying to catch the moment it flickered from color to color. 

“What moods do each of the shades correspond to?” you wondered aloud. His gaze flickered away from yours as he replied, “I’ve no idea. The merchant gave me a bit of parchment that explained each of the colors, but I must have lost it on the flight back.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. “Either way, thank you. Sebastian. It’s truly beautiful.”

“Yes,” he breathed. Your gaze flickered to his, and for a moment, a fleeting second that felt like forever, his eyes weren’t on the pendant, but on your face. You cleared your throat.

“We should head to Potions,” you said, trying to bury the wanting and wishing feeling you had become all too acquainted with over the past few years. Sebastian nodded, his gaze unreadable, and gathered both of your books before leading the way to your first class.

.

.

.

.

.

Taglist: @snickette, @findingtruenorth23, @plooloo, @paganicher, @smilesworldsposts, @snoozebun

#sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #fanfiction #angst #pining #idiots in love #mutual pining #fluff

[bradshawed]

Sick Days & Cancelled Dates

summary — poor bobby passing the nasty bug onto you, meaning you lay in bed on a hot summer’s day. don’t worry, you won’t be alone, not for long…

warnings — jacob thomas seresin’s eyes, fluff, disgusting niceness, cooking, mentions of food, no use of y/n, slight tension, more nice stuff, it’s just a cute little one shot really

word count — 1k words

so i completely gave up on adding pictures to this one because i just wanted to get it published but i hope you get the gist. sorry that it took so bloody long to publish, i’ve been insanely busy but hopefully i can get some stuff out every once in a while. hope you all like it and feel free to lmk if you guys want sick jake or dagger squad too xx

the love olympics masterlist.

Waking up with a sore throat you’d instantly felt the telltale signs of a cold as you closed your eyes, laying back in bed with a dramatic groan. Who even gets a cold in summer?

Flashbacks flip through your mind as you roll onto your side burying yourself under the bedsheets, replaying the moment you delivered Bob, a very sick Bob, some homemade soup a couple of days ago. It had only been for a second and yet he’d somehow managed to pass the cold onto you. You still loved him but times like these you hated that Bob got ill so easily.

Falling back asleep, you decided was the best course of action, or it would’ve been if you hadn’t heard a pair of very familiar footsteps running up the staircase to your bedroom waking you up, not even half an hour later. It was definitely a terrible idea to give him a key.

Hiding in your duvet burrito, you grabbed a pillow and flung it in the general direction of the noise in your room, smiling when you heard a dramatic ‘ow’ when you made contact. It was definitely worth the sacrifice of your pillow and the extra comfort. Especially when he fell to the floor as if he’d been acting out a death scene in a play in high school, typical Jake. It did however, make you wonder if he could’ve been a theatre kid..maybe in another life. You smiled as you drifted off to sleep again with the thoughts of actor Jake in your mind.

Seresin, assessing the situation (poking at your body until you yelled at him to tell him to leave you alone because you were sick), decided to go back downstairs to make you something to eat. He had been greatly worried since you were late for the day out you’d planned together and hadn’t answered your phone so he called Bradley who told him to kindly leave him alone on his day off and reminded him to use the key you’d given Jake for emergencies. So that’s exactly what he did…

A couple of hours later, you shuffled downstairs, refusing to give up your burrito of warmth just yet, to meet a snoring Jake on your couch, Mamma Mia playing in the background. The delicious smell wafting from the kitchen made your stomach rumble but you felt bad eating without him so you jumped on top of his sleeping body on the couch, effectively waking him up.

In hindsight, you should’ve anticipated his reflexes grabbing hold of your body which had unraveled from the duvet, holding you closer to him than either of you expected.

“Morning,” you sent a soft reply back, far too flustered from the position you were both in as well as his morning voice. Jake’s hand reached up to move a couple of wild strands of hair away from your forehead as he checked your temperature with the back of his hand with a gentle hum on his voice, “still a little warm but better than before”. You nodded in reply, a little entranced by the flecks of gold in the green of his eyes.

Jake noticed. He always notices. Or more accurately, he always notices you. His grip on your body tightened ever so slightly as he let himself get lost in the moment before gently moving your body off his. He shook his head lightly, reminding himself that he was only here to outdo you on the dates and win (you over), nothing more, nothing less.

You took a minute to breathe, gaining your composure before following him into the kitchen where he began heating and plating up the food he’d prepared.

“So Chef Seresin, what have you prepared for me today?”

“Well Chef, today we’ve got a classic Seresin household Sick Day Soup, I can’t tell you the ingredients because it’s a secret recipe, if I tell you it won’t work. Oh and a cheese toastie made from that sourdough loaf from the market that you like.”

Your eyes widened at that because you definitely didn’t have a single slice of bread in your apartment until that moment so that must have meant that- you punched Jake in the arm, the ‘ow’ was justified for him being too nice and driving an hour to go to your favourite market. God the urge to kiss him or punch him again was getting harder by each passing second.

Jake, sensing some sort of inner turmoil within you chose to move himself to a slightly safer area by grabbing the dishes and moving them to the coffee table, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead as he moved past you.

After you’d both eaten yourselves into a delicious food coma, and Jake had washed the dishes, much to your chagrin, you felt a wave of fatigue rush over you just as he’d appeared with a bunch of painkillers and cold medicine and a glass of water.

“Thank you for today, I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to-” you stopped yourself having seen the look in his eyes, “but thank you. I saw the picnic basket in the kitchen and I’m sorry for ruining your plans. We can still go out if you want, I feel so much better, plus I just took the medicine.”

He sighed sadly at that, you weren’t ruining anything, and Jake made sure to take the time to tell you that before carrying you up to your bedroom. He definitely didn’t have to do that but you honestly did not mind one bit.

Waking up a couple of hours later, you discovered a bouquet of flowers arranged in a vase in your kitchen, as well as a note in his flowy handwriting mentioning that dinner was in the oven waiting to be heated up. The huge smile on your face wasn’t going to disappear any time soon.

Good thing you got to return he favour the next day with Jake soon catching the bug along with the other aviators in quick succession after that.

tags — @waklman @sematarygirls @djs8891 @kmc1989 @dempy message/comment to be added to the tag list xx

#drew writes! #tlo #adventures of chickadee and loverboy ⭐️ #jake seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin drabble #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake seresin fluff #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

Steve Harrington x Reader Blurb

For those that like it a little angsty!

Warnings: Smut. Angst. Allusions to infidelity. Reader with a vagina.

WC: 795

18+ Only!

You're laid on your back, flush against the soft, fluffy pillows of your bed. Steve's head is buried in the crook of your neck, switching between soft kisses to your jaw or bared throat. Releasing broken moans, he can't seem to hold back.

His chest is pressed tightly to yours, holding himself up on his forearm but slowly sinking down the longer you two go at it pushing you further into the mattress. You welcome his added weight.

His free hand is holding yours, fingers intertwined above your head, clinging to each other.

Breathy moans leave your lips with each drag of his thick cock against your inner walls, splitting you open in the most delicious way, as his hips languidly move against yours. His tip brushing that sweet spot within you with each pass.

Your head is already dizzy, all thoughts on him and how good he could make you feel. Making sure you came at least twice on his tongue already.

“Hey, honey, you still with me?” His nose nudged yours, gaining your attention as you opened your eyes to see those familiar hazel ones flecked with green and gold staring back at you.

“Mmmhmmm… I'm here Stevie.” You sigh as he continued his lazy thrusts with your legs locked firmly around his waist.

“There she is. Looked a little lost there.” He looked down at you with a self-satisfied grin.

“Just lost in you, handsome.” You smiled.

He presses his lips to yours, releasing his grip on your hand to cradle your jaw as your hand found its way to the nape of his neck, running your fingers through his hair.

You rolled your hips in time to meet his next thrust, earning you another moan. He releases your lips, working his way back down your jaw. Peppering kisses and softly sucking small bruises along the way.

You didn't mind him marking his territory, letting everyone know who you belonged to.

“Stevie?” You breathed out.

“Yeah, Angel?” He replied without looking up, still working his way down your chest.

“I love you.” You hummed, as his eye flitted back up to you.

“I love you too.” He sank back into you, snapping his hips a little more harshly, taking your breath away.

It was the quiet moments in the dark that you shared tangled together, forgetting the world. Only you and him exist at this moment.

“Happy Valentine's Day.” He spoke against your lips, picking up his pace before moving up, pushing your knees to your chest garnering him a better angle to fuck you impossibly deeper.

A tear pricked at the corner of your eye, as you caught sight of the gold band situated on the ring finger of his left hand.

A reminder that even though he spoke the words, he would never truly be yours.

He was only yours in the dark nights you shared together. A few moments of bliss for a lifetime of heartache.

His large palms pressed behind your knees, letting his cock punch the air from your lungs with each thrust as those little uh, uh, uhs were escaping you, clouding your mind all over again.

“That's it honey, I wanna hear you. Let me know how good I'm fucking you.”

“Steve… fuck… I need…” you moaned out once more.

“You need this?” He said, as his thumb began drawing circles to your puffy clit, making you jolt.

“Yes! God yes! Please Steve!” That coil in your belly wound tighter. You'd hope it wouldn't happen so fast, you could prolong your pleasure and keep him here just a little longer.

“Come on, angel. Come f’me. Give it t’me.” His words only igniting that fire deep within you. He seemed to always time it perfectly. He knew your body like the back of his hand.

While that coil snapped, it only took a few more thrusts of his own before he was painting your walls with thick ropes of his cum. Your pussy clamping down around him, effectively milking every last drop he had to give.

He collapsed forward, his head finding its place in the crook of your neck once more. His weight crushing you in the best possible way, letting you both regain composure and letting your breathing return to normal.

He made no attempt to remove himself. Allowing his cock to soften, as you felt his release slowly seeping out and onto the sheets below your thighs.

You knew he couldn't stay. He'd go back home to her.

These small joys granted to you were becoming fewer as time passed. So, you cherished all the time you had.

