#I acted like I didn’t know they’d been following me but said I was good since I already had someone to help in; in red to my buddy

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Blaze in the Dark - (11/13)

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

Buckle up because this chapter gets spicy 🌶

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-

The ceramic vase shattering against the marble floor was a distant, far-away sound.

Elain found it reminiscent of submerging her head in a bathtub, the way she was enveloped in warmth while the details of the outside world became muted. Blurry. If she tried to focus away from the heat blooming on her skin, she could pick out an awareness of some things. Like the water spilling over the console table, seeping into her skirts and dripping over the edge, where it collected into a puddle atop the fragments of the vase below.

Her damp skirts may have been of greater concern to her, where they not presently bunched over her hips, thrown across the table as haphazardly as the bouquet of scarlet geraniums that had once occupied the space she was sitting in.

She’d handpicked those flowers with Vassa yesterday morning. They still had plenty of life in them, and she would need to scold Lucien for acting with such haste in discarding them.

Another time. Currently, she—

“Lucien!”

The gasp was involuntary, as was the arch of her spine, her body taken over by some ravenous creature that demanded to be closer, to be touching him, especially when his teeth grazed over her collarbone.

“I told you what would happen if you misbehaved,” he said, flicking his eyes to her face only briefly, just long enough to let the authority of his words linger, pressing against her as firmly as his strong body.

“I have never—” she sucked in a sharp breath as his mouth closed over her breast. Her nipples hardened beneath his lashing tongue, sending ripples of heated pleasure coursing through her. “Never— ah, misbehaved… in my life.”

That used to be the case, at least. Her governess had always asserted that Elain was the most perfect of her sisters. And by that she’d meant the most quiet, the most restrained, the most obedient.

At this, Lucien lifted his head, releasing her from his torment however briefly. Elain couldn’t help but shiver at his expression, the dark hunger within it. She held herself still, like she was standing in the line of a predator’s gaze, as he drew his lips to her ear and said in a rich, low voice, “I thought you’d know better than to lie to me, sweet wife. If you’ve never misbehaved, then tell me what you’re doing at this very second?”

He paused, waiting for her to answer. The sound of her panting filled the silence, and she wondered how he was so perfectly composed. How she didn’t hear a sound from him, despite how his mouth hovered just beside her ear.

“I’m sitting atop a table,” she said, tugging pointedly at the arm he’d looped beneath her knee, keeping her spread open before him. “Because my husband—”

“There you go again,” he chided.

She cried out, knowing what was coming even before his teeth sunk into her neck as retribution, followed by the slow drag of his tongue to soothe away the hurt. She squirmed in his hold and he made a deep, rumbling sound in the back of his throat, something similar to laughter but lazier, more taunting.

“You can be so petulant when you want to be. Where’s my good girl?”

This was a side of her husband she hadn’t been anticipating. He’d been so sweet, so gentle the first time they’d made love that she hadn’t known there could be this other side of him. The Lucien who was firmer, more demanding, but underneath always, always, loving. And when he discovered how much she enjoyed his firmer touch, well…

Lucien’s hand—the one that wasn’t holding her leg captive—raised from where he had been stroking her inner thigh, his fingers perpetually creeping just close enough to where she wanted him, but never any further.

Now, they wrapped around her throat.

“Remind me what I told you, wife.”

His lips returned to her neck as he waited, covering her skin in small nips and licks that made it extraordinarily difficult to focus on his question. Particularly when he ground his hips forward, using his clothed erection to offer her the barest amount of friction. Only to retreat when Elain pushed forward, desperate to chase the small fraction of pleasure.

Ducked against her neck, she could feel his lips pull into a smile, insufferably pleased at every twitch and huff he elicited from her. Initially she tried to restrain them, if only so he couldn’t have the satisfaction, but all that seemed to achieve was making the game more interesting to Lucien.

And now, with his fingers tightening at her throat, she knew he was growing impatient.

“We have to be quiet,” she said, repeating his earlier instruction. There was a strange thrill in the sensation of her words straining against his palm. “Otherwise someone will come down this hall and catch us.”

Lucien hummed in approval. “And wouldn’t you be mortified if someone were to catch you like this? So indecent, so eager to let your husband fuck you over a table.” He clicked his tongue, but she knew he loved seeing her like this. Knew because of the stark affection in his voice as he added, “Then everyone would know that sweet Elain Vanserra isn’t as prim and proper as she pretends.”

The shaky breath that parted her lips was one of relief. She relished knowing she could be like this with him. Bold and reckless and willing to take what she wanted, even if that risked being seen for who she was.

“I’ll be good,” she said, tilting her head back to expose more of her throat to him. Pliant, but only because she wanted to be. Docile, but only because she was in full control of who she did and did not obey. “I’ll be quiet.”

As a reward, Lucien kissed her temple and murmured against her skin, sweet as melted sugar, “Good girl.”

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut. His praise lit something deep and warm inside her. It was more than a craving. It was an addiction.

He knew its effect on her, knew how to drip each dose of it to keep her wound and wanting, willing to do anything he asked just so she might hear him whisper it again. For now, he chucked and offered her one more sweet kiss against her brow before instructing, “Stay still for me.”

That was one direction that she was never very good at following. Even as a little girl, when her governess would make each of them stand with proper posture and recite poetry, she would always be reprimanded for fidgeting with her skirts. Feyre used to accuse their governess of creating rules with the purpose of setting them up for failure.

Now, Elain wondered if her husband was just as cruel.

His hand returned between her legs, broad fingers curving in until they brushed over the arousal coating her inner thigh. Elain took a deep breath, recalling how they’d ended up here.

I have a secret, she’d said, giggling and a little bit drunk on the wine they’d shared at dinner.

Oh? One that you might trust on your husband’s ears?

She’d stopped and pulled him down an unlit hall that she knew was scarcely used, even by servants. There wasn’t a single candle lit in this direction, and the thick drapes over most of the windows were drawn, meaning that they had to fumble their way through the darkness until Elain was satisfied that no one would find them. Lucien had been patient with her, humouring it all with his soft, bemused laughter. That was until she corralled him against the wall and whispered her condemning secret into his ear.

I’m not wearing anything under my skirts.

Then all of his charming humour faded, like paint scraped from a portrait. And Elain had barely any time to prepare herself before her husband had erupted on her in a fervor of kissing and tearing at each other’s clothes that had amounted to this—

To Lucien swearing under his breath, continuing his exploration until his fingers finally, finally, sought the small bump at the apex of her thighs. He circled his thumb lazily around her clit, still not touching it as he smirked at the wetness he found, at how easily his fingers slid against her.

She whimpered, and that small noise was enough for him to withdraw. Her frustration was beginning to take on a sharper edge, the ache more persistent. More consuming. He’d been teasing her like this for what felt like hours.

“Please.”

Lucien cooed with false sympathy. “Poor thing. I’ve given you so many chances. Now you’ll have to earn it.”

“How?”

“Open your mouth.”

Familiarity tugged at the corner of her memory, but like the shattered vase and the trampled flowers, it was a far-away detail. There was only Lucien, his teasing touch and heated voice, which made her feel as though she’d swallowed something warm. That she was melting from the inside out.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, overwrought and breathless and still daring to be bold with him.

She parted her lips, holding her mouth open. She didn’t realize she was expecting his arousal-coated fingers until he leaned over and spit onto her waiting tongue.

It took her a moment to process what he’d just done. In the dim light, his eyes were the only bright thing, like the smouldering pits of a bottomless forge, glowing molten gold and copper. Elain’s heart was hammering, keeping herself perfectly still beneath his appraisal. Her mouth was still open, still presenting his spit to the open air, not quite certain what would please him.

“Hold that on your tongue until I tell you to swallow.”

She couldn’t answer him, not without disobeying his order. So she nodded instead, keeping her tongue cradled in position, trying to ignore the saliva already welling in the back of her mouth.

Meanwhile, Lucien unlaced himself from his trousers. At this point in their marriage, Elain might very well have seen her husband naked more often than she’d seen him clothed. She would have thought that their weeks of rabid love-making would have cured some of the shock of seeing him undressed. Yet, as her eyes welcomed his impressive length for the second time that day, she was immediately seized with a sharp, aching need to feel him inside her again.

Lucien closed a fist around his cock, offering her a slow, leisurely pump that was all for show. Her attention narrowed to the arousal beading at the tip of his flushed head, and there was something about staring at his cock while holding her tongue on display that made her long to taste it.

Maybe he could see the filthy imaginings behind her eyes, because Lucien looked at her and smirked. “You’re going to be good for me aren’t you, sweetheart? Going to do what I say?”

He notched himself at her entrance without waiting for a response.

She tried to restrain herself. She did. But as he pushed in, stretching her so full, she couldn’t help the small whimper that built in the back of her throat. Her head started to fall back, her eyes fluttering shut, when Lucien caught her at the chin, pulling her gaze to meet his as he thrust the rest of the way in, forcing their hips flush.

This time, there was an ounce of derision as he asked her, “You’re not going to swallow are you, Elain?”

She shook her head, panting through her nose. Drool was collecting beneath her tongue and she could feel Lucien throbbing inside her. Not moving, not giving her the friction she was desperate for.

“Show me.”

Elain stuck out her tongue, tilting her head back to prevent excess saliva from spilling over her lips. Lucien brushed his thumb to wipe away the small amount that trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

“Look at you,” he praised. “Desperate and drooling for me. You can be such a good girl when you want to be.”

He withdrew slightly, and she could feel him drag against every sensitive nerve. She anchored her nails into his shoulders, but nothing prepared her for his next thrust and the way she practically choked to keep herself from gasping, from swallowing.

Lucien grunted, “Fuck, Elain.”

There it was. The first crack in Lucien’s facade. It was only a matter of time before her husband became equally as desperate, as undone, as she was. One of her hands slipped into his hair, knowing precisely how to expedite his unravelling.

Weaving his scarlet hair between her fingers, Elain tugged with a measure of aggression equal to his own. He let out a startled noise before snapping his hips forward in response.

“My wife wants to play rough?” He asked, driving his hips forward harder, faster. The console table was beginning to wobble beneath the momentum, knocking into the wall in what would be a rather transparent announcement of what this corridor was being used for if anyone were to walk within earshot.

Elain was beyond caring, as was Lucien, who pulled her leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle of his thrusts so that his cock pierced impossibly further, demanding space in her body she wasn’t certain existed.

She screamed, thought it was gurgled by saliva, and she worried if she didn’t swallow she might very well choke. Lucien grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her neck back as he demanded again, “Open.”

She obeyed, allowing her husband to spit in her mouth a second time, the act punctuated by his brutal thrusts and his bruising grip.

“Swallow,” he said, taking mercy.

The reprieve was short lived, because the minute she opened her lips to suck in a greedy breath, Lucien’s was there, tongue pushing past her teeth to claim her mouth. He had her practically folded in half, perfectly moulded to take every inch of him. Flushed and drooling and covered in love bites, there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t marked as his.

But it was just as well, when his unkempt clothes and tousled hair and damp skin marked him as hers. The Prince and the rake and the gentle, tender husband all uniquely combined into this man who was unleashing his full self upon her, giving her everything she wanted, everything she craved.

Her whines, smothered by his mouth, rose into a fever pitch, and that was when his fingers in her hair loosened, then fell away altogether. Their lips parted, a string of saliva still connecting them, as he murmured so sweetly to her, “Come for me, Elain. My beautiful wife.”

At last, his fingers returned between her legs, rubbing at that spot she’d been desperate for from the very start. Her head fell back against the wall and he chased her, laying kisses anywhere he could find as he babbled a string of sweet, gooey nonsense. I know. I know, honey. You’re doing so well. Taking me so well. You’re so beautiful.

My love.

My Elain.

My wife.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It always ended this way, no matter how roughly they fucked. Whenever the rhythm of his hips fractured and light burst behind her eyes, it was always to a string of I love yous. She murmured it back, between her gasping and shuddering, until his hips slowed and stopped entirely.

And then they were folded atop the console table in the corridor of their palace, mostly undressed, and kissing each other like there wasn’t a single thing else that mattered in the world.

Her head was spinning when Lucien, with what seemed a great deal of reluctance, finally pulled away. They were both panting, still gripping onto each other as they anchored back into reality. The awareness that a world existed outside of her husband came back in slow, trickling pieces.

The first thing she noticed was Lucien’s dishevelled hair. He’d worn it so nicely at dinner, with pieces braided back from his face and tied in a knot, the rest spilling over his shoulders like red ink. Now those braids were torn loose, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to smooth some of them back into place.

It was as she reached for him that she noticed candlelight gleaming off the scarlet strands—a startling revelation, when before, the corridor had been smothered in darkness. Elain’s eyes flickered to the far wall, trailing from one golden sconce to the next. She marked with awe that they were all lit. Every single candle, spitting and flickering light down the entire stretch of the hall.

She giggled at the revelation, drawing her attention to the likely culprit.

“What can I say?” Lucien offered her a roguish grin as he tucked himself back into his trousers. “My love for you is a burning flame.”

It wasn’t the first time it happened, though it’d never occurred at such a large scale. Lucien tilted his head down the length of the corridor, assessing his handiwork with what she could only amount to pride.

Elain couldn’t hide her own smile. She happened to enjoy the phenomenon—so much, in fact, that she kept a candle at their bedside that she’d barred anyone from lighting through conventional means. Her goal was to see the entire stick of wax melted by her birthday.

Her joy at the display of candlelight was fleeting, however, once she caught sight of the mess it illuminated. Beneath the table, the vase they’d knocked over was completely shattered and had sent pieces of painted pottery flying in all directions over the marble floor. She hoped the vase hadn’t been expensive and further, that it’d held no sentimental value.

Even so, most of her grief was directed towards the limp geraniums, whose once vivid petals were now crushed and wilted.

She couldn’t keep the despair from her voice. “We ruined the flowers.”

Lucien spared a glance toward the collateral of their love-making and frowned. He took her hand, raising it to his lips in apology. “I’ll set off tomorrow and get you a new bouquet,” he promised. “What’s your favourite flower?”

It was such an innocent, off-handed question.

At first, Elain’s lips curled into a smile, prepared to tease him for not remembering, before she recalled with shackling clarity that Lucien hadn’t been the last person to ask her that question. It had been her True Love, in a dream that felt like centuries ago.

In my leisure, I like to plant flowers.

Do you have a favourite?

Sweet alyssum.

Lucien, oblivious to the riptide of memory tugging her under, began the patient task of fixing her dress into a somewhat decent state.

“Is it another secret?” he teased.

The recollection was disorienting. Some part of her mind insisted on inserting her husband in the memory, when she knew it’d been someone different. She could picture his smug lips, inches from her ear and whispering so softly, And why’s that one your favourite? She could see the flash of scarlet hair, though there’d been no light. No features at all to distinguish one gentleman of her heart from another.

“I have many favourite flowers,” she said, fighting against the confusing images. She didn’t want to be remembering the dream at all; she wanted to cast her True Love and all thoughts about him permanently in the past. “It depends on which quality I’m using to assess them.”

Lucien smiled as if endeared by her answer. “What are the qualities?” He asked, pressing at her shoulder to urge her to swivel on the table, just enough so he might slip her dress back up her torso and begin lacing it.

“If I were to choose a flower for its appearance, it would be gaillardia.”

“Why’s that?”

“They remind me of you,” she said, growing shy at the admission. “Red and copper and gold. They’re one of the most vibrant flowers I’ve ever seen.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “And what about before you met me?”

“Even then.”

Elain marvelled a bit at that. As if subconsciously, she’d always felt some sort of draw to him, even before she’d known his name or his face or the colour of his eyes. That admission must have warmed him, because he paused his task to drop his head and press a lingering kiss to her shoulder.

“And your other favourites?”

“Sunflowers,” she hummed, “because they’re easy to grow, in addition to being beautiful.”

Lucien used his nose to trace the path of her shoulder, gliding up and along the crook of her neck, where he nuzzled himself closer and mused, “A bright, beautiful thing that thrives in adverse conditions? That sounds like you, sweet wife.”

A warm, wonderful feeling bubbled inside her. She leaned into his touch, wondering if this was what complete and utter happiness felt like.

“Are there any others?” He asked, offering one last, departing kiss so that he could return to his task.

“Just one,” she said, feeling less wary about it. She could reclaim the flower, make it something special to them. “Sweet alyssum. I like it for its meaning, worth beyond beauty.”

Lucien halted, the ties of her dress still lifted in his hands. “Is… is that a common flower in Carterhaugh?”

“I suppose,” she said, having never considered its abundance. “It used to grow very generously on the grounds of our manor. I used to collect the blossoms and dry them for tea. Allegedly, it’s meant to have soothing properties, though it never seemed to have much effect on my sisters’ tempers.”

He wasn’t saying anything. She waited for his response, allowing the silence to stretch beyond considerate thought, until the icy hands of anxiety began to stake their grip. Had she said something wrong? Elain glanced over her shoulder to find him staring at her, not moving an inch.

It was an effort to keep her apprehension from showing. “Is everything alright?”

Lucien shook his head as if he could physically dispel his thoughts. “Everything’s fine,” he said, though his eyes were still wide. “You reminded me of a story I’d once heard before, that’s all.”

“Oh?” She tried to turn further to face him, but he gently placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place, insistent on finishing. “Will you share it with me?”

“Another time,” he said, with an apologetic kiss along her spine. “I think right now, we should focus on making ourselves presentable and cleaning up this mess.”

His voice held a tightness that told her he was hiding something. That whatever he’d recalled had set him off balance. Curiosity burned at her. Enough that she almost pressed, prepared to accuse him of still keeping secrets. But she thought of his scars, recalling the weight of the memories that plagued him, and decided to hold her tongue.

She knew her husband loved her, and she trusted him enough to offer him the freedom to process his thoughts. He would reveal the truth to her in his own time. When he was ready for it.

-

Elain went to sleep that night in the large circular room in the corner tower of the East Wing. Lucien’s bedroom, or so it used to be. Now it was hers, too, and she cherished the intimacy of sharing a bedroom with her husband.

Whatever bothered Lucien had disappeared by the time they made it to their bedroom, and hadn’t prevented him from continuing his nightly tradition of laying her out on the bed, kissing his way down her stomach, and burying his face between her legs.

Beneath his slow tongue, her body became the strangest combination of weightless and heavy. Taught and loose. Lapping back and forth between the shores of pleasure and slumber until she settled somewhere in the middle, capable of only soft, contented sighs and drifting thoughts.

You’re so sweet like this, she heard him murmur to her, his voice just slightly louder than the fire popping and crackling in their hearth. My sweet Elain. My sweet wife.

My sweet soul.

That one couldn’t have been right. Must have been a figment of her dozing mind, blending reality with memory until she was delivered into the depths of a warm, caressing darkness.

When she next opened her eyes, she was startled to find that the space beside her was empty. Where she’d fallen asleep in the arms of her husband, she now sat up in her bed alone, his side vacant and cold, as if he’d never been there to begin with. Elain was prepared to light a candle and search for him when a voice drifted through the dark.

“Hello?”

Lucien? She thought. She nearly called to him, his name shaping her tongue before other oddities crept into her awareness.

The bed. The bedding wasn’t right. Lucien liked to sleep with the window open, inviting the biting autumn into their chamber, and when she’d complained about the cold, he compromised by piling their bed with fur-lined coverlets and thick blankets. They were nowhere to be found on this bed, nor were they necessary given the breeze circulating the room that was too light, too warm, to belong to the Eastern Kingdom.

She was not in the bed she’d fallen asleep in. She was not awake at all.

“Is that you?” Elain called. After all this time, she still didn’t have a name for him. “My True Love?”

A floorboard creaked beneath his weight.

“It’s me,” he said.

It was a relief, perhaps, that Lucien hadn’t abandoned her in the middle of the night. But one that was short-lived, given that she was alone with another man. In a dark, intimate space. Naked, just as she’d been when she’d fallen asleep in her husband’s arms. The room was completely dark, devoid even of moonlight, and still she scrambled for a sheet to cover herself.

It felt like a betrayal of Lucien to be here, but she wasn’t certain how to leave. This was the first time her True Love had been the one to summon her to their dreamland. She was wary of why he would choose to do so now, when they hadn’t communicated since the day they were to meet in Carterhaugh Gardens. Nesta’s note said he hadn’t shown up, and Elain was so preoccupied by her relationship with Lucien that she hadn’t properly considered why.

Why insist on meeting, why send her the coin to do so, if he wasn’t going to be there? Did he know that she hadn’t been there either? Given his absence, she’d assumed that they’d parted ways mutually, though she supposed there hadn’t been any proper closure. No heartfelt goodbyes, no explanations for what had gone wrong.

“You didn’t meet me in Carterhaugh,” he said. There was no accusation, only simple curiosity as he asked, “Why?”

His question surprised her. How would he know if he hadn’t been there either? It was a test, perhaps.

“I was there,” she protested, recalling Nesta’s letter. “I waited at the labyrinth’s center as long as I could. I did not see any man with a rose behind his ear.”

Her assertion was met with a moment of stunned silence.

Then he said, “Impossible. I was there from the moment the sun rose and a good while after it set.”

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Nesta would have seen him. Would have assessed every man in the center of the maze, and would have told her the truth if he’d been there. Wouldn’t she? Elain wasn’t certain who to believe. She’d never known her sister to lie, not about something like this.

“You must have had your head turned,” she rationalized. “And the flower escaped my notice.”

Had Nesta not looked properly? Had she gone at all? Elain couldn’t make sense of it, though she told herself that regardless, it didn’t matter. She didn’t need to know who her True Love was. She was happily, blissfully married.

“My mistake, then, to rely on your scrutiny. Were there too many men in the labyrinth’s center to pay each a thorough assessment?”

He couldn’t see it, but Elain crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t care for your tone.”

“Answer me truthfully, then. Did you come to meet me that day in Carterhaugh?”

Elain didn’t see a reason to keep the truth from him. “I sent someone on my behalf. And they told me that no man suited your description.”

“I see.”

Without being able to gauge his expression, she couldn’t determine if he was angry with her. His voice revealed no emotion at all, though she imagined that she would be frustrated in his place. From his perspective, he believed that she was in a loveless marriage. That she was miserable and was too much of a coward to pursue their life together.

Though it was all built on a lie, she began to feel defensive. Of Lucien, of her life with him, of her reasons for staying. “It is easy for you to cast judgment when there was no risk for you. You demanded an impossible task—it would have been a two day journey to meet you, an absence my husband would certainly have noticed.”

“And tell me of your husband.”

“What of him?”

“I was going to help you flee him,” he reminded her. There was an edge to his voice. “I didn’t consider it an impossible task because I believed his notice of your absence would be inevitable once we ran away together. Unless you were planning to go back? Has your desire to escape your marriage changed?”

This was it. This was the moment to tell him, to end things between them for good. She swallowed back her guilt, knowing that any resulting heartbreak would be her burden to carry. She’d been the one to place the first butterfly under tongue, despite knowing that they would always end up here. Saying their goodbyes.

Her True Love deserved a happy ending, and she wished she could give that to him. But her heart belonged to Lucien. She suspected it always would.

“My husband is not the man I thought him to be,” she said. “He is good—kind.”

“There are plenty of good and kind men that do not treat their wives as well as they deserve.”

Even in her dreams, even from someone who did not know Lucien, she would not tolerate such accusations. “He treats me better than anyone I know.”

Her True Love paused, like he was inclined to argue, but instead asked, “Are you happy with him?”

Elain didn’t waver, didn’t hesitate for even a second.

“Yes.”

It was the honest, simple truth.

She was met with further silence as her True Love processed this answer, what it meant for him. For them.

“Then consider this our last meeting,” he said cordially. “I will not disrupt your marriage any further. I truly wish you happiness, lady.”

To his credit, he sounded sincere. And she thought he must be a very decent man. One who could perhaps learn to find happiness in his circumstances the same way she had.

“Wait,” she called to him.

He paused. Curious. “Yes?”

“Your wife… Do you think you could find happiness with her? I feel a kinship to her,” she admitted, pressing her hand to her chest. “I hope she can find happiness in her marriage as well.”

Her True Love laughed, and there was a warmth to it, an affection, that swelled her heart. “My wife is extraordinary. I promise I will endeavour to make her happy.”

That brought her more peace than she could have hoped for.

“Then perhaps we were not meant to find each other in this lifetime,” she said. “Perhaps the Mother willed our lives to walk in parallel. I hope we can each find fulfillment on our separate paths.”

There was an ounce of whimsy in his response, his tone a touch too knowing as he said, “Perhaps one day our paths will converge outside our dreams. I’ll be looking forward to it until then, my sweet soul.”

-

When Elain next opened her eyes, it was to one eye of russet and another of metal. Lucien was watching her sleep, a soft smile parting his lips. The kind that was rare to see from him. Not sarcastic or smug or self-satisfied, just… happy.

A low humming noise rumbled in his throat. “Good morning, wife.”

He leaned down to kiss her, slow and unhurried, like the steady creep of fog drifting just outside their open window. The air was fresh with dew, but too chilly to coax her from the warmth of her husband’s body and the pile of blankets.

He asked between a trail of kisses along her neck, “Did you have a nice dream?”

For a moment, she panicked. Did she tell him? Would he understand? The last thing Elain wanted was for her husband to lock himself in his study to try and track down her True Love. It was over. There was no need to plague his mind with it.

“I… I don’t remember it.” She said, shuffling closer to press her face into his chest, hoping to distract him from the lie by dragging her lips across his throat. “Did you? Have a nice dream?”

“I did.” His fingers lovingly traced the shape of her spine, and he was still wearing that beautiful, unrestrained smile. “I dreamt of you.”

If only Elain could have been so lucky.

“Couldn’t have been so nice, then,” she teased, nipping at his neck.

He made another of those rich, throaty noises that she only seemed capable of eliciting in the mornings.

“You’re mistaken. There is no dream lovelier. Though I doubt any could compare to this.”

“To what?”

Lucien placed both hands on her hips and heaved her up so that she was practically lying atop him. His eyes were so rich with affection she almost couldn’t stand to be the sole focus of it, could feel her face heating as though she were standing directly in the sun’s path.

“Waking up to the sight of you.”

He pushed one of her curls behind her ear, studying her face like he was memorizing every detail. Elain was beginning to suspect an ulterior motive.

“You’re being rather complimentary, husband.” She trailed her fingers suggestively over the planes of his chest. “Is there something you’re after?”

“A good many things, Elain.”

Lucien kissed her, and she could feel him harden against her stomach. It was a pattern she’d noticed before, and this time she couldn’t contain her curiosity. She retreated from their kiss in favour of pulling up the blankets to glance down their bodies, admiring the thick appendage that was already swelling to attention.

“Does it always do that in the morning?”

He chuckled. “It will do that so long as you are naked in bed with me.”

Elain continued to stare, feeling her mouth grow dry as she realized she had a great many curiosities when it came to her husband and his body. “That thing you do with your mouth,” she said, recalling the way he’d licked her just before they’d fallen asleep. “Does the equivalent feel nice for you?”

From the way his cock twitched in response to her question, she thought Lucien might have found the idea appealing. Even as he said, “It’s not necessary for child making.”

She glanced at him flatly. “That’s not what I asked.”

When he didn’t say anything further, Elain elected to take matters into her own hand. She shuffled down his body, reaching until her palm wrapped around his length.

“Fuck,” he bit out as she pumped her fist experimentally, the same way she’d seen him do it. “Yes, Elain. It feels nice for me, too.”

“Then show me—”

“You don’t have to.”

Elain ignored his protest and shuffled the rest of the way down his body, until she was crouched between his legs. “I want to be a good wife.”

“You are already a good wife.” His voice was becoming strained, particularly as she leaned over his cock and tentatively swiped her tongue over his head. “You’re—fuck. The best wife.”

“Then I don’t want you to ever forget it,” she crooned, repeating the small licking motion over the bead of moisture gathered at his tip. It was saltier and slightly more bitter than she expected, but the way Lucien shuddered warmed her blood. She kept the rest of him in her fist, continuing to move her hand up and down the length of his shaft. “Like this?”

“Elain—”

She giggled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His cock was pleasantly warm to the touch. Softer than she’d expect—not so different from silk, the way she could slide her palm against him with so little resistance. She wanted to know what it would feel like to take him in her mouth. What he would taste like.

“Cauldron,” he groaned.

Elain flicked her eyes up to see Lucien was watching, his eyes half-lidded and still utterly fixed on what she was doing as she slowly opened her mouth and slid his head between her lips. She swirled her tongue around him, marvelling at the taste, the sounds she was coaxing from him, how his hand speared into her hair and tugged.

“Stop—Stop, sweetheart, please. You’re going to make me come.”

Elain pulled her head up, but didn’t stop working him with her hand as she asked, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“If you want a child, it’d be a waste for it to go in your mouth,” he said candidly. His eyes were glazed, and he seemed to hesitate before adding, “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing myself all over your lips.”

Oh? Elain grinned, then lowered her mouth back down, taking in as much of him as she could manage. He was enormous, and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to fit all of him in her mouth, but Lucien didn’t seem to mind. His head had fallen back into the pillows, his lips parted open in pleasure. She hummed, delighted to see he was enjoying himself, and nearly gagged when his hips bucked in response.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

Lucien’s voice was ordinarily decadent. Rich and low and a little bit raspy. In the mornings that raspiness became thicker, more raw. And when he was like this, still half asleep and drunk with desire, it became the most exquisite sound she’d ever heard.

She hummed again to see if she could elicit the same response. It was exhilarating to be able to drive him senseless for a change, to watch the way he came apart as she hallowed her cheeks and continued bobbing her head. He was able to manage only a few more passes before his fingers tightened in her hair. His hips jerked forward, and a low guttural noise was all the warning she was given before he spilled into her mouth.

Elain waited until his body stopped shuddering before she swallowed and gently pulled away. She met his eyes as she sat up, swiping his spend from her bottom lip and sucking it from her thumb with a flourish. He made an odd sound in the back of his throat.

She sang, “Looks like you’ll have to make it up to me another time.”

Lucien shook his head. “Now,” he said, reaching for her. Elain yelped as she was dropped back atop his chest, and he was pulling her down to kiss her again and again, paying no mind to the taste of himself. He grunted, “I’ll make it up to you now.”

She believed that he would have made good on that promise if there hadn’t been a knock on the door.

“We’ll take our breakfast later,” he called.

The knock came again, more insistent. This time, followed by Vassa’s voice.

“Your Highness, I’ve received an urgent notice from the guards at the gatehouse. They say that King Beron is on his way. He’ll be arriving in a matter of minutes.”

#A Blaze in the Dark #Elucien #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #ABITD

[tiredsadpeach]

Update they both hate me because I told the child one of them was harassing the acc he could block to try and stop it

#I knew they’d find out tbh and idc their reaction is all I need to know #the one that was harassing a minor is the same one someone said was a piece of shit when the psychiatrist stuff was happening #her bf stood by and watched her harass his friend like they’re both vague tweeting that oh well she didn’t know his age man idc the age just #made me more angry the fact that you did it in the first place is fucked up it always has been and y’all both know I think that #if y’all tweeted about not liking someone on priv and that was it I wouldn’t care #but it’s the constant pqrting because you know it’ll upset that person and give anxiety etc that makes it harassment and makes me mad #and now they’re both tweeting things like oh well you shouldn’t be following him at your big age how dare you disrespect us #an adult just knowing a minor is not a bad thing like holy shit get off the Internet please #plus I couldn’t message without following so I followed in hopes to be mutuals so I could warn him but I shouldn’t have to have an excuse #following isn’t some intimate thing y’all just wanna hate me more #she also tweeted about how I lied (I didn’t) and that she’d expose me #like for what? being a bad friend like two years ago? when we talked it out I fully agreed that yeah I shouldn’t have talked about those #topics etc bro I literally said there was no excuse and I’m sorry it all happened but it’s pretty obvious I have grown and changed to be #better you can’t expose me when I have receipts of me taking responsibility and doing what I could to show I was wrong #and I’m sorry how is trying to protect a minor who you are harassing the thing that drives you away for good #did I disrespect a toxic relationship oh no how dare I y’all need to get help friends of your partner shouldn’t be harassed just because bpd #jealousy like I have bpd too I really hate some of my bf’s friends and wish he wouldn’t talk to them but what do I do about it? nothing #i distract myself maybe but I know if I do what I want yknow like telling my bf to stop being friends with someone I know I’d be in the wron #and I know he should break up with me etc etc like that doesn’t mean I don’t have these thoughts which sure aren’t healthy but at least I’m #not fucking acting on them like at least give yourself a safe outlet idc when you just tweet about it on priv most of the time but this pqrt #shit has to stop if you wanna stay my friend I’m obviously at my limit with how y’all are both so content with how toxic y’all’s relationshi #is and won’t do anything about it to the point minors are being harassed but oh it’s okay I didn’t know and I stopped when I knew #how can you watch your bf harass a friend of yours just because y’all ARE FRIENDS god it’s so infuriating #she never apologized for the psychiatrist stuff btw lmao #I know they both want a reaction out of me so I’ll act first and apologize or something but I just don’t care anymore #I’m done man like that Drake and Josh episode but fuck Drake bell btw #kinda hope next time I open twt I’m blocked since they want a reaction so bad #like nah I’m tweeting like nothing happened because y’all really showed your priorities and morals #maybe y’all should do what your bpd tweets have been saying and just have eachother y’all don’t need anyone else

[obsessedwithceleste]

All’s Fair in Love and Quidditch

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: All’s fair in love and quidditch. At least until Matteo’s poorly aimed bludger knocks you off of your broom.

word count: 3.7k

“Get your wand. Out of my face.” You growl between clenched teeth, glaring up at the tall boy in front of you whose wand was dangerously close to the tip of your nose.