You rubbed patterns on his back with your fingertips, humming softly. If only for a few more moments, you were his and he was yours.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #joe keery #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #valentine's day

[aralezinspace]

Masquerade

Combining two requests, both from Anonymous: Morpheus and s/o doing each other's makeup, Morpheus and reader kissing, reader teases him until he's at their mercy

A/N: The inherent eroticism of a masquerade *chef's kiss* partly inspired by All Yours by @roguelov (I love your writing so much!) Enjoy! Tagging @fangirlmary - If you want to be tagged in any of my writing let me know!

~~Requests are open!~~

“Morpheus?” I called from my bathroom, “Are you almost ready for me?” I knew time passed differently in the Dreaming, I still couldn’t help worrying we were going to be late. The Faerie realm was hosting a huge masquerade ball in honor of Cluracan’s birthday, and as rulers of the Dreaming we had both been invited. I had never been to a faerie masquerade, so I was more than a little nervous- even newly immortal, I was still only human, about to be surrounded by beings with more power in their pinkies than I had in my entire body.

I heard Dream’s footsteps pad from our bedroom into the bathroom before I saw his reflection in the mirror. I applied the last touch to my lipstick before turning to get the full effect, and my heart stopped in my chest.

He was dressed in his usual black, but the material seemed to be deeper, darker, a void where even the brightest of stars diminished. Within that void there swirled sparkling lines of blues, greens, purples, and reds, dotted with large silvery sparkles I’d bet were diamonds sewn into the fabric. The shirt and pants seemed painted onto his form they fit him so well, moving with him, not even creasing when he walked or moved his arms. The shirt’s collar covered his neck, and his hands were wrapped in black silk gloves.

The cloak he wore when being Dream of the Endless, Ruler of the Dreaming and Nightmare Realms was attached to his shoulders with silver brooches, each cradling a sapphire the size of a walnut. A silver chain connected the two pieces, swaying gently when he moved. Flames still flickered at the bottom, but this cloak was made of the same living void as his shirt and pants. His hair was only slightly more tamed than usual, which only added to the affect. Black pointed boots with slight heels and soft soles were on his feet.

I needed to stop gaping, before a dream spider crawled into my mouth.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, taking it all in again and again, the words hardly doing my sentiments any justice. He was ancient and beautiful, distant and awe-inspiring. “You look incredible.” He smiled gently at me, and I could have sworn his chest puffed out just a little bit as he approached me.

“As do you, my star,” he replied in a murmur. His eyes roved up and down my body, taking it all in as one would a piece of art. I could feel the slight tremor in his hand as he brushed a stray piece of hair away from my face. “Although there are no words in any language to do justice to your beauty.”

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks and bashfully glanced at the floor. “Flatterer,” I teased, but did a little twirl anyway before going back to the mirror.

He was right though, I looked just as otherworldly as him in the clothes he fashioned me. If he was attending as a galaxy, then I was the star at the very center. The whole ensemble was silver-blue and shimmering, made of countless layers of a light, floaty material that swirled around me like mist when I moved. The gown had a sweetheart neckline, and sleeves of fine silver mesh covered my arms, making them appear longer and more graceful. Moonstones and diamonds dotted the dress and sleeves, catching the light and reflecting it back. Small diamond earrings went in my ears, and a strand of silver and moonstone was around my neck, with a large opal pendant hanging just below my collarbones.

I had a cape of my own, made of the same shimmering material and dotted with flecks of gold, flowing out behind me from my shoulders. My makeup had the same slight rainbow and silver shimmer, my eyes outlined in pale blue liner. I looked every inch a monarch.

“Just have to do your eyeliner,” I said as I gestured for Morpheus to sit on the stool in front of my vanity. He swept across the bathroom and sat on the stool as if it were a throne while I gathered my liquid and pencil eyeliners, along with a few shades of eyeshadow. “Close your eyes and hold still?”

Morpheus smiled and did as I asked. His lashes were long and dark and utterly gorgeous against his pale cheeks. He was holding still as he could for me, which was the equivalent of a marble statue. Leaning over him, I carefully lined his upper lash lines in black ink before buffing it out with a brush. “Open and look up?”

Tongue between my teeth as I concentrated, I did his lower lash line as well. The black liner made the blue of his eyes even more startling, and I just knew that his eyes would appear even more like bottomless pits if they shifted to their usual black and silver over the course of the night.

“Okay, look ahead?” Rather than look straight ahead, Dream decided to look up at me, stopping the breath in my lungs with his gaze. With slightly clumsy fingers, I put the eyeliner back in my makeup drawer and grabbed the two eye shadows I had picked for him: a slightly sparkling red, and a shimmering silver. Using my fingertip, I gently pressed some of the red into the outer corners of his eyes, and some of the silver into the inner corners.

If I thought he looked incredibly beautiful and powerful before, I was wrong. Just adding the eyeliner and colors around his eyes had made him arrestingly gorgeous, and I couldn’t look away. My eyes widened at the being before me, heat flooding my entire body. That hint of red and silver was the most beautiful mistake I had ever made. It added more than a hint of mischief to the blue of his eyes, gave the power of dreams the attitude of the devil.

Oh, I was going to have a very hard time keeping my hands off him for however long we stayed at this party.

~~

The fae had truly gone all out for Cluracan’s celebration in a dazzling display of magic, wealth, and the otherworldly beauty of nature. The giant ballroom hummed with life, my skin tingled from the strength of the collective vibes. Even as my eyes absorbed the vibrant colors and wondered at them until they burned, I felt distinctly out of place. Just a tiny human at the side of an Endless, almost like a pet. I wanted to shrink into a gilt corner and hope that none of these beings paid me any mind. But, I was a monarch of the Dreaming. If Morpheus couldn’t hide in a corner, neither could I.

I could tell from his slightly tense grip on my hand that he’d rather be anywhere else. Even with our masks covering the top halves of our faces, it was easy to see how much he detested being here. There were too many people, and wearing the face of a monarch for all of them was taxing. I gently rubbed circles into the back of his hand with my thumb as we waited in line to pay our respects to the king and queen, taking in the sights and sounds and smells.

A beautifully haunting waltz came from the musicians on the modest stage at the back of the room. Fae and gods and other creatures of myth mingled and danced, their movements flickering like mirages. A shiver went down my spine.

The fae herald announced us to the waiting monarchs, and Cluracan sitting beside them: “Dream of the Endless and Lady Y/N, monarchs of the Dreaming, rulers of the Nightmare Realms.” I plastered a smile on my face as we approached the thrones. Morpheus gave a slight, respectful bow, and I dipped my knees in a little curtsy.

“Lord Morpheus!” Cluracan yelled with a beaming grin, extending his hand for Dream to shake. “I am so pleased you were able to attend! Both you and your beautiful wife.” Morpheus shook his hand with a strained smile. “Thank you for the invitation, we are honored to be here.”

Cluracan then extended his hand to me. I did what was expected of me, and placed my fingers in his waiting grasp. “Your visage this night is a true blessing,” he murmured against the skin before brushing his lips over my knuckles with a flirtatious smirk. I could feel Morpheus tense beside me.

Dream exchanged the necessary pleasantries with the king and queen, something I was content to let him handle. After the fae monarchs wished us well with the encouragement to enjoy their hospitality for as long as we wished, we were finally free from royal obligations to enjoy the party.

Morpheus was a wallflower at social engagements on the best of days, but I could tell that being in a ballroom surrounded by fae and magical creatures of every kind made him especially uneasy. His hand never left my lower back as we mingled with the other guests, sipping on sweet wine to take the edge off.

After we took our leave of some forest spirits, the orchestra struck up a tune I recognized as old Dreaming folk music. I gave Morpheus’ hand a squeeze and whispered excitedly in his ear, “I’ll bet you anything Cluracan asked them to play this for us. It’d be rude not to dance.” I gave him my best sparkling puppy dog eyes. “Please? May I have this dance?”

Dream sighed, but agreed with a small, loving smile. The image of a perfectly refined and dignified ruler, he led me to the dance floor, holding my one hand aloft while the other rested at my waist. We swept around the dance floor in time with the music, our garments flowing out behind and around us- a supernova and a black hole, swirling around each other in perfect harmony.

“They’re all staring,” I breathed, my eyes darting quickly to the assembled crowd.

“They cannot help but be entranced by you, my darling,” he purred back, “And neither can I.” My eyes flickered up to his, my heart stopping in my chest and lips tugging up into a smirk when I caught the expression on his face. There was no way he hadn’t noticed the hitch in my breath, or the flush in my cheeks, and his tiny smile became unbearably smug. Oh, so that’s how he wanted to entertain himself tonight. Well then, two could play at that game.

“They’re staring at you too, you know,” I breathed against his lips just before he twirled me out and then back in to his waiting arms. “You’re easily the most powerful being here, I bet they’re trying to decide whether they want to be your ally, or stab you in the back. Not that I’d let them.” The hand that was resting on his shoulder slid up, up, so that I was caressing his neck. “And I bet the women are just burning inside, aroused by your demeanor and aggravated their husbands could never hope to measure up.”

It was soft, but I could hear the growl that rumbled low in Dream’s chest. I could feel the way his fingers tensed into the flesh at my waist. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly- he now knew I had caught on to his game, and was not only willing to play, but playing to win.

When the song was over, I pulled away to bow to him, low and slow and graceful with a smile that was anything but submissive. Dream returned the gesture, a perfect gentleman, one who knew exactly what effect he was having on his partner. Rather than take his hand to leave the dance floor, I turned away from him, throwing a flirtatious smirk over my shoulder as I walked towards the buffet. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as he watched, intending to follow, but stopped by a fae lord wishing to speak with him.

I could sense Dream’s growing tension as the night wore on and I refused to stay by his side, rather flitting just out of reach. I made small talk with the other guests, even exchanged a few more words with Cluracan- that really got him going. It was only a matter of time before he came to sweep me away. I intended to beat him to it.

It was hard to evade the stare of an Endless, but I managed well enough. Just enough to catch Dream’s eye before leaving the ballroom and disappearing around a corner into a quieter hall. I could hear his footsteps following me, letting him catch the occasional glimpse of my skirt fluttering around a corner. Almost there…

I turned the next corner and hid in the darkened space between two stone columns encircled with vines. My heart pounded as Dream drew closer. When he was about to pass my hiding place, I reached out and snatched his arm, pulling him into the shadows with me and pressing him against the wall. The air left his lungs on impact in a breathy moan. I stepped in closer, pressing my nose into the hollow just below his ear and taking a deep breath. I was already warm and fuzzy from the wine and fae magic in the air; breathing Morpheus in only made it more so.