Theodore Nott. You’d first met the boy in third year on the quidditch pitch after his team had beat yours. It had been a long and grueling match and the only reason they’d won is because of that bloody snitch. Ravenclaw had been up in points the entire match. You remember the boy smirking at you as you lowered your broom to the ground.

“Better luck next time principessa.” He’d said.

You’d taken that personally, and the very next week, you’d stolen the position of top of the class in potions from him. This had apparently acted as a declaration of war as the two of you began constantly finding ways to outdo one another.

You seethed with hatred for the boy. Constantly challenging you in classes, on the pitch, even at prefects meetings. You two simply could not see eye to eye; which he constantly reminded you was likely because he was well over half a foot taller than you. Bloody bastard. It didn’t help that the boy was aggravatingly handsome. A detail you couldn’t help but appreciate as he loomed above you. Still, you glare on.

Despite the immediate threat of peril, you remained surprisingly calm knowing that, while you and Theodore may be intense rivals, he’d never actually harm you. At least you hoped. You’d seen his knuckles bloodied plenty of times before, but he’d never harmed so much as a hair on your head. Yet.

Theo’s words shake you back into the present.

“Then get off the bloody pitch. Like we said, we have the pitch booked until 7.”

“No, we booked it starting at 6. We have a signed slip from Flitwick,” You retort.

You watch Theodore’s eyes flick over to the piece of paper Cho was now brandishing smugly before whipping around to his teammates behind him.

“What the hell Malfoy. You were supposed to have Snape reserve the field!” He shouts.

You roll your eyes at the bickering boys. This is one of the many reasons you disliked the male population of Slytherin house. Wildly disorganized, yet still expecting to have everything handed to them.

“I did! They must’ve bloody double booked it!” Draco replies, glaring at the paper.

“Well then it looks like either you all leave, or we’re sharing,” you say decidedly, much to the grumbling of your teammates.

Theo scowls at you. “We gathered as much thanks- we’re not idiots.”

You give the boy a sugary sweet smile. “You’re doing an awfully good impression of it then.” You reply, hoping that if you annoyed him enough, he’d leave already.

You watch the boy’s jaw and fists clench tightly as his scowl deepens before he turns and stalks off.

“C’mon. I’m not dealing with that bloody witch today.” He snaps at his teammates who follow hesitantly, but not before shooting some nasty looks over their shoulders.

Once they’re out of earshot, you hear your teammates burst into laughter.

“That was bloody brilliant!” One of your beaters calls out, leaning on his broom as he shakes with laughter.

“Oh y/n, he so likes you,” Cho snickers as she pushes past you onto the field.

Your jaw drops open at that and you rush after the girl.

“Excuse you, you can’t just walk off after dropping something so wildly ridiculous on me like that,” you protest, mirroring your friend as she hops on her broom and takes off into the air.

“Oh please. I could cut the sexual tension between you two with a well placed diffindo charm. And he’d never give in to anyone else that easily. Now heads up or your head will be taken off by that bludger,” she responds easily, dodging out of the path of the ball hurtling towards you.

You quickly follow, barely managing to side sweep the bludger before turning back to your friend. Before you’re able to further probe her however, she’s taken off in search of the elusive snitch.

You try to shake off her words as you continue to fly through practice, joining your fellow chasers as they go head to head with your keeper, trying to make a shot through one of the hoops.

“Nice shot, y/n! Better keep that aim up for the game this weekend. I wanna beat those snakes so bad,” the keeper shouts as you make throw past him.

“Not a chance in hell those slithering bastards are taking the cup again,” you reply with a grin.

“Excited to see your little witch today?” Matteo asks, plopping himself into his seat next to Theo.

Theo glares at his curly haired friend, snapping his textbook closed with a grunt.

“She’s not my witch Mattheo. I can’t stand her,” Theo mumbles back.

“Right, right. It’s just y/n this, y/n that. Did you see y/n helping Cormac with charms the other day? He’s such a bloody wanker. Blah, blah, blah.” Enzo says, joining the two boys at the desk next to them.

Theo scowls at his so called friends. So what if he happened to notice you a bit too often? They knew full well that the two of you had a sort of rivalry going on and that he had to keep tabs on you to make sure you didn’t sneak something by him. Constant vigilance and what not.

Before he could defend himself however, you burst through the doors of the potions classroom with a group of your fellow Ravenclaws, coming to take your spot at the desk directly in front of him.

“Hey, thanks for giving us the pitch last night Theodore. Stomping off the field like that, was really such a testament to you being the bigger person.” You say, turning to give the boy an innocent smile as you slide into your seat.

“What can I say, I just know your team will need all the help they can get to try and beat us tomorrow,” Theo replied easily, eyes falling as he notices the hem of your skirt ride up a bit higher than normal as you sit down.

“Aw, that’s so considerate coming from someone whose shooting percentage is barely over 50%.”

Theo’s eyes snap up at this.

You hear Enzo snicker at that before he quickly attempts to cover it up with a loud cough.

“Yeah? It’s so interesting that you know my stats off the top of your head.” Theo retorts.

“They really help build my ego when I feel like I’m playing poorly.”

“So always?”

You glare at the boy, but before you’re able to respond, the professor clears their throat, forcing you to turn in your seat.

As the professor begins droning on about whatever potion it was that you were to be making that day, Theo’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to the pretty witch in front of him. For such a pain in his side, you sure were easy on the eyes. Before he knows it, he feels Mattheo’s elbow digging into his rib cage.

“C’mon lover boy, neither of us are going to pass if you don’t start focusing less on y/n and more on this potion, cause I was not paying attention.” Mattheo grunts, pulling him off his seat and over to the stock of potion ingredients along the back wall.

“I wasn’t even looking at her,” Theo protests, glaring at his friend as he begins pulling ingredients haphazardly off the shelves.

“Right. Because if you were, you’d have noticed that the white ribbon in her hair was crooked. Bothered me the entire time we were sitting there.” Mattheo replies, leaning lazily against the counter.

Theo shoots a nasty look at his friend realizing his eyes had once again wandered over to the witch in question.

“The ribbon in her hair is navy blue you dolt. And it’s not crooked.”

Mattheo gives him a victorious smirk.

“Too true. So glad we cleared up the fact that you were only staring enough to remember the exact color of her hair ribbon and whether or not it was crooked.”

With another smug look over his shoulder, Mattheo saunters back over to their shared desk, leaving Theo to finish collecting ingredients in agitated silence.

Glancing back down at his list, Theo quickly collected the rest of their ingredients, tossing the anjelica, bitter root, and daisy root essence into his basket, careful to not steal any more obvious glances at you.

As he went to return to his seat, the soft petals of the flower assortments sitting neatly in their assigned jars once again caught Theo’s eyes and a small smile grew as a masterful plan began to form.

“That BLOODY, FUCKING SNAKE!” you shriek as you open your quidditch locker to find a stunning bouquet of bright daises and velvet roses propped up against your broom.

Hearing the commotion, Cho rushes over to find you glaring menacingly at the offending flowers, a look of exasperation overtaking her face.

“For Rowena’s sake, not flowers. How dare he. The nerve,” she says dryly.

“Aww. How romantic. That’s so sweet. Are they from Theodore?” One of the other chasers adds, coming to see what all the noise was about.

Your glare shifts to your teammates as they peak into your locker to get a glimpse of the flowers.

“I’m allergic.” You grit out. As if to emphasize your point, you let out a loud sneeze, feeling the pollen reach your nose.

Your teammates’ faces fall slightly at your statement and you go to extract the flowers from your locker.

“Well- I suppose there’s something to be said about the fact that he knows exactly which flowers you’re allergic to, and how he went out of his way to buy them for you?” Cho offers as you toss the flowers onto the bench behind you.

A note flutters to the floor.

“Yes. It can be said that he’s a psychotic wanker with too much free time,” you say, bending down to snatch the note off the ground.

Good luck Principessa, hope you play similarly to how the flowers make you feel xxTheodore

“He literally tried to kill me so I wouldn’t be able to play,” you announce dramatically, thrusting the note card towards Cho who rolls her eyes as she shakes her head at you.

“Alright, we need to focus. Y/n, get rid of those flowers, we don’t need you sniffling all match. Everyone on the pitch in 15!” Cho yells, pulling the team together.

Shaking the thoughts of that damn Slytherin from your mind, you unceremoniously dump the large bouquet into the trash before quickly changing into your robes.

“Everyone remember the new offensive formations? We need to take them by surprise. They’ve gotten way too comfortable running the same defense against every team. Remember. If you can’t see Mattheo or Blaise, they’ve flanked you and there’s already a bludger aimed at the back of your head. Theo and Enzo stick together, third chaser is on their own. Flint is a lefty, if you can, always go for the right hoop. Prioritize y/n, when going for the goal posts unless you think they’ve picked up on it. Don’t worry about me and Draco, focus on gaining a lead. Everyone clear?”

You blink once, soaking in Cho’s words.

“Alright. Let’s get out there and stomp on some snakes.”

Your teammates let out loud whoops as you make your way out to the field, adrenaline beginning to course through your body. The breeze blows gently through your hair and the sun shines softly behind a thin layer of clouds. The perfect day for quidditch.

As you grow closer to the pitch, you can hear the loud cheers and hollers coming from the stands, the faces of your fellow Ravenclaws grinning down at you.

“Coin toss is on you, y/n. Try not to let him rile you up too much, yeah?” Cho says, mounting her broom with the rest of the team.

You nod as they take off and make your way down to the center of the pitch where Hooch is already waiting.

“Ah, y/n! Beautiful day for a match yeah?” She greets as you approach.

You offer a tight smile and nod as you see Theodore approach, cocky smile in place.

“Alright, you two know the drill. Snitch or broomsticks, Ravenclaw, your call, on three,” Hooch says, holding a large gold coin out on her palm.

You feel Theodore’s eyes on you as Hooch tosses the coin into the air.

“Broomsticks.”

The three of you watch as the coin hits the ground, three gleaming broomsticks shining in the sunlight.

Theo’s lips tighten, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We’ll take the ball first then,” you say with a tight lipped smile.

“Very well, go on then, shake hands.”

Swallowing your displeasure, you tentatively extend your hand.

With a lop sided grin, Theo grasps your hand.

“Like your flowers Principessa?”

“They were lovely. Really spruced up the trash can.”

Without another word, the two of you returned to your respective sides of the field, joining your teams in the air.

“We got ball,” you shout, once you’re within earshot of your teammates. The boys let out a whoop of excitement.

“Let’s make this a nice, clean match today, yeah?” Hooch shouts from her place on the field. Without waiting for a response, she points her wand at the chest, waiting below and the lid flies open, releasing the balls within.

Your eyes immediately lock onto the quaffle as it makes its way into the air, diving down and snatching it, a chaser on either side of you. You slip easily into your rhythm of dodging and weaving around your opponents, passing the quaffle around as you make your way to the opposing goal posts.

As the ball is being passed back to you however, Enzo pushes past, intercepting. Cursing under your breath, you whip around, close on his tail.

As if seeing your need, a bludger whizzes straight at Enzo, forcing him to drop the ball into your waiting arms.

This time, you’re able to make it to the opposite side, but with Theo and Enzo close on your tail, you’re forced to surrender the ball to your teammate who narrowly misses.

“Next time!” You shout in encouragement.

This back and forth goes on for what seems like ages, with neither team managing to score a point.

Finally, the ball is back in your arms as you speed towards Flint.

“Don’t choke now, Principessa,” you hear Theodore shout from beside you on the right.

“Please. Save your breath. You’ll probably need it to blow up your next play,” you retort.

“You know your ass is probably jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth.” Theo snaps.

“Yeah? You’d love to see my jealous ass wouldn’t you?”

Theo jolts in shock, and that moment is all you need to take a dive to the right, securing the first goal of the match.

It all falls into place after that and soon enough, your team is up 80 points. A comfortable lead, but not enough.

“C’mon guys! C’mon! Keep it up, this one’s ours!” You hear your keeper shout as they toss the quaffle to you.

You nearly fumble the catch as a bludger soars past your broom.

“Stay on her and keep those damn bludgers away!” You vaguely hear Cho call out to one of your beaters as you again make your way to the opposite end of the field.

After scoring two more goals, the Slytherin team finally gets the idea to begin putting more pressure and focus on you, with at least one chaser always guarding you.

“For Rowena’s sake, I don’t even have room to breathe!” you shout as you pass Cho briefly.

As the match continues with no end in sight, Mattheo and Blaise begin to grow bolder, narrowly missing a few heads. Their own teammates’ included.

“Watch it you bloody wanker!” You hear Enzo call out after Blaise nearly takes out the end of his broom.

With a sharp turn, you’re able to break away from his steady pursuit just long enough to safely secure the quaffle once more.

“Dammit Enz,” Theo grunts as he flies up beside you.

You ignore their bickering, eyes taking in the field and your surroundings. You spot your other two chasers gliding below you, gearing up to be positioned for a clear pass. Your beaters are no where in sight, and only Rowena knew where Cho was flying off to.

You make several attempts to lose the two green robed Slytherins on either side of you, but they remain stuck to your side.

Suddenly, you see Enzo’s broom dip. Thinking this is your chance, you turn quickly, trying to see if you have a clear pass to one of your teammates.

“Y/n!” Theo shouts.

But it’s too late.

The last thing you remember is the feeling of falling and strong arms wrapping around you before everything goes black.

When your eyes finally flutter open, the first thing you notice is the sky and how dark it is. What time was it? Slowly, you begin to sit up, a distinct pounding in the back of your head causing you to wince slightly. Looking about, you realize you were in the hospital wing and still in your quidditch robes. Ew.

The next thing you notice, is the mop of soft brown hair lying face down on the hospital bed beside you. As your eyes follow the body down to the chair it’s slumped on, you take in the familiar green robes that distinguish the boy as a Slytherin.

The hairs on your neck prickle as you recognize the boy. How could you not?

“Theodore,” you whisper, giving the boy a poke.

No sign of life.

“Theodore,” you say, a bit louder this time, shaking him gently.

“Shove off Matt. You and Toria can find another place to shag for the night,” he grumbles, shifting further into the coarse hospital bed blanket.

You let out a snort.

“Seriously Theodore, wake up,” you say, growing frustrated.

Finally the boy sits up groggily before appearing to remember where he was.

“Oh. Mornin principessa,” he drawls, smiling lazily at you, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What happened? And why on earth are you here of all people?” You ask, ignoring the pet name that you seemingly couldn’t shake as a yawn escapes you.

“That’s really no way to treat your knight in shining armor.” Theo tsks, stretching his arms out and leaning back in his chair. “I’m the one who caught you after Matt knocked you off your broom after all. Bludger to the head is no joke.”

You grimace. No wonder your head was throbbing.

“What a fucking git,” you grumble, falling back onto the bed.

Theo shrugs, not seeming to disagree.

Stupid Mattheo and his stupid bloody aim. Utter shit. And of course it had to be bloody Theodore of all people who saved you. Though you weren’t entirely sure you minded, closing your eyes briefly, an image of Theo in his quidditch uniform flashing through your mind.

“You never answered the second question.” You say after a moment of silence.

Theo looks at you, his head cocked to the side.

“Why are you here?”

“You’re hurt,” he says simply, as if it made all the sense in the world.

Your frown doesn’t quite reach the tips of your mouth as you look over at the brunette boy staring back at you.

No matter how many times you told yourself that you utterly detested the boy, you were never quite able to say it with your full chest. And for Rowena’s sake, it was not fair for someone to look this good at this time of night, in sweaty quidditch robes.

“You don’t like me.” You say quietly, not quite sure how true that statement truly was as the boy’s eyes had yet to stray away from you.

“Oh I can’t stand you.” Theodore replies, suddenly much closer than you remember.

“You’re the absolute worst person on earth,” you say, feeling yourself magnetize towards the boy beside you.

“I despise you with every bone in my being,” he responds before slowly, tentatively closing the gap.

His lips are fire against yours, not burning, but consuming. You feel yourself getting lost in the sensation of his lips moving hungrily against yours as his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you in closer. You would definitely be blaming this lapse in judgement on the fact that you’d taken a bludger to the head earlier. Or maybe not, you think hazily as a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Easy there principessa,” Theo murmurs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s not hurt that pretty little head of yours.”

With a silent nod, you lean back, mind still reeling a bit given the night’s events.

Hesitantly, as if not wanting to spook you, Theo edges his way onto the bed beside you. Realizing his intent, you scoot over a bit, allowing yourself to be tucked carefully into his arms.

“If it makes you feel any better about being knocked out, Ravenclaw did end up winning. And your team visited after the match was over.” Theo says as you rest your head on his chest.

You smile at that.

“Good. Slytherin is shit.” You reply.

“You take that back.”

“Make me.”

Theo’s lips find yours once more, and you feel him grin against your lips.

“I’m still mad about those flowers you sent by the way,” you say once he pulls away.

A smirk overtakes Theo’s face as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry principessa.”

“No you aren’t,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“No I’m not. That was one of my better bits I’d say.”

“It was pretty good.”

Another yawn escapes your lips, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the boy holding you in his arms.

“Sleep now, principessa,” he says, fingers stroking gently through your hair.

You didn’t have to be told twice.

Not a single person was surprised when the Slytherin and Ravenclaw quidditch teams walked into the infirmary the next morning to find the two of you wrapped in each other’s embrace.

“Bloody took them long enough,” Mattheo says, finally breaking the silence.

Cho can’t help but nod in agreement.

The rivals to lovers quidditch fic that no one asked for, but I wrote anyways 🤗

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys fanfiction #harry potter universe #slytherin #lorenzo berkshire #matteo riddle #theodore nott #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #enzo berkshire #Theo Nott #mattheo riddle #theo nott x y/n #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #quidditch #ravenclaw reader

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | lifestyles of the rich & famous

i. lifestyles of the rich and famous by good charlotte (introduction)

a/n: introductory chapter! introducing the dynamics of the band, luke's relationship with his mom, and teenage boy antics. pre-reader and pre-chb. things will pick up quickly after this, i promise! bear with me as i set the scene :)

series masterlist | previous | next

“why the fuck am i seeing tabloids on top of tabloids with my kid’s plastered face on the front page of all of them?” 

luke winced at the sound of his mom’s voice echoing through the empty event space. chris covered the bottom half of his face with his shirt, trying to hold in his laughter. may castellan was in her usual pantsuit, high heels clacking against the floor, as she waved around trashy magazines. she was furious. 

“ignoring the fact that you are not 21 years old and cannot legally drink, what were you thinking, luke?” travis dropped his drumsticks on the ground, motioning for chris and connor to follow him backstage. they’d seen luke get chewed out by his mom more often since they started their world tour. as the three boys walked toward the side of the stage, may turned to them. “none of you are off the hook either. you may not have been on the front page, but care to listen to what they said about you in one of their glorious articles?” 

“i would actually prefer not to, mama castellan,” chris mumbled, suddenly feeling caught. all traces of humor instantly drained from his face. luke couldn’t help but scoff, the boys always gave him shit for getting yelled at by his mom, so he was glad that this time around they were all on the sinking ship. 

she dramatically cleared her throat, opening up one of the magazines. luke grimaced at the sight of him on the front page. he was sitting on the curb, his sunglasses askew, with a girl awkwardly patting his back. he doesn’t even remember this. may shot daggers at chris, who was cowering behind his mic stand, “bassist of poisoned mercury, chris rodriguez, was photographed away from the band when he was caught outside smoking something that wasn’t a cigarette, if you catch our drift. hopefully, his habits don’t catch up to him anytime soon.” 

she stared at the stolls next, “drummer and lead guitarist of the rising band, travis and connor stoll, didn’t miss out on the fun. they walked out of the club with two models, who looked like twins, along with a bottle of dom perignon before heading into their suv.”

“and my darling child,” her words were sweet but her tone was anything but. luke chewed on the peeling skin of his bottom lip, “superstar, teen heartthrob, poisoned mercury lead singer, luke castellan, had a great night as seen in these pictures. the resident bad boy had one too many, it seems, as he walked out of the club stumbling with a mysterious blonde under his arm. castellan couldn’t make it into the car and had to sit on the curb to puke his guts out. let’s hope his actions didn’t ruin his chance at a budding romance.” 

may closed the magazine, arms on her hips. she waited patiently for one of the boys to speak up. 

“in our defense, this was in canada,” luke tried to reason, scrunching his face up. “legal drinking age is 18.” 

that was the wrong response, luke realized, when his mom’s eyes lit up in anger. she let out a breath, “you were in toronto where the drinking age is 19, which you weren’t until yesterday.” 

“i did not know that the drinking age in canada varied by region. i always learn something new whenever i talk to you, mama castellan,” travis said, trying to lighten the mood. connor shot him a look, motioning for him to quit talking. may castellan was clearly not in the mood for jokes. 

“i am tired of you guys acting reckless,” she roared, dropping the magazines. they fell with a heavy thud. she rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers, “your parents trusted me to take care of you guys while you chased your dreams and this is what you’re doing under my watch?!” 

seeing his mom at her wit's end made luke feel sick. 

“mom,” luke hopped off the stage, ignoring the sound of the magazines ripping under his feet as he landed on top of them, “we’re sorry. i’m sorry.” 

“sorry’s not gonna cut it anymore, luke,” may said, shaking her head. “after this tour, you guys are taking a break. no touring, no public appearances.” 

“what?” connor exclaimed, joining luke off the stage. the other boys followed, looks of bewilderment evident on their faces. “w-we can’t take a break now!” 

“yeah, c’mon, mama c!” chris added, shaking his head, “we’re just getting really big. if we quit now, we’ll lose this momentum.”

“you’re not quitting. it’s just a tiny break– three months,” she cut them off, raising a hand in a stop. “we’ll release a statement to the press saying you guys will be taking some time off to work on your sophomore album so people have something to look forward to when you return.” 

“okay, so that’s the cover story,” luke ran a hand through his curls. he knew that there was no winning against his mom when she made up her mind. he looked at her and spoke before the rest of the band continued their protests, “but what are we actually gonna be doing?” 

“you’re going to spend your summer in montauk, just like old times,” his mom explained, voice still stern. “you’re going to camp half blood.”

-

“what the fuck is a camp half blood?” chris asked, plopping down on the couch they had inside their dressing room. rehearsal was cut short following the news delivered by luke’s mom. 

“it’s a music camp,” luke explained, fidgeting with random things sprawled across his desk, trying to find the pack of cigarettes he hid. he really needed to clean up. “my dad used to take me there over the summer when i was younger.”

the topic of luke’s dad was a sore subject for him. his dad left him and his mom when he was 7 for some young waitress from their hometown diner. one second, he was signing up for little league with his dad as the coach; the next, he was sitting in the hallway listening to his mom cry after his dad packed a bag and left town with wendy the waitress in the passenger seat. luke hasn’t heard from him since then. last he checked, his dad was lounging beachside in santa monica with his third wife who was definitely too young for him. as far as he’s concerned, his dad was dead to him. 

but he couldn’t deny that his time at camp half blood was the place of origin of some of his best childhood memories. he got his first taste of what it was like to be on stage at camp half blood; the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the pounding of his heart at the applause, the wild images in his head about what it would be like to be known for his music-- it all started at camp half blood. he was his happiest at camp, at least before his dad ruined it for him. 

“is it fun?” travis asked, twirling a fresh pair of drumsticks between his fingers. 

“used to be, yeah,” luke chuckled, hoisting himself up to sit on the desk. “haven’t been there since i was seven.” 

“dude, i do not want to hang out with a bunch of little kids all summer,” chris groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall. 

“relax, rodriguez,” luke lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke before continuing. “there’s two sides to the camp. we’ll be with the older kids.” 

“oh shit, is camp half blood mr. d’s music camp?” connor asked. the name of the camp was starting to sound familiar to him.

luke took another drag, nodding, “that’s the one.” 

“dude, i fucking love mr. d. he always has the wildest stories,” travis laughed, “he’s so mellow and chill now, i wouldn’t’ve ever guessed he used to be like that.” 

“it was the 90’s,” chris shrugged, “pretty sure everyone was like that at one point.” 

“paid off for him though,” connor replied, opening a bag of doritos. he offered a chip to his brother, who in return, snatched the bag for himself. connor rolled his eyes, reaching over to grab another one. he was used to this. “i mean being a ceo of a multi-million dollar recording company isn’t too shabby.” 

luke hummed along, mindlessly, letting the chatter of his bandmates fill the air. the three boys fell into a conversation about the last time they saw mr. d at the recording studio when they were finishing up the vocals for their debut album, but luke’s mind was far away from the topic at hand. he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment from his body. he knew the way his mom looked at him would haunt him for the next few nights.

it wasn’t like he was actively trying to disappoint her– really, he wasn’t, but he just gets so caught up in the noise of fame that he forgets how to act under the pressure. there was something about his mom breaking down in front of him because of him that tore him apart. he felt guilty. his mom didn’t ask for this life, she didn’t even want it. she was content being a suburban mom in westport, connecticut, but she gave up her comfy life to let luke live out his dreams of being a musician. 

he was lucky, he knew that. not every mom would be on board with her kid dropping out of traditional high school to perform rowdy songs about teenage angst, but may castellan was okay with it because she loved luke so much and wanted him to be happy. so when poisoned mercury got a record deal with olympus records, she didn’t hesitate to drop everything and go on the road with four unruly teenagers, promising their parents that she’d take care of their sons. 

sometimes, he thinks about what his mom sees when she looks at him. he wonders if she still recognized him, the him before all the fame got to his head. 

he was may castellan’s little boy. the boy who used to beg his mom for chocolate chip cookies after a bad day at school, who used to knock on her door in the middle of the night wondering why he wasn’t enough for his dad to stay, and who cried when she got him his first guitar on his tenth birthday. for most of his life, it’s always just been him and his mom. 

now, at 19, luke didn’t know who he was anymore. he was just going with the flow, doing whatever, doing whoever, his fame and his status threw his way. he did what any teenage boy would do in his position– he drank, he smoked, he had fun, maybe too much fun, sometimes. it’s a rockstar’s life, his wildest dreams come to life, but it was a distraction, mostly. luke wasn’t brave enough to face the music just yet, so he dove into this fantasy head-first, too afraid to look back.

except sometimes, he fucks up really badly, like in toronto, and he’s forced to deal with the consequences of his actions. one time, his mom cut the band off from playing video games on the tour bus for a month after a heated argument between the four of them caused them to cancel a show. the argument was stupid. luke was adamant that scorpions did not have the same mental capacity for understanding pain that humans do and that did not bode well with travis. rehearsal ended in a brawl because travis kept doing impromptu drum solos to drown out luke’s voice. his mom was pissed that hundreds of fans were disappointed over the canceled show and it was all because they couldn’t agree over a damn scorpion. 

another time, she banned them from driving the golf carts around the venue when they crashed it into a very expensive sound system in portland. they ended up owing upwards of $4,000 for the damages and were banned from playing at the event space ever again. the four of them laughed about it when the chaos of it all subsided, and they were fine not playing at the house of hades again, but they did miss the snack bar they set up for visiting talents. chris said he still dreamt about the pomegranate juice ‘til this day. 

luke can look back at the punishments over the years fondly now. in the grand scheme of things, none of it really mattered. but going to camp half blood? this was a different type of punishment. 

luke didn’t want to go to camp half blood. the last memory he had of camp was not a welcomed one. plus, after what he experienced on tour, he could think of a million other ways to spend his summer months, and living at a camp with spotty cell service and designated arts and crafts time was nowhere near the top of the list. 

“yo, castellan,” chris’ voice snapped luke out of his thoughts. “you comin?”

luke put out his cigarette against the wood of his desk, “huh?”

“we’re grabbing food, do you wanna go with us?”

luke hopped off the desk, slipping on his black, puffer jacket, “yeah, i’m right behind you.” 

as luke was walking out of the dressing room, adjusting his t-shirt, he saw his mom talking to teddy, their publicist. they were engaged in a serious conversation, no doubt talking about the press release regarding their second album and their hiatus. luke stood in front of the door for a brief moment, a stutter in his steps, not knowing if he should interrupt.

 luke pursed his lips, deciding to jog over to his mom. 

“i think we should post it on the band accounts first before the boys announce it individually. it make–” may furrowed her eyebrows, noticing luke coming closer to her. she turned her body to face him. she looked much calmer now than she did during rehearsals, “hey, what’s wrong?” 

luke shook his head, “nothin’, mom. i just–uh, just wanted to say sorry again.”

“let’s talk later, may,” teddy gave the two of them a small smile before walking away. 

“i’m not changing my mind about camp half blood,” she frowned. “sorry, luke but i can’t have you guys running around all sum–”

“no, no, i know, mom. i-i didn’t come here to try to convince you,” luke looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling like a little boy again. “i just– uh, shit. okay, i’m sorry for toronto. it was a bad time and it’s not fair that you have to deal with the fall out of our shit. and uh– thank you for sticking by us even though we drive you kinda crazy.” 

may laughed, smiling at her son, “you’re my kid. you know i’ll always be there to set you straight.” 

“thanks, mom,” luke chuckled, backing away to catch up with his bandmates. may waved goodbye, making her way to teddy’s makeshift office. before luke left the tunnel, he turned around, “wait mom! last thing!” 

she raised her eyebrows, “what?” 

luke raised his hand in a thumbs-up motion, grinning from ear to ear, “love you!” 

“i love you too, kiddo,” may replied, a hand over her heart. “now scram, i gotta clean up your mess.” 

#frances writes #hermes will never beat the deadbeat dad allegations #poisoned mercury #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke pjo #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

[moonstruckme]

hi lovely! would you consider writing part 2 for reader that is remus' roommate and sirius, where they are freshly together? if you don't feel like it that's fine, have a good day darling

Thanks for requesting honey! Hope this is alright :)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

When Remus opens the door, he banishes his surprise at finding Sirius there almost as quickly as he knows he’s not here to see him. 

“She’s in her room,” Remus says, stepping aside. 

Sirius grins at him, beelining down the hall. He’d been coming around a lot more often lately, and though Remus would like to be annoyed, it’s hard to deny how sweet the two of you are together. After your first meeting, Sirius had begun showing up every weekend, allegedly to hang out with Remus, though you somehow always ended up coming along. Then he started popping in on weekdays, claiming he forgot something at the apartment or was in the area and “thought I may as well stop by to see the two biggest nerds on campus.” According to you, he started showing up at your cafe a short while after that, acting surprised to see you and like he only vaguely recalled Remus mentioning you worked there (after he’d bribed Remus with chocolates for the intel).

You’d only gone on your first date the week before, and Remus had to meet Sirius nearly twenty minutes away from campus afterward to avoid any possibility of running into you as he gushed about the dress you’d picked out (Remus had seen it before you left; it was adorable), how smart you were (Remus knew), the book you were in the middle of (Remus had lent it to you), and did Remus know this and that and that about you? (he did). Sirius spoke like you were the most fascinating creature on the planet, and Remus wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his friend so happy. 

When he got home, you weren’t much better. It had taken you awhile to build up the courage, a few days of Remus catching you smiling at your phone or staring off to the side of your book with a dreamy glaze over your eyes, but finally you’d asked Remus (trying to be casual, as if he didn’t know better) about Sirius. It had started with questions about what kind of music he preferred, then what he’d been like when they’d been in school together, and soon Remus was telling you everything he could recall from the moment he met Sirius when they were eleven, surprised and a bit endeared by how eager you were for every story. 

The day after that, he’d started getting texts from James asking about the girl that had his best friend so smitten (“Moons, I’m telling you,” James had said, “I keep walking into his room to find him texting with his feet kicking behind him. It’s alarming”). It had begun to feel like all Remus did lately was relay information about you and Sirius to anyone who asked. Frankly, he felt lucky to have a first-row seat to the show, endlessly amused to watch as two of the most self-assured people he knew devolved into giggling fools in the other’s presence. 

Now, he can hear you squeal as Sirius bursts into your room, followed by some scuffling sounds, and then Sirius drags your blanket-wrapped form across the floor and out into the living room by your ankle. You curse and twist about, grinning with the sort of animation Remus hadn’t known you possessed until you’d met Sirius. 