With a soft hum, I gently pressed my lips to his, moving them slowly, carefully, testing just how far I could push him. I teasingly ran my tongue over the seam of his sweet lips, and he immediately parted them for me. I flitted in for the slightest taste, the sweetness of the wine still lingering in the corners of his mouth. I pulled away the moment he tried to deepen the kiss, letting him lick beggingly at my closed lips.

One hand cradled his chin while the other slipped under the edge of his mask, mussing his hair slightly as I lifted it over his head and let it fall to the floor. He gasped against my lips and his breath immediately hitched, like he had been caught in the act of showing just how much I was affecting him.

His hands found their way to my hips, fingers digging in to soft fabric as he tugged me closer. My fingers threaded into his silky hair, gently caressing for a few moments before tightening around the strands and giving a gentle yank to expose his neck. Another gasp left him, his eyes fluttering.

I attached my lips to his jawline, kissing and nipping, just hard enough to sting. His fingers bit into my hips, holding me closer. I chuckled low in his ear, more than a little proud of how little it had taken to tease him into a gasping, trembling mess. “I think we’ve stayed long enough,” I cooed, “Unless you’d rather have another dance, or talk with Cluracan some more…”

Dream’s eyes flashed open, no longer ice blue, but deep black, and somehow still burning and sparkling. I had been right before: the eyeliner and colors at the corners of his eyes made me want to sink into those bottomless pits that looked as though they wanted to devour me whole. A breath shuddered out of my lungs and heat flooded my body. Dream smirked, smug and feral.

A hand left my waist to rip off my mask and cast it aside. Dream’s eyes raked over my face, eyes burning with desire. “My little star…” his low growl rumbled through me like thunder. “You are making it incredibly difficult to keep my composure.”

I slowly licked my lips, smooth and sultry. Dream’s eyes tracked every movement of my tongue. I stepped in even closer: “Then let it go.”

When I felt the vortex of sand carry us back to the Dreaming, I knew I had won this round, and also that Dream was more than alright with losing.

#The Sandman #The Sandman fanfic #Morpheus x reader #Dream of the endless x reader #Morpheus fanfic

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: We are 39 chapters in and I would like to remind all my kind readers that this is a Dark!fic. Also since you all loved the Aemond!POV I'm going to write more! At least to tide you over until they meet again... hehe

Chapter 39: Two brothers

Darras pulled you up towards the plank on the deck, allowing you to walk up it cautiously, holding your hand firmly as you went. The older man Sumayl watched you with cautious eyes, and you felt yourself tug the cloak around you tighter.

“Have you brought me a gift?” The greying man asked, as he watched his friend closely. 

Darras, a man with usually so many words, remained quiet and simply nodded his head, before moving inside of the ship. He sat you down on a dark wooden chair roughly as he went to Sumayl's side, where they began whispering in hushed tones. 

Sumayl looked at you as Darras spoke, brows furrowing.

“No.” Sumayl spoke loudly.

“Brother, please. I would not ask this of you if it was not important. Think of the gold, brother. We would never have to work again! I could finally settle down, and you could follow your dreams.” Darras’ voice became desperate as he looked at his brother, who’s eyes never left yours. 

So they were brothers.

The eldest stalked forward before standing in front of you.

“How did you trick him.”

“Trick him?” You asked in confusion.

“You heard me. You are no Princess.”

You let your grip on the hood fall, the thick cloak falling away from your head to reveal your face and hair. Sumayl did not react, instead stared at you with even more scepticism. 

"For all we know, you could be a titleless bastard."

“Brother, please. I will never ask for anything from you again.” Darras begged.

You looked at Darras and saw the desperation.

You did not know how else to prove yourself.

"I am Princess Y/n Velaryon, First of her name, eldest daughter of the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. Please believe your brother, and I when I say you will be rewarded for returning me home." You spoke with conviction, with a voice of commanding urgency. One you had learnt from attending the courts.

Sumayl scoffed, shaking his head as he looked at his younger brother, "You fool."

If he did not believe your words, or your physical presence, then perhaps what the Maester gifted you would help. With your hand you reached into your shirt, fingers pushing into the rags Darras had supplied you, and pulled the small broach from its spot.

You walked slowly towards Sumayl and held your hand out, waiting for him to place his below yours. 

The man stared at you unsure, unamused, untrusting and waited, before pulling his hand up lazily. You opened your fingers and let the broach fall into his palm heavily.

Sumayl's eyes darted to the new weight in his hand, looking at the three headed dragon in his palm. The light from the lantern glinted off of the metal as he turned it in his hand, inspecting the craft.

“Take me to Dragonstone, and you will be rewarded heavily for returning the daughter of the Queen home.” Your voice held steady.

Sumayl stared at the broach, then looked back at you.

His eyes were a deeper shade of green up close, and with the soft light of a lantern, you saw flecks of gold nestled amongst the emerald.

Sighing, he looked at his brother and nodded before walking away.

Darras sprang into action and helped his brother ready to leave Planky Town and voyage back up to Dragonstone. You sat back heavily in the chair, breathing a sigh of relief, the anxiety of impending danger leaving you, causing you to sag against the wood which groaned in protest. 

You sat for some time in a daze, staring at the same spot on the ships wall before Darras came back to join you, smiling wildly at you. It was only then did you realise the ship had begun to bob more intensely and that you were already sitting sail for home.

Home. 

You felt as if you were going to cry in relief, but instead you buried your face into the palms of your hands and sighed. Darras squeezed your shoulder in comfort and you lifted your head to look at the tall man as he pulled you with him to stand on the deck of the ship.

Outside the stars shone brightly above you, moon rising higher and higher into the sky.

Behind you, the lights from Planky Town faded into the distance.

And ahead of you, lay the darkness of the open sea.

The stars made you feel so small. How many were there? Surely more than the people in the Keep, perhaps even more than the entire realm.

A large glowing star sat high in the sky, whilst six others surrounded it. The largest flickered, whilst the smaller ones glowed consistently.

The Seven Children of Aenyx.

Aenyx was a beautiful witch, with silver white hair, and bright purple eyes that glowed. She had seven children. All of them bold and bright, but each with their own faults.

The eldest felt wrath unlike no other. When provoked he would tear down forests and mountains, boiling water in rivers until there was none left.

The second had envy so powerful, she would curse all those in her path at the slightest provocation.

The third, was prideful, and would boast loudly of his achievements, and never back down from confrontation.

The fourth child of Aenyx was gluttonous, and consumed so much food, that once the seas were emptied of all it's fish, and people began to starve.

The fifth was so greedy that they hoarded piles of gold, digging deep into the earth to pull it out, destroying the crops that lay atop.

And the sixth was lazy. Watching their siblings destroy the realm, themselves and others, not daring to speak up, nor out.

The seventh son of Aenyx was lustful, and though he was married to the most beautiful woman of the realm, his eyes still strayed. Siring hundreds of babes.

Aenyx loved her children dearly, and knew of their faults. "How could I create children so pure, yet so tainted?" She cried.

One day, the eldest child was spited by his sister, envy, and began to destroy the realm. The rivers we have now, were created by his wrath as he struck the earth sharply with his sword. His sister in retaliation cursed him, causing his strength to leave his body with each swing of his mighty sword, until he could scarcely lift a finger.

Aenyx watched on in horror, begging with her children to stop, as they all began to fight. She watched as mountains were pushed up from the earth, and volcanoes erupted from the seas, the sky began to turned black from the fire and smoke. The earth cracked open, and lava began to spill across the land, destroying all in its wake.

Aenyx was at a loss of what to do. She loved her children, but she could not bear to witness them destroy the earth and each other. And so in a final bid to end it all, she turned them into stars, immortalising them for the rest of time, where they could help to guide people through the lands they created, rather than cause further destruction.

You remember as a child, reading the tale of The Seven Children of Aenyx in the library of the Red Keep. You had never understood how siblings could fight with one another, let alone harm them. But now you were older and wiser, and the tale stood as a warning more than anything.

Waves rocked against the side of the ship, their salty spray wetting  you lightly as you watched the boat sail away from the mainland. The orange sail of the ship was pulled taut by the wind, as it carried you all through the waves.

The Gods were taking you home. 

“Perfect conditions to sail.” Came the voice of the elder brother. 

The larger man stood behind the wheel of the ship, steering it further into the dark open expanse of the ocean. 

“It seems that the Gods are on our side. We may even arrive earlier than expected, perhaps two or three days on the sea until we arrive.”

You smiled.

Only two or three more days until you were home.

But then the dread hit you.

Only two or three more days until you return home, without Lucerys.

You had left together, and only one would return.

“Thank you.” You called out to him, voice rising over the waves breaking below you.

The man smiled, before looking back out at sea.

Darras squeezed your shoulder again, before leading you back inside the belly of the ship. He led you to the stern, a comfortable and cozy cabin where he and his brother most likely slept. There were two bed on either side of the room and a small table with maps and books atop it.

A lantern swung gently above you, casting a low warm light over you both. 

“Sleep, little stowaway. I am sure your body is crying for rest that isn’t upright in a barrel.”

You nodded and smiled, padding over to a mattress, and although it was thin, you found yourself fall asleep almost instantly as your head touched the pillow. You did not dream, and as you woke the next day you found yourself feeling refreshed from the rest.

The next morning, you sat on the deck with Darras and watched the water speed past you. You sat mostly in silence, small conversation here and there as he told you about his and Sumayl’s upbringing, and the woman he was in love with.

“Sumayl wasn’t always this grumpy, I assure you.”

“Oh?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was the surly one?”

“No.” You huffed a small laugh.

“I wouldn’t either.” He smiled.

Three white sea birds flew above the ship, circling as you rode through the waves.

“They think we are going to fish.”

“Do you think they will follow us the whole way there?” You watched them fly above you, suddenly missing the feeling. 

You thought of Syndor.

“Possibly, if they’re desperate enough.” He gave you a wry smile.