“Alright,” Remus says in his bored, I’m-so-done-with-your-lovebird-shit voice (he’s had plenty of time to practice it in these last few weeks), “unhand my roommate, Sirius.” 

Sirius drops your foot, and you sit up, shaking your head in entirely faked exasperation as you straighten your rumpled hair. 

“Moony, do you know she’s been dodging my calls for days?”

Remus quirks a brow. “I heard you on the phone last night.” 

“Some bullshit about an exam,” Sirius continues as though he hasn’t spoken. “Can you believe it? You know me, I won’t stand for this sort of treatment.”

“I know you’re needy, Black,” you say, standing with the grace of a monarch despite your polka-dot pajamas and the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and going to sit on the couch, “but I can only afford to feed your ego every so often when my strictest professor’s exam is coming up.” 

Remus hums in recognition. “That’s tomorrow morning, isn’t it?”

You nod, brushing a greasy piece of hair behind your ear self-consciously, and Remus watches you sympathetically. He’s not sure how much you’ve let Sirius know, but it’s hard to live in such close proximity to someone and not pick up on their moods. You’ve been horrendously stressed about this exam all week. The coffee maker has been running nearly non-stop, the shower running not at all, and Remus has seen light coming from under your door at all hours of the night. 

“Maybe the two of you should go to a park or something,” he suggests gently. “Enjoy the nice weather, relax for a while.” 

You look anxious at the prospect of abandoning your textbooks for a few hours, but Sirius is assessing you, putting the pieces together of what this week has done to you. “Good idea, Moons,” he says, and Remus doubts he has to fake any of the enthusiasm in his voice. “What do you think, lovely girl, want to go on a little adventure?”

You hesitate, but in the end time with Sirius is too tempting to pass up. “Let me just get dressed.”

“Ugh,” Sirius complains. “If you have to.” 

A few minutes later Remus is watching you both warmly, feeling oddly like someone’s dad, though he’s not sure whose. He can’t help but smile as Sirius fawns over you, telling you how pretty you look and insisting upon tying your shoes for you (“Gorgeous thing like you, doing things for yourself? Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart. Give me a few weeks, and you won’t remember how to tie your shoes or open your own door.”) before opening the front door gallantly. You’re all coy looks and feigned annoyance at his flirtation, but there’s more color in your complexion than Remus has seen all week, and you lean into Sirius when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. It’s all very sickeningly sweet. 

“Have fun,” Remus says, waving you out the door. “And Pads.”

Sirius looks back, gray eyes practically sparkling. “Yeah?”

“She’s got an exam in the morning. Don’t get her home too late.”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #sirius x reader #sirius black oneshot #sirius black scenario #sirius black drabble #sirius black imagine #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #roommate!remus #marauders fanfiction #the marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #james potter #marauders fandom

[dizscreams]

Show Off — Jack Champion ★

PAIRING: Jack Champion x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Jack showing off ur matching necklaces during an instagram live

A/N: “honestly i know u had a thought abt the instagram live one and i feel like with him you could do a lot with answering questions and then him going over to readers dresser and showing the necklace and maybe some fluff when reader comes back?” A LITTLE COLLAB FROM ME AND @ang3lik <33 I KNOW I HAD SAID INTERVIEW WHEN I CAME UP WITH THE IDEA so I hope you guys don’t mind that I switched it to a instagram live! I just couldn’t think of a way to start the interview idea I’m sorry :(

He toyed with the initial of your first name on the gold chain he wore around his neck while thinking of what to do. You weren’t at home with him, you were at work which he was very bummed out about. Luckily being in your room comforted him as he waited for you to arrive home.

He wasn’t snooping around or anything he just missed you and your bed was comfortable. Plus the room smelt like you and he liked admiring all the posters and decorations you had in your room.

He looked at the clock, it hadn’t changed from when he looked at it just 30 seconds ago. He groaned and kept scrolling through Instagram pretty bored out of his mind and not really paying attention to his feed. After thinking of what he could do he decided it might be a fun idea to go live. Why not? He’d never done one of his own before, well he’s never done one now that he’s gained popularity.

He made sure he looked presentable and looked at the ‘Go Live’ button. He wasn’t sure what he’d do, probably just talk to fans and hope it wasn’t boring. He had a feeling they’d eat it up though. Lately, it seemed he could breathe and everyone would go wild. It amused him to be completely honest.

He propped up his phone and sat against the headboard of your bed and pressed ‘Go Live’.

Once it started he awkwardly played with his hands waiting for people to join. It didn’t take long, in about 2-3 minutes there was already a bunch of people flooding the chat with ‘hi’s’ and ‘love you’s’ and a bunch of questions. They weren’t anything specific just about him and his job, he was grateful they weren’t too invasive.

user97027: hii jack! are you working on any new films right now??

He saw the comment as it quickly flashed by, “Yeah I am actually, I’ve been working on Freaky Tales and Everything’s Going to Be Great. So yeah, I’m excited for you guys to see those,” he said with a soft smile across his face.

user88992: did you always want to be an actor?

“Uh, it wasn’t really planned,” he chuckled, “just the day I found out you could get paid for acting and it was a legitimate job I was immediately on board,” he talked with his hands as he answered the question. He leaned forward with his eyes squinted a bit, trying to find another question.

user561183: Jack!! Who would you say inspires you the most?

“Oh man that’s a good question, who inspires me the most,” he repeated the question as he put his chin in his palm and lightly tapped his fingers across his cheek as he thought of a good answer. “I’d have to say my castmastes and my family definitely. Oh! And my girlfriend, of course. They’re all very supportive of me.”

He slightly laughed as a bunch of “awe’s” ran through the chat. He scanned through the chat, almost getting a little bored cause of how awkward he felt. It wasn’t uncomfortable for him he just wasn’t used to this but he liked talking with his followers nonetheless. As he was about to come up with an excuse to log off he saw a question that made his eyes light up.

user336473: what’s the initial on your necklace stand for?

He wasted no time in answering, “The initial on my necklace is my girlfriend’s! She actually has a matching one but it has my initial instead. I could probably show you guys, one second. She didn’t take it to work today” He explained as he got up, taking his phone with him, and excitedly waddled over to your vanity. Jack propped his phone on a little stand up mirror you had and gently took the piece of jewelry and held it up. “Isn’t it cute? I got these for us on our 6 month anniversary,” he told his viewers as he proudly smiled.

A knock on your door made him quip his head towards the entrance of your room, “Jack, you in there?” He looked at his camera whisper shouting a little “She’s backk! Hold on,” he then looked back at the door, “Come in!” he yelled.

Once he saw your figure opening the door a lovey smile adorned his face. He was head over heels for you and made no effort to hide it. “Oh hey babe, I was just showing them our matching necklaces.”

“Them?” You asked raising an eyebrow.

“Mhm, I’m on instagram live,” he softly grabbed your hand giving it a chaste kiss before bringing you in front of the camera. “Guys this is y/n my girlfriend, y/n these are my instagram followers,” he introduced with a goofy smile as he wrapped his hands around your waist and gave the back of your head a kiss.

You looked at the chat, which was gushing with comments about how cute you two were. It made you smile as you remember what he told you when you came in, “Wait, you were showing them our necklaces?”

“Yeah! Someone asked about it and I think I started rambling,” Jack explained as he toyed with the chain that was still in his hands suddenly getting an idea, “Can I put it on you?” He whispered into your hair so only you could hear. You nodded at his question not being able to contain the shy smile on your face as he let go of your waist and put your hair to rest on your left shoulder, giving you goosebumps. Once he made sure none of your hair would be in the way he undid the necklace and slowly put it around your neck. He made sure it was centered properly and closed the clasp, “Perfect,” he said as he gave a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You’re such a show off, Jack,” you laughed at his shocked expression as he put a hand on his heart with a small scoff, “What?! Can you blame me for wanting to show you off? Look at you!” He told you as his signature goofy smile reappeared on his face causing you to laugh more. “No I guess not,” you smirked as you gave him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, causing him to get a little flustered. To be honest you both kinda forgot you were live, you were too busy wrapped up in each other, until Butters entered the room meowing so loud you and Jack snapped out of your love sick gazes and turned to him.

“Aw, what is it, Butters?” Jack asked as he went over and picked the cat up and cradled him like he was his baby, technically he was. Butters only answered with another meow causing you to pet him on the head, “I think he’s hungry,” you looked up at Jack. Another meow followed.

“Alright, I hear you Butters,” he turned back to the camera where he saw the chat freaking out about the adorable moment you two just shared, “We have to go but thank you all for joining. Byeee!” He disconnected the live and quickly put Butters down.

You looked up at him confused but didn’t get to say a word before Jack was kissing your lips. You kissed back and pulled away after a few moments. “What was that for?”

He shrugged, “I dunno, I’ve just been wanting to do it all day,” he said as he smirked. As he was leaning in for another, his movements got cut off by another loud meow from Butters. Jack groaned as he put his head on your shoulder and you laughed as you lifted his head up and slightly pushed Jack’s curls from out of his eyes before you kissed his forehead, “C’mon lets go,” You grabbed his hand and you followed Butters into the kitchen.

He had a lazy smile on his face with hearts in his eyes. This man was so whipped for you.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! I love this sm <33

tags: @ashlesys-blog @wekiamo @dizzyscreams

#not proofread #dizzy writes?! 😵‍💫 #angel!! :) #jack champion #jack champion x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #scream 6 #avatar the way of water #spider socorro

[save-the-villainous-cat]

One bed trope but angsty????

“That’s quite a mess,” the villain noticed. They stared at the once clean sink. Now, there was blood everywhere, along with bandages and a bottle of vodka. Ultimately, their eyes wandered back to the hero who had taken the liberty to claim the bed. They looked exhausted and deep down, the villain was a little angry at the both of them for not acting sooner.

For being so reckless.

“Didn’t have the energy to clean up,” the hero admitted. They’d been crying and the villain was fully aware of how awful their…partner must’ve felt.

“Is the bullet still in your shoulder?” the villain asked. Back then, the hero’s wellbeing had been all the villain could think about. It had been a sharpshooter. And the villain hadn’t acted soon enough.

The hero had been in shock, hadn’t felt anything and the villain wasn’t really too keen on instructing them to get back to the hotel on their own.

“No, it’s in the sink.” Their voice was flat, emotionless even. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the floor in a minute, I just need to…”

“No, stay there.” They closed the bathroom door and sat down on the bed. “Any pain?”

“Took a bunch of painkillers. It’ll be fine.”

The villain had never had great conversational skills and whenever they tried to be encouraging, their words got stuck in their throat. Often, they felt like it would be best to say nothing at all.

“Why would that sharpshooter miss my head?” the hero asked. About an hour ago, the hero had been shot. They had managed to get back to the hotel without getting spotted which (in itself) was already a miracle. And the villain had followed them once the gunshots had stopped.

They had a theory. The hero seemed to know the answer already.

“I don’t know,” the villain said. Most of the time, the villain couldn’t tell what the hero was feeling. They supposed that years of training, hell, a decade even, had shaped them into something flawless that refused to show imperfections. Especially emotions. “Let’s not worry about that. We should get you to a medic. Maybe you know someone who might help us?”

The hero shook their head.

“The only ones who come to mind are at the academy.”

And that was a sensitive topic. After all, those people had tried to take out the hero in the first place. The sheer thought of those people made the villain’s blood boil but they knew two angry people wouldn’t get anywhere.

Suddenly, the hero was close to tears and the villain saw how their bottom lip shook. They hid their face in a pillow but the villain wasn’t going to watch them suffer like that.

“We’ll find a solution to this, I promise. We will get you to a doctor first. I may know a few people. And then we will prove your innocence, okay?” the villain asked. They tilted their head and pushed a loose strand out of the hero’s eyes. “You will get your old life back, I promise. Everything will be fine.”

“But they don’t even want me there,” the hero whispered. “The academy accused me. They had fake proof and convinced everyone: other heroes, citizens, even my friends, I—”

“Hey, it’ll be fine. And even if they don’t want you back, then we’ll just bomb the entire place.” The villain really didn’t know what to do, so they went through the hero’s hair with their fingers. They remembered it from their childhood; it was something distant, something soothing that had always calmed them down. “Deep breaths, okay?”

The hero obeyed and slowly, their face softened.

“You’re insane,” they said with only the tiniest hint of a smile on their face. They made a little bit of room for the villain and admittedly, considering the villain’s own tiredness, they couldn’t refuse. They slipped under the blanket before the hero could change their mind.

“In a good way.”

“Not necessarily.”

Silence. The villain could just stare at the hero, a little broken and definitely at the end of their rope.

“You know, real friends wouldn’t believe those lies. And true friends wouldn’t shoot at you,” the villain said. “Even if they missed your head on purpose.”

“…I know,” the hero said. “Maybe that’s why I came to you.”

The villain thought about that sentence until they fell asleep.

#sry I’m really tired #writing snippet #heroxvillain snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #angst #very soft angst tho

[woman-of-balnain]

maybe a smut where the reader is jealous after seeing mary and arthur hanging out, argument sex brrrrr. <<33

Masterlist | A03 Ver. | Part 2

Title: Bold as Love

A/N: Hopefully this is what you wanted anon! I'm used to writing a more soft and affectionate Arthur, but this was definitely a fun change for me. I hope it's okay... I took your request as wanting him more on the dominant side.

Also, I hope it's ok to cross-post this on A03. If not, just send me another anon ask to let me know and I'll delete it.

Warnings: Possessive Reader, Possessive Arthur, Jealous Reader, Arthur and Reader fighting for dominance, arguing, smut, unprotected sex, creampie, NOT proofread, I literally wrote it and posted it, so there might be mistakes.

Word Count: 2,781

Dividers by: cafekitsune + newlips

Your blood boiled when you saw them together. If Miss Grimshaw hadn’t let you come into the city that day, leaving your chores back at camp to get what Arthur had requested from the store, then you wouldn’t have even known. It was only by chance that you even found out, which made it so much worse.

You remembered seeing her come into camp, back when the gang was at Horseshoe Overlook and leaving that letter for Arthur. And of course, he’d gone straight to her, as if no time had passed, as if she hadn’t hurt him all those years ago, as if he wasn’t with you now.

He’d reassured you afterwards, told you what happened and more importantly what didn’t happen, but it had taken a while for him to calm you down. That was what made seeing him with Mary again, outside the Théâtre Râleur, hurt and anger you so much more.

She had her arm linked with his, pressing her body close to your man and laughing coyly at something he’d said. You had watched them coming out of the building, which told you they’d just watched a show together. Dim lighting, seated closely together for a whole show… the possibilities were endless in your mind and just made you feel worse.

Almost as though he sensed angry eyes on him, Arthur turned his head away from Mary, looking around before his gaze met with yours. A look of surprise spread over his features, but there was no guilt. You didn’t really know if that was a good thing or not.

Mary followed his gaze, wondering why his attention had strayed away from her. She looked at you with confusion, even though you’d already met when you took the letter for Arthur from her at the old camp.

“Do you two know each other?” Mary enquired.

Her voice was soft and pleasant. A stark contrast to how you saw her.

“Yeah,” was all Arthur said, eyes still not leaving you.

His blasé answer was the worst one he could have chosen in your mind. He didn’t tell her that you were together, that he was now yours. He didn’t put up any boundaries and it caused your anger to get almost to its breaking point.

“Oh,” she looked at you with faint recognition. “You’re one of those… girls…”

The way she said it made it clear how she saw you. Like some two-bit whore who she viewed with obvious disdain. There was nothing wrong with being a working girl. Abigail had been one before she fell for John. But you weren’t that to Arthur and you wanted to make it very clear to her.

“I’m his girl,” you gestured to Arthur, the venom dripping from your voice.

Mary glanced at him with uncertainty, but he just gave you a strange look, as though you were intruding on a moment you shouldn’t have been. As though your hurt and anger and jealousy were unwarranted somehow.

“I have to take Mary to the station,” he told you, voice deep and gravelly.

It was the tone he had when he was either angry or very, very turned on. You knew it was the former this time though.

“I’ll see you back at camp,” he continued, dismissing you.

You clenched your fists, fingernails digging into the skin of your palms as he began walking away, Mary’s arm still linked with his. He was acting like such a… gentleman with her. You knew a softer, more affectionate and loving side to Arthur in your private moments, but the way he was being with her seemed almost unnatural compared to his true personality.

She turned her head only once as they walked away, still eyeing you with uncertainty before saying something quietly to him. You didn’t hear what she said, but it didn’t matter. You’d seen and heard enough.  

You’d kept to yourself after returning to Shady Belle. Your chores were done in record time and before Miss Grimshaw could find other tasks for you, you’d stormed off to the open area behind the house. Hiding yourself away, you sat behind one of the smaller, empty buildings and tried to sort through your feelings regarding Arthur and seeing him with Mary.

That was where he found you, late in the afternoon, when the sun had almost met the horizon.

“There you are,” he said, his tone the soft lilt you were used to in private moments like this.

“What do you want?” You fumed, unable to hide the anger still bubbling inside you.

“Darlin’, why’re you so angry?” He asked.

You looked up to glare at him before standing so he wasn’t towering over you.

“Are you serious right now, Arthur? I catch you off on a date with her and you ask me why I’m angry?”

“It wasn’t a date,” he insisted.

“Whatever,” you were seething, letting all the pent-up emotions spill forth. “I don’t care what it was. I don’t like it.”

“Mary… she was just askin’ for a favour.”

“To go to the theatre?” You asked incredulously. “I’m not an idiot, Arthur.”

“Sweetheart, it’s like you said. You’re my girl.”

The sweet endearments didn’t feel so sweet right then, so you continued taking your anger out on him.

“No, I’m not yours,” you hissed. “Not anymore. Not after that. You want her so bad? Go have her. But you and me? We’re done.”

Arthur’s gaze darkened but you ignored it, moving to brush past him and head back towards the main house. You didn’t get very far though because he grabbed your arm and held you in place.

You felt Arthur move so that he was right behind you, chest pressed against your back. His arms snaked tightly around your body, keeping you firmly in place.

“Calm down,” he said lowly in your ear.

His own voice was too composed for your liking, like he wasn’t taking you seriously.

“Just let me go,” you struggled against him.

“No,” he kept you held in his arms. “Take it back.”

That angry tone was coming back, the one that always sent shivers down your spine. You tried to resist it, but when he started pressing kisses along your neck, it became harder.

“Cut it out,” you snapped at him.

“Take it back,” he repeated, lips brushing against your skin. “Say you’re mine.”

His teeth nipped at the place where your neck and shoulder met, and you let out an involuntary moan. You could feel the curve of his lips as he smiled against your skin and when his arms loosened a little in their hold around you, it was the perfect chance to free yourself. So that’s exactly what you did.

Turning to face him, you saw him get irritated as well, annoyed that you were still so defiant. You opened your mouth to say something snarky to him, but Arthur didn’t give you a chance. He closed the distance between you, taking hold of your hair and pulling your head back a little, forcing you to look him in the eye.

You glared at him, and he challenged you right back with his own commanding and unwavering stare. When he saw that you weren’t going to give in, Arthur smashed his lips against yours in an angry and domineering kiss.

You struggled a little, still infuriated with him, but his hold on your hair and the other arm he had wrapped around your waist made it impossible to get away. His lips were bruising and dominant against your own, forcing you to submit.

Eventually, you gave up, giving in and opening your mouth a little wider, allowing his tongue to wrestle with yours. You moaned again, unable to deny how much you loved this forceful side of him.

You always got lost in the feel of his lips, the things he could do with his tongue, the firm grip of his hands, the coarse hair on his cheeks and around his lips that tickled and teased your skin… it was all familiar. It was all yours and you weren’t about to have it any other way.

You managed to pull your head back a little, his grip on your hair having loosened at your submission to his kiss. Breaking your mouth away from his, you looked into his eyes, seeing the way his pupils were dilated and his hair was wild and messy from your fingers running through it.

“You say it first,” you demanded breathlessly.

“What?” He asked, like he was in a bit of a daze.

“Say you’re mine,” you insisted, your tone a little more composed this time. “Only mine.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re jealous, darlin’,” he teased, lips curving up into a devilish grin. “All wild and ferocious.”  

“Say it,” you demanded again.

His gaze softened a little, but the dark lust never left his eyes.

“I’m yours,” he promised.

It was enough for you, so you brought your lips back to his, both of your lips fighting for dominance. You gasped into his mouth when you felt him slam you against the wall of the small building you’d previously been sitting by. His hands were everywhere, possessively exploring your body.

“You’re mine too,” he murmured against your lips. “Ain’t you?”

It was spoken like a question, but you knew it wasn’t. He was telling you to admit it, but you weren’t ready to just yet, so you refused to answer, seeking his lips for another kiss instead.

“You’re really pissed off, huh?” He let out a light laugh, pulling back so you couldn’t kiss him again.

You just glared at him once more, feeling like he should know the answer to that. Arthur didn’t seem to mind, his hands reaching down and taking hold of your skirt. The fabric bunched up under his hold, snaking up your legs tantalisingly until the entirety of your lower body was revealed to him.

His gaze darkened even more when he saw that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, tone more menacing than anything else. “I’ll have you admittin’ it for me soon enough.”

You looked down, seeing the way his erection was straining against his pants and you couldn’t help but to get turned on by the insinuation of his intentions. You could feel the desire spreading through your lower belly, and the way your pussy reacted, already getting wet.

Arthur took hold of one of your hands, bringing it to his clothed cock. You let your instinctual lust take over for a moment, cupping your hand around it and relishing the faint groan that escaped his lips.

If this was how he wanted to play it, you decided to comply. You were quick to get rid of his gun belt before unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his hips. When his cock sprung free, you saw that it was already fully hard, and it just spurred you on even more.

Your hand wrapped around it, tugging up and down on the velvety skin that covered the steel hardness underneath. His lips sought yours again and he groaned deeply into your mouth as your thumb swiped over the head of his cock.

It wasn’t long before he took control again, though, because he pushed your hands away from him before using one of his to grasp your hip tightly and the other to line him up at your entrance.

Your head fell back onto the wall behind you with a moan as he moved his cock back and forth along your slit, coating it in your wetness.

“Your body can’t lie to me, darlin’,” he groaned out. “You can be angry, but you’re still mine.”

You reached down, taking control by grasping his cock and putting it right where you wanted it. You pushed your hips forward, causing him to enter you and savouring the way his eyes fluttered shut and his mouth fell slightly open at the feel of your tight walls squeezing down on him.

“Yours doesn’t lie either,” you grit out, thrusting up your hips a little.

Both his hands gripped at your waist forcefully, ensuring that he had some hold over how much you could move. Arthur lifted you until your legs wrapped around his own waist and then he began thrusting into you.

“Just… admit it,” he managed to get out, voice rough as he slammed into you.

“No.”

Yet, with each time his cock entered you, it pushed a little deeper and teased that one spot that always brought you undeniable pleasure. If you kept letting him have all of the control, it would be a losing battle for you.

You squeezed down on his cock, milking him and causing him to get lost in the feel of you again.

“Why didn’t you tell her that I’m yours if it means so much to you?”

To your ever-increasing frustration, Arthur just grinned.

“Wanted you to get jealous,” he admitted, one hand moving down to grip your thigh as he continued pounding into your tight pussy. “Because you’re so god damned gorgeous like this.”

“I’m not jealous,” you lied, wanting to goad him. “I’m done. Enjoy this, because it’s the last time.”

His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh possessively at your words and he brought his lips back to your neck, covering your body completely with his. It meant that every sensation you felt was from him. The familiar smell of Arthur wrapped around you and all you could feel was his hands, his lips, his tongue…

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” he insisted again, teeth scraping at the column of your throat. “This pussy is mine and you know it. Just admit it.”

He was clearly frustrated with you too and while it brought you satisfaction, you knew that you wouldn’t last much longer. His long, thick, perfect cock was dominating every aspect of you, eating away at your resolve.

“Apologize then,” you requested of him softly.

He pulled his head back to look at you, his pace never once faltering and the dark desire never leaving his eyes.

“’M sorry,” he admitted instantly.

You knew it was sincere, you could see it in his eyes. He may have liked frustrating you and making you jealous, but you could see in that moment that he realised the hurt you felt too.

“She… doesn’t… mean anything… to me,” he promised, getting the words out between his deep and brutal thrusts. “Not anymore. Not since you.”

“Good,” you replied heatedly, pulling his head closer. “Because you’re mine and I’m yours.”

He was obviously pleased with you finally admitting it and your lips met in another kiss, tongues moving languidly this time, as you savoured the feeling of one another. You could feel the familiar build up within you, knowing that you were close. Bucking your hips slightly, you let him know without words what you needed, and Arthur was quick to oblige.

He knew you like the back of his hand, every aspect, and every desire. So, his hand left its bruising hold on your thigh and moved upwards, caressing and teasing your skin until his fingers finally brushed against your aching clit.

You squeezed down around him again and he broke the kiss, his head falling to your shoulder. His thumb moved perfectly against your sensitive nub, rubbing in circles, and applying just the right amount of pressure.

“God…” you moaned out, now constantly milking his cock inside you as your pussy edged closer and closer to release. “Arthur…”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against your skin, loving the way you said his name. “Let go, darlin’. I wanna feel you cum around me.”

With two more strokes of his thumb against your clit, along with a teasing nip of his teeth against your shoulder, you came undone around him. Your back arched and your body was overcome with ecstasy.

Your orgasm washed over you blissfully and the vice-like grip paired with the spasming of your pussy sent Arthur over the edge too. You felt his cum fill you up, as well as his cock throbbing deep inside you and it just made your own orgasm intensify.

His lips never seemed to leave your skin through it all, pressing countless soft and loving kisses all over your neck and then up to your jawline and finally on your cheeks. As you both came down from your highs and your frustrations with each other ebbed away, his fingertips stroked along your thighs.

“You’re… incredible…” he breathed out, nuzzling against your cheek affectionately.

You turned your head to capture his lips once more, determined to make sure he never forgot it again.  

--

Part 2

--

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan request #rdr2 request

[lunajay33]

Both❤️‍🔥

Summary: There was just something about you that Rick and Daryl couldn’t deny, they wanted you, but will they have to fight for you, who will you chose maybe both?

~Threesome

•Masterlist•

You were sat in the watch tower with your binoculars looking out by the fences for any danger, as you were looking around you noticed Daryl and Rick in the field and god did they make me feel things, Daryl first caught your eyes with his mysterious quiet guy act, and then when he’d talk to you with that deep voice and the way he’d look at you made your knees weak like nothing you’d ever felt before but then…….

There came Rick Grimes, that sheriff outfit and the way he took charge of the ground had butterflies erupt in your belly and now you were drooling over the two men constantly especially when they’d be hard at work outside with the sun beating down on them, their tan skin shimmering with sweat god it was so hot

As you were fantasizing about them you hadn’t noticed they were looking back at you, obviously you were spying on them, which made them smirk, when you noticed what you’d been doing you quickly moved the binoculars down and climbed down the tower, once you got to the bottom you were met by those devilish men you’d think about late at night

“Hey darlin” Daryl said as he leaned on the wall next to you as Rick was on your other side trapping you

“Hi” you said timidly

“You have a nice look there, have your eye on one of us sweetie?” Rick asked playing with a strand of you hair

You could feel what was happening in your panties, these men really did things to you, you wanted them to do unspeakable things, they were a bit older than you but you were 22 you’re a woman who needs some strong men to break you out of your shell

“Maybe” you said biting your lip

“Oh really, and which one would that be peach?” Daryl asked as he ran his hand down your waist pulling your shirt a bit lower

You didn’t say anything to distracted by the hands roaming your body

“Come on baby, who do you need?” Rick whispered in your ear

“Mmmmm, I need you both” they looked at you with the look that made you knee weak and your heart pump faster

“What do ya say?” Daryl asked squeezing your hip

“Please, please I’ll be good” you whined feeling the fullest affect of these men

“Mmmm I think we should reward her don’t you think Daryl?” He asked as they looked at each other smirking

“Ya I think she does” Daryl took your hand dragging you up the watch tower as Rick followed

Daryl laid you down on the mattress Glenn and Maggie dragged up here, they looked down at you as they continued to remove their shirts and pants leaving them in boxers and god just from the outlines they were big, it was mouth watering

Rick kneeled on your left as Daryl was on your right as they gazed at you body, Daryl pulled you shirt off as Rick pulled down you tight jeans leaving you in your pink bra and panties

“Oh baby were you planning for this?” Rick asked as he ran his fingers higher up you thigh leaving goosebumps in its trail as Daryl couldn’t rip his eyes from your boobs

“Was just waiting for the day that it might happen” you said rubbing your legs together for some friction

“Here we thought ya were a good girl” Daryl said as he unclipped your bra leaving your chest bare as Rick tucked his fingers in the band of your panties ripping them off, now completely nude, this is new to you so you weren’t sure what to fully do especially with two hot men

“What’s wrong baby ain’t ya want this?” Daryl asked as he licked up your stomach to your chest

“Yes oh god yes it’s just……” you gasped out as Rick ran his thumb against your clit

“Just what baby?” Rick asked as he rubbed faster

“I’ve never……you know, I don’t wanna be bad” you admitted making them both stop

“Really a pretty lil thing like ya ain’t ever been touched?”

“All for us now aren’t you baby?”

“Yes I’m all yours, both of you, just teach me I want you guys to feel good too”

“Oh peach we’ll feel good don’t worry ‘bout that” Daryl smirked as he started to suck on you boob as he ran his thumb over the other

“Mmmm Daryl” you moaned right before you felt something wet flick against your clit making you almost scream, bucking your hips

Everything felt so good, Rick fingers digging into your hips trying to keep you down, both their tongues on you made your head all hazy, it felt so good you didn’t think it could get better

Then you felt fingers enter you curling in and out and it pushed you over, screaming out from the pleasure that coursed through you, your legs shaking from how hard it hit you

They pulled back looking at your shaking body as you huffed out of breathe

“How do you feel baby, ready for the real things?” Rick asked pushing your hair back

“Yes please I want more”

“Who first darlin?” Daryl asked as they both stripped themselves of their boxers as their dicks smacked against their stomach, and damn were they packing, Rick had his red angry tip, long and white, and Daryl’s was thick and veiny but still long

“I want Daryl first” you basically whined spreading your legs open, Daryl dropped himself between your legs, gliding his tip up and down your folds pushing hard against your clit

Rick sat up closer to you as he pumped his dick in his hand at the sight of his best friend pushing into you hearing the pop of his dick stretching you out for the first time, you were up on your elbows looking down whining at the stretch

“Mmmm it’s so good, I don’t know if….fuck if I can take it”

“Just breathe darlin, I’ll get it ta fit” Daryl said as you calmed down so he could slowly push all the way in groaning

“She tight Daryl?” Rick asked as you squeezed his thigh

“Damn right, so tight she’s suckin me in, she’s perfect” he said clawing at you legs burying his head in your shoulder breathing you in

“Ya ready?” He whispered in the husky voice

“Yes be careful please”

He started off slow, pulling back until slowly pushing all the way back in till you were fully comfortable with his length, you were a moaning mess but felt bad for Rick so you snaked your hand up his thigh gripping his dick and started to pump it, running your thumb over his slit ever so often causing his to hiss

The noises coming out of all three of you was damn near pornographic, hell this was a porno two sexy men screwing a virgin but god did you love it

“Am I doing good?” You squealed when Daryl hit a certain spot

“So good baby, fuck I’m gonna cum” Rick groaned as he started to thrust into you hand soon after cumming all over your hand, he sat back huffing as he continued to watch Daryl fuck you

“Ya close peach?” Daryl asked as he sat back up and putting your legs over his shoulders perfectly hitting that spot making you screaming feeling that pleasure build in your belly again

“Yes Daryl I’m about to cum keep going”

Rick started sucking on your boobs as Daryl begin to quickly rub your clit finally pushing you over the edge, squeezing around Daryl’s dick feeling him fill you up as he groaned trying to be quiet

You were hazy again the pleasure making you extremely tired but the after wave felt so good, you actually had a threesome

Daryl pulled out as you all watched his cum leak out of you

“Rick don’t think she can take two dicks in one day” Daryl said as he spread your legs wider seeing your red puffy clit

“Next time baby you’re all mine”

—///—///—///—///—///—///—///—

Part.2<-

Guys this was my first full spicy story lmk if I should do a part 2? Also lmk where you guys are reading from, I think most of my readers are international!!

#daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd x reader #twd fluff #twd rick #daryl dixon fluff #daryl x reader #rick grimes imagine #rickyl #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon x y/n #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes smut #daryl dixon smut #Daryl Dixon x reader x Rick grimes #the walking dead #the walking dead series #twd season 3

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Good Witch of Hawthorne

Summary: Marigold Fletcher is a good witch. However, when her dark past comes knocking, her reputation is on the line.

------

Marigold Fletcher is a good witch.

“No, not a good witch,” she tries to explain to the knight on her doorstep. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I mean good in the sense that I excel in my craft. Morally, I’m more gray.”