The day passed and you found yourself sleeping again in the men's quarters, having eaten a short meal of bread and dried meats and fish from the two brothers. They even offered you spiced Dornish wine, which you took small sips of, before laying down to rest. 

Another day went by and you found yourself standing beside Sumayl as he looked out at the sea, you had not spoken much and you felt compelled to thank the man who was sailing you back to your family.

“Thank you… again.” 

Sumayl shifted and looked down at you. His nose was large and hooked, and he had long thick eyelashes, and eyebrows which made his eyes look all the more brighter. The stubble around his face was grey and black, giving him a wise look. He was handsome, in a ruggish way.

“You had better hold good on your promise.” He looked out at the sea.

“I will. You will be rewarded greatly for my return.”

The man hummed.

“My brother has told me you are injured.”

You nodded.

“How were you hurt?”

“I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Yes.”

“What, down the stairs of your palace?” He teased.

“No.”

“Then how?”

You sniffed, looking away from him.

“I fell from my dragon.”

The man hummed and silence surrounded you, until he asked a new question.

“And how did you survive?”

“Somebody caught me.”

“A friend?” He inquired.

“No.” You answered.

“Hmm.”

For the rest of your day, you sat alone against the side of the ship, watching the waves splash up beside you. The sky reflected on the glassy waves, turning them a soft orange as the sun slowly began to descend from the sky. 

“Stowaway.” Darras called, and you looked up.

Before you was a small speck, that grew larger with every minute.

Dragonstone came to view and you felt your heart begin to soar. You jumped up from your seat, racing to the bow of the ship, looking out across the water as your home came closer to view. 

In the distance, two small dark specs flew in the sky around the volcanic island, and in that moment you knew that you would be spotted, and they would be anticipating the arrival of the Dornish ship, bearing the House Martell sigil. 

You let out a sigh of relief as you watched the ship come closer to the volcanic island, and the small speck grow larger. The wind raced you forward with large gusts, as the fishing boat bobbed against the waves. 

Darras came to stand beside you as he watched your excitement roll of you as you looked out at your home. His hands rested against the bow of the ship's wood as he leant forward, his curly hair coming into your sight.

“Why were you in King's Landing if this is your home?”

“I was taken... By my uncle Aegon.” You answered stiffly.

“Ah, the Conqueror King.”

“No, the Usurper.” You growled.

“Makes no difference to me. He is no King of Dorne.”

“He is no King.” You spat.

“Are all you Targaryens so full of fire?”

You smirked at Darras, looking back at the island that got closer as you spoke. 

“If I wasn’t so madly in love, perhaps I would fall for you.”

You laughed.

“You are handsome, I will give you that.” You smiled.

“I am.” He smirked.

“And humble too. I can see why she stays around.”

The waves pushed up against the front of the ship, frothy white tips being broken apart by the nose of the vessel, as she pushed through the dark sea to her destination. 

“Dhana.”

You looked at Darras as the word slipped his lips.

“Her name is Dhana.”

“A beautiful name.”

“She is a beautiful woman, it is only fitting.”

You looked back out to the island which was about the size of your fist now as you got closer, the two large dragons flying above, merely looking like small fruit flies. You felt yourself growing impatient as you watched the island come closer, Darras standing silently beside you. 

As you waited, you paced about the deck of the ship, back and forth to fill the time, the two brothers eyes watched you as you moved. You were restless and unsure. So many emotions bubbling up inside you. 

What were you to say when you arrived empty handed, without your brother or dragon. What were you to do when they ask you what happened. How were you supposed to look them in the eye and tell them that you failed to keep him safe. 

You closed your eyes and breathed through it all, trying to tame the bubbling panic and grief inside of you. You needed to be strong. For your mother, for your family.

For Lucerys.

Your eyes stayed shut as you breathed until finally Darras’ voice interrupted your racing thoughts. 

When you opened your eyes again, the sky was almost dark, the last of the sun dipping behind the horizon as a soft blue hue fell across the sky.

Before you, stood the shore of Dragonstone in all it's mighty glory. Your eyes went to the sky.

There were no dragons in sight.

They knew of the ships arrival. 

You sprung from your seat, racing to the side of the ship as Sumayl began to lower the plank. As you went to run, he grabbed your arm.

“Steady on, stowaway. We have a deal.” His eyes held uncertainty as he looked at you.

He thought you were tricking them.

“My father does not like to be held waiting.” And with that you bounded down the plank, Darras hot on your heels as Sumayl followed behind. 

Your bare feet hit the stone deck of Dragonstone as you walked briskly up the path, your side aching with your fast movements. With every step you fought off the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes.

With every step you fought against the urge to collapse. 

You pushed yourself forward, up the long winding path and stairs to the two large gates, guards at the front of them, doors already open and waiting to lead you to the long path to the entrance of the keep. The large stone dragon carvings watched you as you walked through the entrance, the two men following behind you. 

Your eyes scanned the path before you, the castle sitting behind it.

In front of you were two figures, surrounded by guards in the waiting area of the path, where you had once stood when Otto came to offer terms from your uncle. 

The two figures in the path were still as they watched you sprint towards them.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[teaandransacking]

okay hear me out; the concept of five times… and the one time.. with lockwood and reader, where they are in a secret relationship, maybe reader could be kipps sister to give a reasons why they can’t tell anyone. and then just five times (or less idk) they were nearly caught and the one time they were?? i think that would be amazing, also i’m a sucker for forbidden romance trope so…

I love this. I hope I did it justice for you.

Words: 1400 ~ Content: angst, kissing, forbidden relationships

clandestine meetings and longing stares

This is a public place. We’re not doing anything wrong.

It’s true. The Archives is a public place. Where people go to study.

Except that’s not what you and Lockwood are doing.

Not that you’re defiling the books here or anything. You’re just stealing a moment together.

Towards the back of the first floor, in the stacks of the Ancient History section, where hardly anyone goes, Lockwood has you pressed up against rows and rows of leatherbound books.

He’s so close that you can see tiny flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes, make out a few stray hairs on his jaw that he missed shaving this morning.

You settle your hand over his heart, feel the rhythm of it beating.

You’d like to do this in public. Hold his hand in front of everyone; claim him as yours.

There’s just one problem: Quill Kipps is your big brother, and if he found out, there’d be hell to pay.

Lockwood’s nowhere near good enough for you, he always mutters.

And isn’t Anthony’s life hard enough already? An orphan by the age of 6, and responsible for Lucy and George (not that they need taking care of) at 17, he has worries galore without adding sneaking about with you to the list.

But he loves you. You feel it in his hand at the small of your back, hear it in the timbre of his buttery smooth voice when he says your name.

“Lockwood-” you begin, but he presses a gentle finger to your lips.

“Shh. Listen.”

And sure enough, you hear it. The swish of rapiers against clothes. Other agents are here.

You spring apart, you tucking yourself around a marble pillar just in time to see your brother approach.

You’re safe. 

This time.

—- ---

The second time, it’s George who saves your bacon. He’s known for weeks; he was the first one to figure it out, because of course he was.

The three of you are in a little cafe a stone’s throw from Covent Garden, drinking tea and sharing cake. Lockwood feeds you bites from his own fork and you reciprocate, while George playfully rolls his eyes about how sickeningly domestic it is.

You’re laughing and brushing a bright pink angel cake crumb from Lockwood’s mouth when George suddenly knocks his cup of tea right into your lap, and when your gaze cuts to him he mouths: Go.

A second later, you hear your brother’s voice at the cafe counter and you disappear into the bathroom.

—- ---

The third time is a very close call.

Lockwood’s shimmied up the tree outside your window. Your heart jumps into your throat every time he does this, especially because it’s usually after dark.

When he taps on your window, you let him in right away. He’s windswept and his skin is cold from the winter air. He smells of crisp fallen leaves and earl grey tea, and you kiss the confident smile off his face.

“Lockwood,” you say when he’s safely seated on your bed. “We have to stop this.”

He tugs you close, pulling you between his legs so your back is to his front. “Don’t ask that of me. Please.”

You turn and kiss him. “No. I mean, sneaking around. Quill will have to just deal. I mean, we face terrifying Visitors on the daily, but him finding out you and I are together is worse? I don’t buy it.”

“He hates me,” Lockwood murmurs, tangling his fingers with yours. He sighs. “And maybe he’s right. You can do better.”

You twist in his arms. “You shut up right now. You’re the best person I know.” He still looks so sombre, so you add, to make him laugh, “Except George. Of course.”

“Except George,” he agrees, but his seriousness is for show now, and the little glimmer of happiness on him makes your heart soar.

He leans down for another kiss, and his mouth is delectable, and you turn fully in his embrace to line your bodies up.

You’ll never get enough of him, you think as you slide your hands into his hair, pulling him closer still. Your tongues tangle, and when he breaks the kiss you lean back so he can drop kisses down your neck.

The sound of your name from outside the door makes you go rigid.

It’s your brother.

He knocks. “Are you in there?”

“Shit!” You breathe.

You practically push Lockwood off the bed. “Hide. Hide!”

He scrambles under the bed and you stuff your quilt in behind him just as Kipps opens the door to find you reclining on bed with your over-ear headphones on.

“Would you knock?” You exclaim.

He frowns. “Sorry. I - why is your window open? Aren’t you freezing?”

—---

The fourth time, everyone’s in the dark - literally.

You’re all working together, Lucy, Lockwood and George, and Kipps and his crew, including you. The basement of the creepy old church is silent around you. You only have the one torch, but Kipps wants to survey the space without light at first, to get the lay of the land.

By some divine providence, you’ve ended up crouching next to Lockwood, and you startle when he takes your hand, only to relax when you feel his familiar rapier-callused palm.

You don’t dare to speak, but you rest your shoulder against his. 

His fingers start to move on the flat of your palm, and you’re confused for a second until you realise that he’s tracing letters on to your skin, with full stops in between to demarcate the words.

I.

Love.

You.

It makes your heart swell as you imagine him saying the words, imagine his gaze holding yours, strong and sincere.

And then Bobby loses his nerve and switches his torch on, and all hell breaks loose, and the moment is lost.

—--

The fifth time, you don’t even try to hide it.

It’s the aftermath of a huge battle. Several Type Twos. Not enough agents.