“Oh, good,” the man says. He puts the hat he’d been wringing in his hands back on his head. The leather pops back into shape and the desperation he’d been wearing like a cloak melts away. He looks ten years younger when he smiles. “I can drop the act then.”

Marigold gapes. “You were lying? To a witch?”

“I’m a knight,” the man says with a shrug. “We aren’t known for being smart.” He nods towards her living room. “Do you mind if I come in, or…?”

Wordlessly, Marigold lets him duck past her. He finds his way into her living room with prompting and sighs when he sits on her couch.

“Sorry,” he says, tipping his head back against the backrest. “It was tough getting here. I had to climb three separate mountains and fight off at least a dozen griffins. And you were the easiest witch to find, believe it or not.”

Marigold believes it. Most witches are nomadic. Those who put down roots, like her, usually do so in the most inhospitable places. Marigold is lazier than her brethren. She doesn’t live too deep in a forest, though she does live so high on her mountain that the air is a little too thin for most human’s comfort.

“You didn’t give me your name,” she says. She shuts her door and picks a seat in an armchair across from the knight, right by the fireplace. If this turns out to be an elaborate plan to dig out her heart, she’ll throw him into the flames head first. “Awfully rude of a guest.”

“Alas,” the man says gallantly, “I can not give you my name.” He winks at her. “But you may call me Jax.”

Rather than be charmed, Marigold is irritated. “I’m not fae, idiot. I can’t take your name even if you said you were giving it to me.”

Jax continues smiling at her and says nothing.

Marigold pinches the bridge of her nose again. “What do you want? If it’s not my blessing for you to save the princess or whatever your story was?”

“A fair blessing to ease my travels on the way to save the princess from the dragon,” Jax recites. He waves a hand in the air. “For the good of the kingdom, peace of mind of the people, saving a grieving father and rescuing the damsel in distress…yada yada yada.”

“Right,” Marigold says flatly.

“I did come here in hopes of receiving your blessing,” Jax says. He scratches the back of his neck. “Just not to save the princess. I’m here on behalf of the princess, actually.”

Marigold frowns. “Is she not kidnapped by a dragon right now?”

“Technically not,” Jax hedges. He sighs when Marigold glares. “Look, I’m trying to ease you into this, okay? We really do need your help and you won’t want to help if I shock you.”

“Try me.”

“The dragon is the princess’ girlfriend,” Jax says, leaning forward.  “Yes, the thirty foot tall dragon is the princess’ girlfriend, yes, the dragon is sentient, yes, the princess is sure. They’d very much appreciate your help turning the dragon into a human so they can run away from the princess’ tyrannical father and live happily ever after.”

The silence that follows after his outburst is very, very loud.

Jax pulls a flask out of his coat. “Take your time processing. Gods know I needed it.” He takes a swig.

Marigold opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “No, I, uh, that’s…” She clears her throat. “A princess and a dragon? Really?”

“Thank you!” Jax points at Marigold. “That’s the right reaction to have! You know what the prince said? He said ‘As long as my sister is happy.’ And the Queen? She named the dragon! As her new daughter-in-law she was aggrieved that it didn’t have a name so she named. The. Dragon.”

Marigold stares. “Dragons don’t have names.”

“Her name is Elisa,” Jax says. He presses a hand to his cheek and bats his eyelashes. “To rhyme with Princess Alicia. Elisa and Alicia.”

“Oh,” Marigold says faintly. She’s never heard of a dragon accepting a name before. While she herself isn’t fae, the line is a little blurry between fae and dragon. “Oh my.”

“I know it’s my fault,” Jax says. He looks mournfully at his flask and then takes another little sip. “It really is. I was supposed to be guarding the princess. If she hadn’t gotten kidnapped by the dragon, she wouldn’t have fallen in love with it.”

“Her,” Marigold corrects automatically.

Jax blinks at her. “What?”

“The dragon is a her,” Marigold says. She feels a headache coming on. “Yes, it’s unusual, but if she’s accepted a name…”

“You’re right,” Jax says. He laughs. “Well, she’s hiding in the woods behind the castle, but that’ll only last for so long. The knights train back there once the snow melts.”

Marigold looks outside her window. The sky is unseasonably clear and she can see the approximate area of the castle over the treetops. “The snow is melting.”

Jax nods. “Very quickly. Princess Alicia wanted to ask you to make the snow last longer. It was the dragon-- sorry, Lady Elisa’s suggestion that she be turned into a human instead.”

“Has Lady Elisa been human before? Or has she always been a dragon?”

Jax slowly screws the top back on his flask. “As far as I’m aware, she’s always been a dragon. An immortal one at that. She’s known as the Golden Calamity in our kingdom.”

Ah. Marigold clears her throat and shifts in her seat. “Does Lady Elisa know that you’re here to seek my help?”

“She’s the reason I knew where to find you,” Jax says. He studies Marigold’s rapidly paling face. “You know her?”

“No,” Marigold squeaks. She fans herself. “Is it hot in here? I’ll open a window, hold on a moment.” She lurches to her feet and staggers to the window, throwing it open in one go. Icy wind whips through the living room. She sags against the windowsill. “Just out of curiosity, did Lady Elisa say how she knew where I was?”

Jax is watching her with something like alarm. “Are you sure you’re warm? You’re shivering.”

Actually, she’s shaking. She waves away his concern. “I’m fine. It’s probably a magic thing you know nothing about. Like too much magic in my core or something.”

“Or something,” Jax echoes dubiously. “As to your question, she said she always knows where to find the Good Witch of Hawthorne.”

“AH!” Marigold cuts off her scream by coughing furiously. She holds out one finger when Jax starts to get up. “I’m fine! I’m fine! Just something in my throat!” She forces herself to breathe.“She always knows? She said those exact words? Always knows?”

“I’m sorry,” Jax says, “you said you didn’t know her but it really sounds like you do.”

“I don’t!” Marigold never had a full conversation with her anyway. After her sneak attack failed, Marigold was too busy running away to talk. “Not really. She wants to be human? I can do that. Absolutely. No problem. It will just take one spell.”

“Really?” Jax lunges to his feet. “That’s wonderful news! She needs to be here for you to perform it, right? I can go get her right away--!”

“NO!”

Jax freezes halfway to the door. “No?”

Marigold scrambles. “I-it’s too difficult to get here for a dragon! The air is so thin, I doubt she’ll be comfortable making the trip. I can make a potion for her--” Wait, would that even work? “--or maybe I can write down the spell for another witch to perform. So she doesn’t have to travel.”

“Maybe you should come with me now,” Jax says. He extends a hand. “That will solve the issue, right? And if a potion is needed, you’ll need ingredients. The princess guarantees the castle’s laboratory.”

“You want me to be in the same room as the Golden Calamity?” Marigold squeaks.

“You definitely know her,” Jax says. He crosses his arms. “Out with it.”

“It wasn’t personal!” Marigold blurts out. She collapses back into her armchair. “I can’t be held accountable after all these years. It wasn’t even my idea. It’s a rite of passage for young witches. O-of a kind. Maybe something more like hazing? My mentor told me I needed a scale from a dragon for my final exam.”

“Exam?” Jax asks incredulously. “Like a school for witches?”

Marigold ignores him. She buries her head in her hands. “Young witches aren’t even supposed to be able to breach the dragon’s outermost ward! But I’ve always been too good! I was just too damn good.” A single tear slips down her cheek.

“Oh no,” Jax says. He takes out his flask and offers it to her. “Here.”

Marigold snatches the container and gulps down two shots worth of the worst liquor she’s ever tasted. “Thanks.” She sniffles. “I caught her unawares, or so I thought. She was sleeping on top of a pile of treasures, belly up. I was on my broom and thought it’d be easy to pluck one from the underside of her chin.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jax says. He’s kneeling by her side now. He pats her on the shoulder. “We’ve all been beaten by stronger opponents before.”

Marigold laughs humorlessly. “Beaten? Ha! I wouldn’t be like this if I was just beaten. I was so confident and she toyed with me. She chased me for three days and three nights through the woods. I thought I was going to die! And then, at the end, when I collapsed on the ground out of exhaustion, you know what she said to me?”

“I can imagine. She told me I should quit being a knight when I tried to rescue Alicia,” Jax says glumly. “Said I’d make a better sloth with how slow I moved.”

“She told me I should work on my stamina,” Marigold cried. “I ran for three days! Three nights! That’s pretty good, right?”

“It’s excellent,” Jax consoles. “I couldn’t ask more of trained knights.”

“Then she said I’d have to run faster if I wanted to avoid being killed by her,” Marigold says. She remembers the way Lady Elisa’s claws dug into the ground. Marigold, parlayzed by fear, had only been able to watch as the razor sharp tips dragged through the earth towards her. “She said dragons hold grudges for a long, long time.”

“If it’s any comfort,” Jax says hesitantly, “she didn’t sound angry when she mentioned you.”

Marigold shakes her head in disgust. “I haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet.”

“There’s more than her threatening your life?”

“If it was just that, I wouldn’t be like this!” She’s been threatened by so many people, she’s lost track. What the dragon did was much worse.  Marigold points above the fireplace. “See that?”

Jax twists on his knee, keeping one hand on her shoulder. “The dinner plate on your mantle?”

“It’s not a dinner plate,” Marigold says. Her cheeks burn. “It’s her scale. She said she pitied me to the point she gave me one! For free!”

“Uh.” Jax takes his hand away. “What?”

“I know!” Marigold can’t believe she’s revealing this to some knight after years of pretending it never happened. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.”

“I’m confused,” Jax says. “Are you scared of Lady Elisa or not?”

“I’m terrified of her, obviously,” Marigold snaps. She holds out her hands. “Look, I’m shaking! After that day, I promised no one would ever play with me like that ever again. And they haven’t! Because I moved to a place nobody knew that she’d pity-gifted me a scale. Now you’re telling me she’s known where I was this whole time?”

Jax squints at Marigold and then at the scale. “Can’t dragons track their scales?”

“They can what?” Marigold swoons in her seat. It’s only through a careful application of magic and Jax’ quick hands that she doesn’t fall out of her chair. “I didn’t know that. How could I not know that?”

“I don’t know. It seems like a witch should know that,” Jax says. When he’s sure that she won’t collapse again, he sits back on his heels. “Look, I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings, but it seems like you’re the only one holding onto that day. Don’t you think it’s time to let it go?”

“How can I?” Marigold presses the back of her hand to her forehead. “So you see, I can’t go see Lady Elisa. She’ll just make fun of me. I can’t handle that level of ridicule ever again.”

Jax stares at her. “Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly,” Marigold says. She peeks at Jax through her eyelashes. “I’d rather she kill me than see her again.”

Jax looks up at the ceiling as if praying for patience. He breathes in deeply through his nose and then out through his mouth. Finally, he says, “I think you might be overreacting a little bit.”

“You weren’t there,” Marigold moans. “You weren’t there. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat remembering my hubris.”

“But isn’t she the one asking you for help now?” Jax asks. When Marigold stills, he presses the advantage. “Maybe she was stronger than you back then, but is that the case now? After all, she can’t turn herself into a human. Only you can do that.”

Marigold shifts her weight. “I am very good.”

“And if you do this for her, won’t she owe you?” Jax gestures to the scale on the mantle. “She’ll owe you more than that scale.”

Marigold sits upright. “She’ll owe me her silence!” She leaps out of her chair and bustles into the kitchen. “Eureka, I’m a genius! If I help Lady Elisa become a human, she’ll be indebted to me! She won’t be able to tell people about my humiliation because she’ll owe me!”

Jax frowns as he watches Marigold start to throw spices and pots onto the table. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“I said it better.” Marigold rummages in the pantry and comes out with a burlap sack. She murmurs a spell under her breath that makes the bag glow for a brief moment. When she starts piling her chosen items into it, it stays remarkably flat. “Turning a dragon into a human is child’s play if it means reclaiming my honor.”

Jax watches a whole bushel of wheat go into the bag. “Did you just make a magic-storage device with one spell?”

“Of course, I’m very good,” Marigold says. She pauses in the act of putting an entire loom into her expanding bag. An eerie smile creeps across her face. “Once I settle this, I might even be the best.”

“Only if you manage to turn Lady Elisa into a human,” Jax says.

Marigold shrugs, throwing her near-empty burlap sack over her shoulder. “They just want to be together right? If the human thing fails, I can just turn the princess into a dragon. There’s already a spell for that.”

Jax splutters as he follows Marigold to the door. “That is not allowed!”

“Ha,” Marigold says. “We’ll see.”

“No, we won’t!”

They set off down the mountain.

 ----

Thanks for reading! 

Next week’s story (part 1) is already up on my Patreon!

Summary: Cinderella is too old for fairytales. But when one is her only chance at escape, she may have to start believing again. TW: child abuse, child neglect

Thank y’all again!

#My writing #my witchcraft #witches #fantasy #one shot #long post

[lanabuckybarnes]

Empty words.

This has been in my drafts for a bit but it's rotting my brain. I’m sad so I’m making everyone else sad.

Fluff with a sad end. I’m not that good at writing angst.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Insinuated character death?

ALWAYS (Sequal)

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

It was no secret that Bucky had the heart eyes for the little nurse who had just transferred. The way her bright eyes were permanently blown wide giving her that scared little doe look or the way she still looked adorable covered in someone's blood, he couldn’t decide what had made him fall into the jaws of love.

Or maybe it was that time she’d saved his ass, yeah, it was probably that.

Bucky had been out on the frontline when a single wrong move had cost him, a bullet lodged itself straight in the shoulder, only a centimetre from his beating heart. For 3 days he’d been out due to an infection racking his body, punishment for not seeking adequate treatment once it had occurred but when he awoke with a startle and his eyes laid on her soft-looking features he decided that maybe almost dying was worth it.

What he didn’t expect was for his pretty little nurse to be so damn stubborn when it came to his advances.

For the entire time he was in the infirmary he’d tried to wow her with that silver tongue of his, from promises to take her dancing to much more sinful ones— he’d tried it all and she still said no. This would be harder than what he thought.

After having to be practically kicked out of his infirmary bed she’d started receiving small gifts. A single rose appeared first and she’d inhaled its soft scent with a smile before placing it down to complete her paperwork.

A small collection of ration chocolate was next, a sweet gesture that she’d gladly gulped down late at night while reading her favourite novel.

Her favourite though had to be a beautiful handwritten note, the contents filled with words that no other man could ever think of much less write it down. His words were poet-like, she could feel herself begin to swoon.

Eventually, the anonymous sender had bucked up the confidence to deliver his letters by hand, who would’ve guessed it would’ve been the smart-mouthed Sargent? They’d finished that night on the grassy hills of the base, a flask of malt between them, his thick coat around her body while she rested her head softly against his shoulder.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

The next time they’d found time to meet it was hot, far too hot. The men had stripped down, their military coats strewn about the camp and their shirts unbuttoned. Not Sargent Barnes though. He had a date and he intended to look the part.

What a horrible mistake that was.

She’d gotten away early from her duties at the infirmary. They walked along the beach, the sun high in the sky, it was killing him but he’d be dammed if he let her see.

When she turned from her conversation to look at him, a giggle bubbled from her throat.

“Buck you’re sweating, take off that coat.” The collar and back of it were a deep brown from his sweat.

“Ah ah, I gotta look good for my lady” he retorted, truthfully, he was exhausted under those layers and she refused to let him get sunstroke because he was trying to impress her.

Her fingers made quick work of the gold embellished buttons, popping them one by one before setting her sights on the belt. He couldn’t help but grin.

“You know if you wanted me naked, all you had to do was ask Sweetheart” he teased letting his thumb and forefinger pinch her chin- she returned his affection with a sweaty hand to his face, pushing it away softly.

He’d placed his coat on the sand and guided her to sit, following suit just after. They spoke for a while before Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, she was squinting in the sun and he didn’t like when she was uncomfortable in any way.

“Here” he mumbled removing his hat and placing it gently atop her head. Although he’d acted nonchalant about the whole gesture, he couldn’t bear to hide the true effect it had on him.

He’d leaned forward slowly, placing a large hand around the back of her neck and swallowing her words in a soft kiss. Their first ever one together.

“Makes me happy when you wear my clothes” his voice hummed against her lips, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah? Why is that?” She’d asked with a shy giggle.

“Yeah… it lets me know that you are mine” he replied, sealing their mouths together again, this one full of raw passion and love.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

The barracks celebrations were in full swing, the reason long forgotten about after a few wines. Bucky had come from nowhere, his big stumbling body now stood in front of her and her friends.

“Hey, sweetheart!” He slurred, his body moving extremely quick for his drunken state, swiping her up from her chair and into a tight embrace. The kind that got tighter the more she struggled.