When the fog from the salt and smoke bombs clear, Lockwood’s lying on the ground a few feet away, next to your brother. You crawl over, see your brother stirring, but Lockwood isn’t.

Desperate, your heart clenching, you kneel by his prone form, cupping his face with both hands.

“Lockwood. Anthony,” you beseech softly.

Kipps sits up, but you ignore him. You settle your fingers on Lockwood’s pulse point.

It’s sluggish, but it’s there.

Relief makes you weak as Lucy, George and Bobby crowd around.

“He’s just playing-” Kipps begins.

“Shut up,” you snap. 

He recoils but says nothing else.

“Lockwood, wake up!” You plead, patting his face.

Around you, Lucy and George look stricken and pale.

You wait for what seems like an eternity, but then Lockwood lets out a little cough.

“Help me sit him up,” you tell your brother, and to his credit, he responds right away, and between you you prop Lockwood up against Kipps’ chest.

“You’d better not die,” Kipps mutters. “My sister will never be happy again.”

Your gaze flits to your brother’s face.

He rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Neither you or Lockwood are as clever as you think you are.”

Lockwood’s eyes flutter open at that moment. “Good to hear that normal service has resumed, Kippy,” he groans.

You lean in and kiss his dear face. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been thrown around like a ragdoll.” But he smiles, and some of that Lockwood bravado lights up his eyes. “But getting to kiss you in front of everyone just might be all I need to recover.”

You laugh and kiss him again. Kipps makes a face, but doesn’t protest.

“You don’t mind?” You ask, still cuddling in close to Lockwood.

“Hard to mind when he saved my arse literally ten minutes ago.”

“Aww,” Lockwood coughs, still weak. “Kippy and I are having a moment.”

Kipps shoves Lockwood off him. “As long as you never, ever refer to us having a moment again, we’re good.”

The whole hang of you walk home together, you and Lucy supporting Lockwood between you, and, you think:

We’ll be all right.

#tumblr askbox #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood fanfiction

[cardhamine]

A little bit of a late @vanweek2024 prompt!

Here's a very short ficlet for the final prompt, Sunrise. (Put under Read More to not take up a ton of dashboard space.)

Vanessa sat at the foot of an old oak tree, soaking in the moment. Her eyes trailed the scene before her, the dip of the hill and the flower-dappled meadow it rolled into. The early morning sun was just lighting up the hill, illuminating its greens and yellows. A sunbeam fell through the oak's boughs and across her face, brightening the green of one iris into a bright, gold-flecked emerald. 

When was the last time she saw the sunrise? The last time she smelled sweet morning air? The last time she felt grass at her fingertips? The last time she'd even been outside, for heaven's sake?

She couldn't remember. 

Wow. She really couldn't. She had no idea when she was outside the pizzaplex last. When the sun was rising every day for the last who-knows-how-long, she was crawling back to a grubby mattress in a dark room illuminated by aged, flickering light fixtures. Those old LED bulbs were her sun. The computer monitors her moon. At least the stars above the daycare looked like real stars. Sometimes she pretended they were so she could imagine for just an instant she wasn't cooped up forever in that suffocating place.

Was that pathetic? It felt pathetic.

"Vanessa?"

She turned her head so quickly a muscle in her neck twisted. Other than a slight grimace, the shock of pain didn't show on her face. "Everything okay, Kid?" 

"Don't call me Kid," came the boy's huffy reply. Whether he liked it or not, the nickname wasn't inaccurate by any means. He was hardly a preteen - probably. That or seriously malnourished. He sat just a foot or so away, Glamrock Freddy's head cushioned snuggly in his lap. He had paused halfway through a bite of ice cream to catch her in a stubborn half-glare. 

Vanessa shook her head. "Sorry. Right. Gregory. What's wrong?" Anxiety flared in her gut. Was he alright? Had he gotten hurt somehow? Or maybe he'd gotten hurt back in the plex and was just now realizing it? She had hurt him after all, hadn't she? And maybe he was just bleeding slowly, internally, minute-by-minute just becoming another of her victims unless they did something quic-

"You're making kind of a dumb face."

She blinked. "What?"

"You were making a dumb face, and you were, like, staring directly into the sun. I don't think you're supposed to do that, even if it's not all the way up yet. And your ice cream is melting on your shirt." He took a bite of his own ice cream, then nodded to himself, as if approving of his own assessment. 

She blinked again, absorbing the information. "Ah." Her hands hurried to wipe at the cold liquid that had dripped down onto her purple flannel. It would definitely dry before she was anywhere near soap and water to get the sugary substance out of the threads. She 'tsk'ed, licked at her thumb, then scrubbed with mild irritation at what was sure to become a stain. 

"What were you making that dumb face for, anyway?"

Vanessa couldn't help the way her lip twitched with slight annoyance at the question. "What was so dumb about the face?"

"You kind of looked like you were thinking about something that bothered you a lot." He paused, mused, then added, "Or like you had to use the bathroom, maybe."

"I didn't have to use the bathroom," she sighed out in mild exasperation. Now she took her turn to pause. She listened to the sound of wind blowing across the grassy hill. Watched as the sun crept higher in the sky. Felt the tell-tale heat of the summer morning air. "I was just thinking."

"About all the bad stuff again?"

Vanessa frowned. "What do you mean, 'again'?"

"You made that face the whole car ride here. Even when we were buying the ice cream. I'm pretty sure you freaked the ice cream lady out."

A little embarassed, the blonde shrugged. She scratched distractedly at her freckled cheek and sighed. "Yeah, she seemed pretty wigged, huh?" Her tone lightened somewhat, and she mused, "We did get an extra scoop for free; I'm assuming as an act of pity? Like, a pity scoop. Not a horrible trade-off, actually. Maybe I should reenact the war flashbacks for sympathy more often."

Gregory hummed thoughtfully at the proposal. "I bet if we combined that with some casual mention of me being an orphan, we could get free ice cream for at least a week."

Vanessa bit back a laugh. "We are not getting ice cream every day, especially not for an entire week in a row. That much sugar will kill-" The raw irony of the statement cut through her before she'd even finished her sentence, but she tried to correct quickly enough to not make it noticeable. "- a person.. I mean. Like. It's really bad for you." As hard as she tried to mask her discomfort, her mind had started turning on those familiar, bloody memories now, and it showed on her face clear as day. 

Gregory didn't seem overly sympathetic. Instead, he was fixated on her refusal to get more ice cream. "Oh, suddenly NOW you're a good influence?" 

Vanessa balked at the sheer audacity in his irreverence to her inner turmoil. Speechless, she only stared. He stared back, studying her expression with furrowed brows. 

"You are! You totally are!" Whatever his revelation, he seemed completely exasperated. If he didn't have an ice cream cone in his hands at the time, he probably would have thrown them up in the air to emphasize that feeling. 

For a third time, she blinked. "I'm.. what?"

"Thinking about all the bad stuff again!" 

Screwing up her face in frustration, she confessed, "Of course I am! I-..!" She swallowed hard at the knot forming in her throat. "I have a LOT of 'bad stuff' to remember. A lot of bad stuff that I did."

"But you didn't." When Vanessa only continued to stare, Gregory elaborated, "You got infected with a virus or whatever. You didn't do any of the bad stuff; the virus did."

"It was still my hands doing it all." She glanced down at her palm. An intrusive flash of some nasty memory distorted her vision. For a moment, she swore that palm was dripping with blood. She squeezed her eyes closed and shook away the memory. "And it was my fault I got infected with that 'virus', anyw-" A drop of something cold landed on her fingers, and she opened her eyes again to see more of her ice cream dripping onto her skin. 

"You're wasting the whole thing," Gregory complained. "A perfectly good pity scoop, taken for granted. I could have eaten that if you weren't going to." 

"What did I just say about too much sugar..?" She gave the ice cream a somewhat irritable lick, as if somehow it was to blame for its own sorry state. It tasted good, even if it was a little melted. She had missed sweets. Before that thing had crawled in her head, she'd kind of had a sugar problem, honestly; but apparently he was always too busy working on his twisted plans to let her have any decent meal - let alone anything sweet. When was the last time she had ice cream? When was the last time she tasted anything but day old pizza? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad letting the kid have ice cream for a week straight, after all. She figured they both deserved it.

"Anyway, I think you should stop thinking so hard about all the bad stuff," Gregory returned to their previous conversation. "If you keep getting distracted thinking about all that, you're going to waste the rest of the ice cream."

"And the rest of the sunrise," piped up Freddy (who she had almost forgotten about there for a second.) 

Vanessa's eyes widened, and she turned back to the sight of the sun nearly fully bloomed on the horizon. 

"Yeah," she said, gentle understanding blooming in her along with the sunrise. "I guess it would be a shame to let that go to waste, wouldn't it?"

#vanweek2024 #fnaf security breach #fnaf vanessa #fnaf Gregory #Not an AU in any capacity #Thank you for recommending this prompt Haz! #The way I write game Canon Vanessa is “tired and grumpy but very worried older sister” #She's trauma bonded with Gregory and would maul any man or beast who tried to hurt him #Though isn't she the one who tried to hurt him the worst...? #Uh oh .. severely traumatizing guilt time #glamrock freddy

[okay-j-hannah]

You Give Them Neck Kisses

Preference

Characters: Loki, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black

Warnings:

Request: “What do you think about Loki, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black reacting to neck kisses and a good massage (when they're stressed and tired)? I love my boys 💜💜💜💜 But It's okay if you don't want to write it cause that request is overused 😅” Anon

~~~

Loki

The sky of Asgard was painted with rich colors – swirling masses of black and blue. Stars dotted the surface as if a paintbrush flecked the canvas with a white spray. A galaxy could be seen in the distance, clouds of rose gold whirling in an imaginative pattern.

(Y/N) stood against the marble balcony, draped in emerald silks, and waiting for a meteor shower. Or her prince.

The bedroom door creaked open, and a dramatic groan of exhaustion came forth.

Loki walked in already removing his royal garments. Shoulder pads, arm braces, capes, and armor, until he was down to his pants and a light tunic. “The courtroom is abominable.”

(Y/N) slowly turned from the art gallery sky to watch him crash on the bed. He bounced on the mattress as he covered his face with his hands. He groaned again.

“Was it?” She was amused by his dramatics.

He held out one of his hands to call her over, moaning, “I need you.”

She took careful steps, “With all your moaning and groaning, I’m tempted not to help you.”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

“You’re being fussy.”

“When have I ever been known to fuss?”

She laughed under her breath, beginning to crawl over the bed, “You are the fussiest prince I know.” She straddled his torso, brushing back his hair, “My poor baby.”

He looked on the brink of scolding her for the teasing, but he stopped, instead taking her hand and kissing the palm of it. She shut her mouth – clearly he was more exhausted than she thought.

After a moment of silence she put both hands into his hair, raking her fingers through the dark strands to his scalp. She massaged there, a spark of warmth seeping into her stomach to see him close his eyes at the feeling.

He let out a low groan, less whiney now and more out of relief. “Delightful, my love.”

She went further, bending down to kiss his temple, slow and full. He sighed heavy and it made her smile.

“My tired baby,” she whispered, lightly kissing down his face and to his jaw all the while massaging his scalp. “Just need a little love.”

She kissed beneath his jaw harder than his cheek, open mouthed and nipping. She sucked until another groan was drawn from him.

“What was that?” she said with a wicked grin.

He lifted a finger to her lips, shushing her, “Don’t stop.” He opened his eyes to take in her beautiful face, almost pleading when he added, “Please.”

Remus

The common room was toasty with the fire smoldering low. The only two still awake and occupying the space was (Y/N) and Remus. Him sitting on the red velvet couch and her sitting on the ground beside his legs.

His fingers were down by her head, playing with a strand of her hair.

“What am I to do with James and Sirius?” he asked, thinking aloud.

(Y/N) closed the chapter of Herbology she was supposed to be reading for homework. “You mean about their ploy to steal the House Cup out of Slughorn’s office?”

“They’re going to get into some real trouble.”

“You can’t control everything they do,” she mused, turning to rest her chin on his knee. He looked stressed and tired, as if a full moon was approaching. But she knew they were at the start of a new moon cycle and out of danger.

“I was made a Prefect for a reason,” he said quietly, “They think me the reasonable one.”

(Y/N) stood and rounded the couch, “You need to work on your worrying.” She leaned over to wrap her arms around his neck, “We’re supposed to be enjoying the evening together.”

“You’re right,” he said, lifting a hand to grab her arm. He closed his eyes and leaned back into her, “You’re always right.”

“Precisely,” she said, snuggling her head against his, eyeing a sweet spot below his ear. “And I know just the right way to stop you worrying.”

“Hm?” he hummed. He was already mesmerized with her movements, feeling his skin tingle where her lips spoke against his ear.

She ran the tip of her nose down his ear and latched her lips to just below it. Remus opened his mouth with an audible intake of breath. It made her smile as she pressed tender, lingering kisses to his skin.

“Bet you can’t think of anything now,” she murmured, nudging his head to the side. Remus gave in instantly, exposing the rest of his neck with an eager moan.

She trailed a line of wet kisses down his neck and to his shoulder. He was making wonderful, delectable sounds as she settled just above his collarbone.

“What were we talking about earlier?” she questioned, sucking on his skin and then running her tongue over it to soften the hurt.

He sounded breathless when he said, “I don’t know.”

“Good,” she whispered, “Only think of me. Only think about how this feels.” And she took his chin, pulling his face to hers. He was flushed by the time she kissed him on the lips.

Sirius

“Thomas Thornton asked me to go with him on the next Hogsmeade trip.”

Sirius, already exhausted from a day filled with two detentions and Snape managing to trip him during a duel, wasn’t in the mood to listen to his long-standing crush discuss possible dates with other boys.

He had a dark shadow over his face, his eyes almost black. There was a visible tension taking over him that (Y/N) didn’t see when he first entered the room.

His fists were clenched, and his jaw set when he replied, “What did you say?”

She looked at him tersely, “That I’d think about it.”

Sirius nodded, staring her down. It was rather unsettling to see him so stressed.

“Are you all right, Sirius?” she asked, “You don’t look well.”

He swallowed, “Just had a long day.” And he ran a hand down his face and around his neck, rubbing the ache there.

She looked concerned, “Why don’t you sit down,” she gestured to the nearby armchair. “Relax.”

Sirius took a deep breath and did as he was told, slouching in the chair. He put two fingers to the bridge of his nose but was suddenly jolted by the feeling of (Y/N)’s hands on his shoulders, massaging the tense knots.

“What happened today?” she asked sincerely.

He blinked a few times, “Nothing I want to talk about.” He finally closed his eyes at the relief by her hands, lulling his head down and groaning, “That feels good.”

The rasp of his voice sent a flurry of heat through her body, prompting her to keep going – do something more.

She licked her lips, leaning down to be near his ear, “I don’t want to go to Hogsmeade with Thomas Thornton.”

He mumbled his confusion, too focused on her fingers, “Then why didn’t you tell him that?”

“Because,” her lips were practically against his cheek, “I was waiting for someone else to ask me first.”

He opened his eyes in slight surprise, though didn’t want to move and ruin the moment. He felt her lips against his skin, tentative and sweet, and it was doing things to him. He moved his cheek towards her mouth, giving her the hint.

And she took it, placing a chaste, hot kiss there.

He tried to control his voice, leaning to the side to give her more access to his neck, “Oh? And who might that be, I wonder.”

She was still being shy, pressing another small kiss lower on his neck, speaking low and tickling his skin, “You can’t be that dense.”

Sirius laughed low and deep in his chest, loving the heat of her lips on him. And when she plucked the courage to plant a heavy, suffocating kiss along his pulse, Sirius let out a growl, reaching for her arms and pulling her into the chair.

She sat on his lap, flushed as she found the lust in his eyes. He grabbed her chin, “I won’t ask you until you kiss me properly.”

And of course she did.

~~~

Tag List:

@caswinchester2000 @aria253264 @bippity-boppity-boopa @kaqua @cameleonfrenzy @shyposttree  @chiefqueef22 @potters-heart @wife-of-mikoto-suoh @nicole-survivor @dilflover10 @mrskatpotter  @katlovesall  @unknownfacelessstuff  @andreasworlsboring101 @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @appreciating-chase-brody @multifandomfix @murder-swan​ @mxacegrey  @girl-lost-not-found​

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[slusheeduck]

Fictober 2023 Day 8 - Prompt: "Do you recognize this?" Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

This was the most delicate of matters. Something that had to be done with subtlety, with haste, and with no small amount of luck. Gale would never consider himself a master of any of these things, but in this moment, he would have to be, lest this one glimmer of an opportunity be for naught.

He carefully made his way through camp—the party had already left for their outing, so this was the most opportune time—and slid up to Astarion’s tent. The vampire glanced up at him as he dawdled. “Can I help you, Gale?”

“Meet me by the fire,” he whispered. “It’s important.”

Astarion’s eyebrows rose, but he smiled as he shut his book. “Sneaking about, are we? I’m so proud of you.”

Gale waited for him to go, then made his way to the next tent. Shadowheart knelt in front of it, looking deep in meditation. He hesitated, then hissed out her name. She peeked one eye open.

“What is it, Gale?”

“You’re a fan of a nice drink, aren’t you?”

Both eyes opened now, narrowing curiously before her lips turned up. “I’ve been known to be.” In a slightly more urgent tone, she added, “Do you have something good?”

“I have something excellent. Meet me by the fire.”

She looked him over for a moment, but ultimately pushed herself up to her feet and made haste to the fire. Gale went back to his tent, pulling out a small, beautifully carved box he’d tucked amongst his things, and three mismatched cups. He went to go sit by the fire, where Astarion and Shadowheart were waiting.

“So what is it that we’re being so hush-hush about?” Astarion asked as Gale passed them each a cup. “It must be something good if you can’t wait for the others to come back.”

Gale’s eyes flicked between them, then he picked up the box. “I found this in that town the goblins ransacked,” he whispered. “I didn’t think it was possible that they’d overlook something like this. But I suppose goblins never have had good taste. They probably didn’t know what it was.”

He opened the box, revealing a delicate, beautiful crystal bottle filled with ruby-red liquid. Carefully, he held it up to the light, where the sun caught on flecks of gold swirling through the red.

“Do you recognize this?” he asked, voice hushed.

Astarion leaned in, and Shadowheart’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, by the Lady of Sorrows,” she breathed. “Is that…?”

“Elverquisst,” Gale said. “Yes. Distilled from sunshine and rare summer fruits.” He brought it down for the others to see. “I had it once, years ago, in the House of Good Spirits back in Waterdeep. And if I’m right, there’s a phrase that…well, let me try.” Stilted, heavily-accented Elvish came from his lips. Nothing happened.

Astarion, watching in amusement at Gale’s butchered attempt, held out his hand. “Good effort, darling. Let a native speaker try.”

Once Gale passed it over, Astarion repeated the same phrase, the words smooth and melodic. As he finished, tiny pinpricks of bright silver light appeared in the bottle, forming a constellation. All three oohed and ahhed over the pretty effect.

“Is everyone all right?” The three of them froze as Wyll made his way to the fire. “I saw…is that elverquisst?”

“No.” In typical rogue fashion, Astarion pulled the bottle close to him, shielding it from Wyll’s line of sight. It might have been more successful if the bottle wasn’t literally glowing through his shirt.

“Astarion,” Gale said flatly, then looked up at Wyll. “Yes, it is. We were just about to pour it.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the others?” Wyll asked, brows drawing together as both Shadowheart and Astarion grimaced at the question. “I’m sure they’d want to join in.”  

“Wyll, that is very noble of you to suggest,” Gale said. “We are absolutely not doing that.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, let’s take a look at who’s not here.” Gale held up his hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “There’s Lae’zel, who’s just grasped the concept that food can taste good. Karlach, who would no doubt enjoy a drink, but would down this entire bottle without so much as tasting it. Halsin, who would probably take one sip and spend the evening talking about how it’s more fulfilling to get drunk off the…wind in the trees and the soft earth beneath your feet. And Falerin, who I can attest to having the worst taste known to Faerûn, given how I personally witnessed him lick a dead spider. Twice.”

Wyll hesitated. “…point taken.” He glanced about camp, then quickly took a seat beside Astarion, quieting his voice. “All right, pour me a glass before they come back.”

Astarion smiled as Wyll leaned in, passing the bottle back to Gale. “Look at you, putting yourself first! I am so impressed.”

Gale gathered the cups, snagging one more from the camp supplies for Wyll, then held up the first as he was about to pour. He paused, looking over at Astarion. “When I last had it, there was a whole ritual involved—chanting in Elvish, sharing from a goblet, that sort of thing. I don’t suppose you’d know it?”

Astarion squinted. “Well, I…might remember. Here, give me a moment.” He shut his eyes and sat up straight. After a moment, he uttered a phrase in Elvish, low and intoning, that he repeated several times. Both Gale and Wyll looked suitably impressed, but Shadowheart frowned.

“That’s not a ritual,” she said, stopping him mid-chant. “He’s just saying ‘I am chanting something important’.”

“It’s all about the inflection, darling,” Astarion purred, then held out his cup. “But genuinely, fuck the ritual and pour, Gale.”

Gale did indeed pour, with sparkles of starlight and sunlight catching the light as he did. Once each cup was filled, the four clinked them together in a toast. They each took a long sip, followed by the near erotic sounds of relief at finally having a really, really nice drink.

The first round was mostly spent in silence, aside from comments on the notes of resmer and the really superb smoothness and pleasant aftertaste. By the second round, all four were relaxed in their seats and much more chatty.

“You know, this reminds me,” Astarion said as Gale refilled his cup. “So, yes, I lured people to their deaths. That’s bad, I hated it, we all acknowledge that, yes? But, from time to time, Cazador’s cravings leaned a little more refined, and out of all my…siblings, I was the most well-suited for high society. So I’d be all dressed up, pretty as can be, and carted out to whatever big to-do was happening in Baldur’s Gate.” He gave a wistful sigh. “One of the few bright spots, really. The wine was always superb, the company was sparkling. But I always wondered how blood would pair with wine. Not mixed together, of course, but a sip of one, a sip of the other…” He took a drink, glancing around the group over his cup. “Though I don’t suppose any of you are feeling quite as generous as dear Falerin?”

He got a resounding “No” in reply. Shadowheart, though, sat up a bit, back propped up against a sturdy stump as she pointed at Astarion over her glass.

“Okay, okay, all right, Astarion,” she said, words slightly slurred. The elverquisst seemed to be hitting a bit harder than anticipated. “I knooow you’ve thought about this. I heard you talking with Falerin about it. So…” She gestured vaguely around the circle. “Who?”

Astarion blinked. “…who what, darling?”

“Who would you bite? Out of all of us. Not Fal, that’s cheating.”

“Oh, easy. Wyll.”

Wyll, mid-drink, nearly choked at the reply, and he looked over at Astarion in surprise. “Really, me?”

“Oh, gods, yes.” Astarion leaned over toward him, chin in his hand and a very pointy smile on his face. “You’re such a goody-two-shoes, your blood must be the purest thing on the Sword Coast. And with the bit of devilry you have going on? It’d give you such a lovely bite.”

Wyll laughed, a surprised little grin on his face. “Is it weird that I’m flattered?”

“It’s more weird that it’s not Gale,” Shadowheart said, reaching over for the bottle to refill her cup.

“Oh, Gale tastes vile. No offense, of course.”

Gale rolled his eyes as he drained his glass. “Well, I imagine the Netherese orb waiting to go off in me does sour things a bit,” he says dryly.

Shadowheart sat up straight, frowning as she looked between the wizard and the vampire. “Did you bite Gale? When did you bite Gale?”

Astarion gave a long, irritated sigh. “I mistook him for one of the cultists we were fighting, back at the goblin camp. It was an accident.”

“Which is why we look before we bite,” Gale said.

“I apologized!” He made a face, then reached over for the bottle to refill Gale’s glass. “And lesson clearly learned. It’s like you’ve got acid in your veins.”

Wyll, meanwhile, had gone thoughtfully silent through the exchange. He got up, moving over to sit beside Gale, and he set a hand on his arm. “All right, but your…the magic bomb in your chest. You’re not actually going to blow that up, right?”

Gale, about to take a drink, paused as he looked at Wyll. “I…I mean, I am supposed to. Ordered by Mystra and all that.”

“But you’re not actually going to do it?” Wyll pressed.

Gale bit the inside of his lip, then took a long sip of his drink. “Why shouldn’t I?” “Well, for one, it’d blast all of us to the hells and beyond,” Astarion said dryly. “Awful way to spend a day.” “I wouldn’t do it with all of you around,” Gale said, indignant. “I’d ensure it was just me and the Absolute.”

“Well, yes, there is that, but even if you did out of range of us…” Wyll hesitated, grip tightening as he looked over to Shadowheart and Astarion. “Now, you all, everyone in this camp, are the best friends I have. I respect you all immensely, and I am so grateful that even with my pact with Mizora, you…” “Oh, get on with it,” Shadowheart said. Wyll hesitated, then blurted out, “You cannot leave me alone with these people, Gale. They’re all lunatics. Lunatics that I love dearly, but my gods, you all are fucking insane.” His horned head fell to Gale’s shoulder. “It’s you and me against a sea of…Shar worshippers and tieflings on fire and vampires and gith and whatever the hells is wrong with Falerin. Please. The living magic bomb is the most normal one out of all of us, and I cannot lose that, Gale.”

Gale looked a bit shocked at the sudden burst of emotion from Wyll, and he gave the Blade of Frontiers an awkward couple pats on the back. “I’m…flattered that you consider me normal. I actually am; I don’t think anyone’s called me that before.”

Astarion, meanwhile, got up and went to go sit beside Shadowheart. He clinked his glass against hers. “Refill, darling?”

Shadowheart looked up at him. “Oh, yes, please. After all, it’s us vampires and Shar worshippers against the world.”

Wyll lifted his head, looking flustered. “Now, I didn’t mean it like…I said that I…” He was cut off as Astarion and Shadowheart laughed.

“You see? Utterly pure and guileless,” Astarion said. “I think that’s the meanest thing you’ve said in your life. It’s precious.” He gestured toward him. “Come on, glasses in. I’ll pour us the next round.”

~

It was very late when the party returned to camp, eager to warm up by the fire after a hard day’s adventuring. However, rather than the blazing campfire and dinner that typically awaited the group’s return, they instead found smoldering ashes in the firepit, with cups scattered on the ground, a pretty crystal bottle that seemed to glow against the dirt, and the remaining camp members fast asleep—Gale’s head against Wyll’s horns, Wyll’s cheek smushed against Gale’s shoulder, Astarion’s head fallen back against a stump, and Shadowheart curled cat-like with her head on the vampire’s stomach, loose bits of hair stuck against her mouth.

It was hard to say exactly what had transpired while they were gone, but clearly it was a good time.

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

#fictober23 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #gale of waterdeep #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #camp shenanigans #It's a long one today but I've been so excited to write this all week

[rxgerthatt]

the girl I met in bodie

Pairing : steve rogers x reader

Summary : Steve is on the run. Who knew he would find you in a ghost town?

Warnings : smut/violence/18+

A/n - been a while. trying to get back into the swing of things. hope you all enjoy!! feedback is greatly appreciated.

He met you in Bodie.

It was a hundred degrees and the pick up truck had broke down, hood breathing smoke along asphalt; sun beating unforgiving against his back. It was bad - and Steve had seen war.

He’d been on the run a few months now. Got separated from Sam after the government got intel and they were close to catching them. Not close enough.

Bodie was a ghost town. Dilapidated wooden buildings - breathe near them and they’ll collapse - plotted along ashen ground burning orange under constant sunlight. It was trapped in time, as he was. The world around it moving forward and it was forever in a period long forgotten.

He found himself relating to it.

The wood tombstones groaned under a shift of hot wind, knocked Steve in the lungs with gravel in his throat. The sun was setting, hues from a flame blazing across the horizon, licking the blue of the sky with a sharp tongue.

He couldn’t fix the truck in darkness.

—

When he first saw you, he thought you were a ghost - nearly shat his pants.

The barrel of a gun pointed towards his head, dangerous look in your eye because you didn’t get many visitors around these parts - that was clear.

Especially not visitors that were superhuman.

You were dressed modern. Denim cut offs, white spaghetti strap and a beat up pair of pink converse. Your skin was slicked, glowing and healthy. You must have been young, Steve guessed early twenties because you had that spark in your eye.

The one that gets snuffed out after time. Erodes away in your hands like dust and bone.

You study him, eyes a picture of nature; green flecked with amber. Wars stopped over those eyes. World at peace in vast green forests in golden light.

“Can I help you Captain?” So you do know who he is.

You make him nervous. He scratches the nape of his neck with a hum, “trucks busted. I could use somewhere to lay low.”

Everyone I know wants me dead.

He sees the clogs turning, the fight in your conscience before your eyes seem to shift and you saunter past him, waving a hand.

“Follow me,” you say. He does.

—

You’re guarded.

You don’t give much away, keep your cards close to your chest and Steve has a hard time reading you. There’s so many questions on the tip of his tongue - why are you alone? What’s your name? What’s your favourite colour?

He asks none of them.

You’ve built a home for yourself. Done up one of the old buildings and painted it blue, a calming blue. You’d built furniture, added your own touch and he wondered if you painted the pictures on the wall.

Your home was immaculate. Cabin in the woods type shit. A neutral colour palette - sepia toned photograph; burnt copper in his mouth. Spotless and well kept.

You’re cooking in the kitchen when he finds himself asking, “do you like to paint?”

He notices the small flicker of a smile as you toss onions in a pan, the soft sizzle becoming all too loud because he felt he overstepped a mark.

“Used to,” you say, adding garlic to the pan and Steve’s stomach growls. “Not been feeling inspired as of late.”

“You’re good,” Steve admires an abstract piece. A meld of red and gold swirling around negative space, a cool stream of blue twisting like veins. It sits above the fireplace in your living room, caught his eye the minute he walked in.

“Thanks,” and he thinks he sees a blush tint your cheeks, a crack in your tough exterior; an inner beauty bursting through for a fleeting moment before you’re serious again.

You place a plate in front of him, sliding a fork across the counter. Tomato pasta. “I can help you with the truck,” you don’t look at him again as you leave the room.

He doesn’t see you again that night.

—

He sees you smile for the first time a week later.

A grin, brighter than the golden gates and it’s at something he said - he can’t remember what because your smile clears his brain of any thought. For a moment he thinks he’s forgotten his name because fuck - that smile.

It lit up your whole face. White gleaming teeth, sparkling eyes - you were breathtaking.

Turns out the truck was beyond repair. Broken engine melting in the heat because it had been running for five years past its sell by date. You offered to let him stay.

“Whatever’s chasing you won’t find you here.”

So he accepted. What’s he got to lose? The Avengers was over. He had no idea where Sam was, and even if he did he had no way of getting to him.

You had also made it an easy decision to stay.

You intrigued him. Lit this fire he hadn’t felt since Peggy and he couldn’t ignore it because what if he missed out on something wonderful. He wanted to know about you, but so far he’d only gotten a name.

“I heard you jumped out of plane without a parachute,” there’s this playful glint in your eye.

“Is it impressive if I say I did?” He smiles.

“Are you trying to impress me Captain?” It’s sultry, match sparking in his loin.

Your hair is wild around your head, swollen with the humidity in the air. A mane of brunette framing a god-like face and how the fuck can you look like that. A forest nymph he’s only read about in story books.

“Yes,” he replies and you laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, sparks life deep into his soul; makes the air catch in his lungs at the sweet melody pouring honey over his ears.

“I don’t think I’m your type Rogers,” you say.

—

You lift a man into the air with your fucking mind.

Steve thinks he’s gone mad at first, but it was very much real. Hand outstretched, concentration unshaken and he squirms as he levitates - chest heaving in fear before he’s knocked out - falls to the ground and Steve’s mouth is open.

It was a flurry up until that point. He was ambushed, men in black - probably sent from the government. He managed to get most, but the one that was sneaking up behind him. The one you stopped. With your mind?

You turn towards him, “are you okay?”

What the fuck was that? - was what he wanted to say. Instead, he stuttered, shaking his head clear of fog before thanking you. You smile at his confusion.

“I suppose I should probably explain.”

Turns out you were born that way, didn’t start showing until you were nine and your parents couldn’t cope. It wasn’t long before you were taken into an institution - used as a Guinea pig. You escaped at 17, a kid with the world on her shoulders, her beating heart in her hand.

The secrecy made sense. Months of avoiding personal questions, a guarded wall he was prepared to climb. There was just something there. He could see it with you - life. A way other than war. Maybe that was naive of him.

You sit on the sofa, legs propped up on the table in front of you; a joint hanging from your fingers. The smell is strong, singes at the hairs in his nose and you laugh at the look on his face.

“Man, you’re really stuck in the 40’s,” you joke, eyes bloodshot; smile slightly off balance but you’re still a dream.

Steve huffs, “I am not.”

“Take a draw then,” you hold the burning stick in front of his mouth. If you’d asked him two months ago, he would’ve said no. It was different now. He didn’t feel like Captain America anymore - he felt like Steve Rogers. The kid from Brooklyn, living one hundred years in the future with you.

Living the life he never had in a fucking ghost town - who would’ve thought.

He surprises you when he takes a draw, tipping ash into a glass tray. After a couple his vision hazes, a calming numbness crosses his mind and his gaze slides over you.

“Wait til’ America hears about this one,” you joke, and Steve laughs. He could see the headlines now - Beloved Captain America says yes to Drugs.

Something changed in your eyes that night, like a barrier peeling from the outermost layer of your skin. He’s staring at you - he knows that - but you’re not looking away either.

He wasn’t good at reading the signs, and something deep in his stomach told him to move.

When he kissed you it felt right.

Soft pillowed lips sliding together he felt like he was tasting paradise on his tongue. You kissed him back - passionate, gentle compared to your icy exterior but that was all it was. Deep inside you were a flowering beauty, filled with secrets and he wanted to know them all.

He wanted you.

“You’re a good kisser for ninety-seven,” you smirk.

“Shut up.”

He kisses you again.

—

You have nightmares - the blood curdling kind.

He bursts into your room to find you screaming into a void - eyes closed, unconscious. He gets beside you, whispers sweet nothings in your ear - you’re okay. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

You awake with a start, panting for breath, holding your chest with a flat palm. Cradling your head you lean forward and he lets you catch your breath. Your back was hot to the touch, as though a furnace had been lit under the surface of your skin.

“Sorry I woke you,” you say.

Steve shakes his head, “don’t be, you alright?”

You nod with a broken smile. The forest in your eyes was dark, glazed over with clouds of exhaustion. What was it like waking up when you were alone? Steve imagined you coped, you were made of tough stuff. Yet, the idea of anyone having to deal with that made his heart twist in his ribcage - especially you.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you. He doesn’t want to overstep. You’d made progress and he didn’t want you to shut him out now.

You surprise him when you say, “stay.”

Steve doesn’t hesitate, and you make room for him; pulling the sheet back to allow him to get in with you. When you rest your head on his chest it’s like home. White picket fences and green green grass and where he was meant to be.

“I get them too,” he admits to you, taking a hand through your thick hair. “About the war, about going in the ice.”

You don’t judge him. A slender finger slides over his chest, makes the hair at the nape of his neck stand to attention because you had that affect on him. Only you.

“I’m glad your truck broke down,” you said.

“Me too sweetheart,” he replied with a smile.

You doze off in his arms. It’s the best sleep he’s had since going in the ice.

—

He makes love to you that summer.

The fire crackles, mixing with the sound of lips on lips - the shedding of clothes. The room is too-hot, sweat slicking bare chests as he lays you down on the sofa.

You grip at each other like it’ll be the last time - he hopes it’s not.

Stripped before him you’re like a fever dream. Tits perfectly sat on your chest, the most beautiful he’d ever seen and how did he strike so lucky in a place like Bodie?

Steve kisses down your neck, chest - anywhere he can put his lips because he’d never tasted something as sweet as you, an addicting flavour on his tongue that he never wanted to give up - not now, not ever.

You groan under his worship, a gentle touch you would never expect from a super soldier but here he was; kneading your body as though he were making bread. Studying everything he wanted to remember, because his luck was running short these days and what if you were another carrot that the universe would dangle in front of him. Just to take it away in the end.

When he pushes into the hilt you moan - the most saccharine sound he’s ever heard. It’s like ice on his spine, trickling down each nerve with ease.

“Jesus doll,” he breaths, a blow of air as your pussy squeezes him in an unforgiving way. You whine in response and he begins to move, a slide of - in, out, in, out - and fuck he won’t last long when you look at him like that.

Your hands are on his chest, muscles shifting beneath your finger tips. You legs wrap around his waist as he makes the sweetest vanilla love - the holiday kind. Sunsetting over the horizon kind of bullshit and he wanted to stay here forever.

You call his name, drag your fingers through his hair and he reaches between you; teases your pebble until you’re arching into him. Steve kisses you again, chases the oxygen you breathe because he wants to steal it from you.

“Please Stevie,” you beg, panting and writhing beneath him. He’s pushed you further up the sofa in his relentless pounding, your neck crooked but you don’t care as you cry out - pushing him over the edge.

You can’t get pregnant. You’d told him they’d made sure of that early on. Babies are a distraction. Steve told you you would be a good mom - you were not so sure.

“Are you a virgin?” You ask him as he settles beside you, pulling you into his chest with a grumble.

“That bad huh?” He smirks.

“No,” you chuckle.

—

Steve decided you were his soulmate after a year.

He stopped trying to contact Sam. What was the point? The world would need him again eventually but right now he wanted to be stuck in time with you. You never labelled what you had, kept it at an arms length but Steve knew how you felt about him.

He had a feeling he wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t feel the way he did.

He catches you making breakfast one morning. Frying eggs as you hum and tap your foot - hair a wild mess around your head, his shirt riding high enough for him to catch the smooth curve of your ass. A domesticated goddess, with the ability to rip him limb for limb and he likes that danger.

Steve wraps his arms around your middle, resting a hand on your flattened stomach and he notices the way you soften there. Each layer of you he peeled back was more beautiful than the last, it was hard not to just say -

“I love you.”

Fuck - he said it.

You turn in surprise - maybe you didn’t expect it, or maybe you’ve never heard those words directed at you. For a moment he feels he’s overstepped, maybe you just enjoyed his company and he’s read this all wrong but then you kiss him. Passionate, it washes over him like a promise because you have this ability to make him feel like he did pre serum.

Small and weak, pining after a dame too good for him.

“I love you too,” you reply.

Who knew that the girl he met in Bodie, would be the love of his life.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america x you #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel #captain america x female reader

[ofduskanddreams]

Hi — I'm ofduskanddreams, I also respond to 'Kate.'

This is primarily an ACOTAR blog with a small side of whatever media I'm hyperfixating on at the moment, though this is subject to change.

I’m a multishipper who is “pro” most, and fully “anti” none :)

I mostly write Azris at the moment, but I also write Elucien, Gwynriel, Morlain, and Emorie. All ships are welcome here. <3

My ask box/dms are always open if you have questions or want to say hi :)

Featured Fic:

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞

Like a cloak of heat and flame, the power of the Autumn Court settled on his shoulders. The air crackled and sparked as the very foundations of the Forest House trembled beneath the blood-spattered boots of its new High Lord.

Eris Vanserra opened his eyes, expecting the world to be shrouded in flame. Instead, he saw the shadowsinger standing near the foot of the dais, wreathed in wisps of darkness. The Illyrian's green-bronze eyes glinted with curiosity and caution and flecks of burnished gold.

There was only gold. A golden thread spooled out of his chest towards the winged male. The one who'd been his sworn enemy for over five-hundred years. Rhysand's spymaster. The feared shadowsinger. Azriel. His... mate.

[rated: E | status: complete — 128k words]

Links:

My Fanfic Permission Guidelines.

My works on AO3.

My fanfiction masterlist.

My masterlist of moodboards, commissions, edits, and miscellaneous things.

I’m on Instagram too.

Tutorial for downloading fics & adding covers before sending to Kindle.

#new pinned post #intro post #masterlists