“Are you having a nice night Buck?” Her hands thread through his short fluffy hair, absentmindedly scratching at his scalp.

“Mhmmm” he hummed, a big jolly smile decorating his handsome features.

“Ladies” he turned his attention to the immaculately dressed women, bowing his head slightly in an expression of greeting.

Where had his hat gone? She found herself wondering.

“Do you mind if I steal this beautiful little lady from you? Just for a dance” he didn’t wait for their response, whisking her away.

There was already a handsome crowd of men dancing to the sweet romantic tunes on the radio with their ladies. They fit in perfectly— Bucky’s inebriation never seemed to affect the precise steps of his feet.

She could just about make out the words falling rhythmically from his lips. He was singing.

Bucky lay his forehead on hers, his feet not faltering, even after the song had long finished he never stopped swaying them.

“You..” his voice was slightly rasped from the whiskey “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me” he eventually whispered.

“Bucky-I”

“Shhhh shhh sh. My girl.” He cut her off, grabbing at her wrists to wrap her arms around his neck. To bring her closer.

“Come on Buck, let’s get you to bed” her words cut the quiet air between them. She had to pry herself from him, his face had melted into a pout. It was as though she was looking at a kicked puppy.

His face didn’t change the whole journey back to his tent.

Most of the men had passed out from their drunkenness but the men who were huddled together playing cards happily pointed her in the direction of the Sargent’s cot.

Making quick work of his clothes, much to Bucky’s drunken amusement. She’d pushed him to lie down and rolled his thin cover over his frame.

She pecked at his forehead, whispering a goodnight before standing to leave.

“Stay…” his hand has caught her wrist. His voice sounded small, almost broken. ‘Was he upset? Was it about his mission tomorrow?’

“I don’t want to go tomorrow, I finally have someone to look forward to. I don’t want to lose you” he sniffed, watching as her frame sank to sit on the edge of his cot.

She smiled sympathetically. Letting her hand come up to his cheek and smooth over the skin, collecting a stray tear on its travels.

“I know baby, but It’s your last mission. Then you can take me back to Brooklyn” she’d answered. She wished to continue, she wanted to say more, to comfort him more— no words would come out.

“I fucking love you” he groaned receiving a soft pat on the chest as she pretended to be angry at him.

“Hey now potty mouth, that is no way to talk in front of a lady” he practically hollered with laughter at that, the sound filled with amusement and disbelief.

“There is no woman in the world that would’ve done the things you’ve done to me and still think she was a lady” he joked, the men behind them laughing along with him.

“Sargent James Barnes” her tone accusing but she couldn’t hide the way her lips curled into a smile.

They’d sat in each other’s presence for a while before she stood, finally convinced he’d fallen asleep.

“Baby?” He asked, the words quiet, whistling the air.

“Yeah?”

“When I get you back to Brooklyn, I’m going to marry you so quick”. She could feel tears springing to her eyes at his confession, a confession she hoped would come true.

She leaned forward quickly, capturing his lips by surprise in a passionate kiss. His lips moved sloppier than usual but he kept up with her.

Pulling away gently she looked into his big blue eyes, no other emotion but love swirled through them. She pecked his lips for a final time before speaking.

“Come back to me James”.

“Always”.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

She’d been sitting at her desk when Steve had entered, a solemn look on his face.

“Steve, hey. Everything alright?” She’d asked with a smile. She took notice of the coat and hat in his hands, her heart fell first, it knew before the rest of her did, he didn’t have to speak.

“I’m sorry” Steve choked, setting down the items in his hand and turning to leave.

His hat, his coat but not him.

Not Bucky.

┉┈◈◉◈┈┉

I’m trying to practice writing angst but it’s so harddd.

Why oh why must I want to write sadness when all I can write is smut.

Hope you enjoy.

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #marvel #40s bucky #fluff #angst

[wndaswife]

Please please make a drabble about Taylor Sloane being denied to cum by reader because she's been bratty all day 🥺

「 taylor sloane & gn!reader 」

tags: smut, fluff, fingering, edging, praise, daddy kink, sub!taylor sloane, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

word count: 1848

summary: Taylor snaps at you for trying to get her to feel sorry for how she treated the waiter at the restaurant you ate at together, and instead of letting her cool off, you decide to teach her a quick lesson.

“Yeah, this wasn’t what we ordered,” Taylor bit at the waiter, looking up at him with an unamused expression. 

He turned back to your table and flipped through his notepad. “The… the shrimp fettuccine alfredo?” he read out loud, looking up at Taylor.

“I’m allergic to shrimp,” she said, pushing her plate towards him. “I wouldn’t have ordered that.”

You rested your forehead in your hand then looked out past the open balcony of the restaurant.

“I apologise for the misunderstanding,” the waiter apologised quickly. “Would you like me to take this away for you and come back with something else?”

Dismissively, Taylor replied, “Get the shrimp out of it. I want a new one.”

You heard the waiter take the plate from the table and scurry off.

“Can you believe that?” your girlfriend scoffed with the waiter still in earshot. 

“It was a mistake,” you said, straightening and looking down at your bruschetta.

Taylor adjusted the fork and wine glass on her side of the table as if cleaning up the restaurant’s poor presentation. “After hearing the good reviews of these guys, you’d think they’d at least be someplace that pays attention to their orders,” she complained.

Ignoring her continued whining, you picked up a piece of bruschetta. 

“Can I have a bite?” Taylor asked, leaning forward in her seat and smiling at you. 

You positioned the bruschetta forward in front of her mouth and she stuck her hand underneath it to catch its crumbs before taking a bite. She hummed satisfiedly as she chewed.

“That’s really fucking good,” she said when she swallowed. 

“Gonna post a positive review on your Instagram?”

She answered with a laugh, “No. They still got my order wrong.”

Now feeling irritated by her snarkiness, you said, “Taylor, it was an accident, Jesus. It’s still a perfectly fine restaurant.”

“When you have standing like I do on social media, then you’ll realise how important it is that I recommend actual good restaurants to my followers,” she replied, leaning back in her seat and looking over at the restaurant’s kitchen. 

Taylor had good intentions, truly, she did. That knowledge was what kept your head together when she acted out like she did at the restaurant. Here and there, you’d bring certain situations up again at home or somewhere private, expressing how she’d made you uncomfortable. She was mostly understanding and mostly apologetic. 

But not today.

“I didn’t love how you were behaving at the restaurant earlier,” you told her, setting down the house keys. 

Sometimes it helped to be honest with her. You’d discussed this together before, previously setting boundaries about each other’s comfort and prioritising honesty. 

Taylor scoffed and set her boots off to the side. “Behaving?” she jeered. “What am I, a child?”

“Are you?” you asked, following her into the living room where she sat down on the couch. “Because that’s how you were acting.”

She leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “Sure, okay, Y/N, then let’s just let them get away with having shitty customer service,” she retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes and leaning back onto the couch. 

You sat down beside her and turned on the television. “I don’t know what the big deal is,” you told her.

Taylor sat up on the couch, straightening her back and leaning forward with her arms thrown up in the air. “It’s not a big deal!” she said. “You’re making it a big deal. It’s a fucking restaurant.” She slumped back down onto the couch and crossed her arms petulantly.

For a moment you considered just letting her cool off and find it in her to apologise at some point. She would have to apologise for being a bitch sooner or later, because it truly wasn’t acceptable for her to treat those people the way she did simply because they misheard her order.

You looked over your shoulder to her and she was practically pouting, looking over at the window with her arms still crossed.

Then an idea came to you.

You set the remote down, letting some movie the two of you had been watching before you left for the restaurant play in the background. You moved close to her, placing a hand on her knee.

“Come on, Taylor, you know I don’t like to argue,” you said. “I don’t wanna see you all pouty.”

That made her more upset and she pushed your hand away while protesting, “I’m not pouty!”

“Okay, fine. You’re not pouty,” you gave in. “But I know you’re upset.” You moved closer so you could wrap your arm around her shoulders, bringing her in for a hug.

She looked away from you stubbornly.

You coerced, “Don’t be so childish. Tay, come on.”

“I’m not,” she answered.

“Prove it. Give me a kiss to show you’re not being a brat about it.”

While considering your words for a while, Taylor didn’t respond. Then finally she turned her head back to you and pecked your lips. 

“There,” she bit. “Are you happy n-”

You wrapped your hand around her chin suddenly, keeping her face towards you as you continued to kiss her. With your free hand, you pulled her legs towards you so she was no longer balled up on the side of the couch. You carefully mounted her. 

Her protests were muffled against your lips as she pushed at your shoulders and tried kicking you off. Your lips found her neck and Taylor’s squirming ceased. She pressed her lips together tightly and tried her hardest not to show any indication of pleasure. 

But as you looked up at her from the soft slope between her shoulder and neck, you saw the way her eyes were shut tightly and felt the way her hand began to run up your back encouragingly.

Spoiling her a bit more, you groped her breast through her blouse, pulling the collar of it down slightly to slip your hand down beyond her bra, your fingers brushing against her nipple that hardened at your brief contact.

She shuddered beneath you and finally uttered out a quiet, “Y/N, please, more.”

“You want more, baby?” you asked, kissed her cheek.

Your girlfriend nodded quickly and her arms wrapped themselves around your torso. 

Quick to oblige, your free hand ran down her stomach while you met her soft lips with your own, feeling her moan and exhale against you as you undid her shorts and slipped your hand into her panties. 

Your fingers came into contact with her already-wet cunt and you ran your fingertips through her folds languidly. 

“Oh, my pretty girl, this is all for me now, is it?” you inquired, giving her breast a harsh squeeze. Her body arched from the couch and with her hands flattened against your upper back, she pulled you against her so she could feel you close.

“Mhm,” she answered. “Always for you, Y/N.”

You kissed her lips and took her bottom lip between your teeth, tugging at it teasingly before letting go and pressing your lips to her temple. You drew circles against her opening with the pads of two fingers then after a moment, you slid three digits into her.

Taylor moaned and she buried her face in your neck. 

“That’s my good girl,” you praised and felt her clench around your fingers at hearing your words. 

Your thumb began flicking at her clit as your fingers found a pace to fuck her with. The confines of her jean shorts only allowed you to pull out so much, so you supplemented and thrusted your fingers back in with a certain force you knew she liked.

She began to massage her own breast while you worked on the other, clumsily pulling down her bra and collar of her sundress underneath her tits to allow her to tug at her nipple. 

You parted your fingers inside of her, spreading her soft walls apart. You peppered her neck in kisses, moaning against her skin and letting her hear how much you loved she way she felt, how much you loved fucking her pussy. 

“I’m close, daddy, please,” she pleaded, running her fingernails down your clothed back in desperation.

You lifted your head and released her breast to cup her cheek, making her face you. You kissed her swollen pink lips now removed of her lipstick and spoke against them, “I want to see you come for me, baby.”

Taylor was a wonderful lover in bed, simply because anything she refused to tell you you’d always be able to map out with her body. Oh, and how you loved shaping her with your hands, uncovering her secrets with her body and communicating in a language only the two of you knew.

You felt her as she grew close to her orgasm; she hugged you tighter, her breath hitched and nearly caught in her throat, her walls clenched around your fingers, she lifted her hips up and chased that flicking of your thumb against her clit.

You pulled out of her within a blink of an eye, leaving her to pant and catch her breath, feeling the way her heart beat wildly in her chest and the way sweat dripped down the back of her neck. Finding that it would’ve been cruel to laugh at her confused expression, you repressed your laughter and simply kissed her forehead as you pulled her bra and sundress back up and buttoned her shorts.

She stuttered as she sat up, “N-No, but I-I wasn’t… I didn’t-”

“I know,” you answered simply then pecked her lips. You slid your fingers into your mouth, tasting her juices and sitting back down in your previous spot. 

“Better than the bruschetta, really,” you teased once you licked the last bit of her from your fingers.

But Taylor wasn’t even listening to the joke she certainly would’ve playfully kicked you for. She sat up onto her knees and leaned against you, tugging at your sleeve and arm.

“Please! Please, Y/N!” she begged.

But you just replayed the last fifteen minutes of the movie, seemingly having moved on.

“Please, I apologise, okay?” she supplemented desperately. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch at the restaurant. I’ll… I’ll write them a good review on my Instagram, even. Y/N, please!”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter and you looked over at her, trying to pull your arm away. But she had a pretty tight grip on it. “Taylor, oh my god,” you laughed.

“Please!”

Meeting her eyes, you saw the genuine remorse for her actions somewhere past her crazed libido. Not that you were surprised, because like you’d always known, Taylor did have good intentions despite her habit of being a bit of a brat.

Damn.

She had you wrapped around her finger.

Seriously.

You placed your hands on her hips and lifted her onto your lap, uttering a playfully begrudged, “Fine.”

Taylor cheered and hugged her arms around your neck, kissing your face all over. 

“Oka-ay,” you whined. “Arms up. I gotta take your dress off.”

She obeyed quickly, but not before pecking your lips again.

──────── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ────────

#taylor sloane #taylor sloane smut #taylor sloane x reader #ingrid goes west #ingrid goes west smut #taylor sloane fanfiction #elizabeth olsen

[katsheadinclouds]

Summer nights, you and I

Lucien Flores x f!plus-size!reader

summary: You explore your feelings for your high school sweetheart, who comes to your birthday party.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, bad communication, mention of drinking, no mention of pronouns for reader but body parts are mentioned, reader wears a dress and has hair, smut, car sex in a public place, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it up folks!). No use of y/n. Not beta read. If I forgot something, let me know!

word count: 3.7k

notes: Happy birthday weekend to me! Yesterday, when I saw the new pictures and videos of one mr. Lucien Flores, my brain got fried, and inspiration hit me. I ended up writing this thing in the middle of the night and thought I’d share it now to celebrate me turning 30!  

dividers by saradika-graphics

He watches you mingle in the crowd, eyes following your every move. People talk with him, to him, but the words slip out of his head as soon as he hears them. He watches as you laugh at a joke someone tells you. He watches you listen to someone. He watches the arch of your lips when you answer someone’s question, how your tongue drags over the softness as you wet them before sipping on your drink.

He knows you’re aware of him. He sees it in the way you turn around if you get too close to him. He sees your head twist away after you’ve locked your eyes on him when you think he hasn’t noticed. It’s in the way you pretend to not see him even when you’re facing him, trying to force yourself to stay present in the conversation you’re engaged in.

But every few seconds your eyes drift to watch him past the guest’s face. Your shoulders tense up, you breathe a little deeper, and you try so hard to not let his presence deter you from the deep desire to keep your head straight. You told him that you two can’t keep seeing each other. You told him that repeatedly; every time you came knocking on his door at odd hours of the night, every time you called him to ask if he was free the next weekend, every time you sighed out his name when his mouth was buried between the roundness of your thighs. It was a reflex. A chanting wish to keep yourself from him.

Yet every time you came back, saying the same thing, “we can’t keep seeing each other like this.”

He had looked at you under his brow, ready to indulge you in the orange gloom of the streetlights glowing in through the window. “How do you want to see me then?” He mocked.

He didn’t expect to be pushed on his back, your fingers gently around his throat, your hot palm against his feverish skin, your lips against his ear, “I don’t,” you whispered. Almost like it was an emphasis on your resoluteness, you rose to your knees and guided him into you. Your arousal pooled instantly at the base of his cock when you heard him moaning.  He dug his fingers against your ass and helped you ride him until your thighs were burning. Here you were, trying to meet all your guests in the dusky garden you had rented for your birthday party. “I don’t want you there,” you had said when you gave him the invite.

“Then I won’t come there,” he answered.  You gave him a long look, your fingers pressed against his before you turned on your heels and left his place before the sun rose.

Here you were, avoiding him at your own party, trying to act nonchalant about the man who you wanted in every way but never wanted to admit it even to yourself. You knew how people saw him. How they’d see you if they knew about you two.

You were always the good one, ready to help, never backing out even in the bleakest situations. People trusted you, and you gave all of them a reason to do that. Lucien on the other hand, he is nothing like you.

He has always been the quiet rebel, the one with the free spirit who sometimes disappears without a word to chase his dreams and wants. Untrustworthy, ready to jump when everyone else expected him to stand still. You can’t accept that he has changed, even when he tries to prove it to you.

You knew you couldn’t get attached like you had when you two were teenagers, with heated cheeks and coy smiles. Back then you were shy and your hands always shook when you wanted to touch him. Even if it was just to hold his hand or to push his unruly curls off his eyes.

The kisses back then were timid, full of nerves, when either of you weren’t used to having someone so close yet. The teenage romance ended before it even had a chance to properly start. He left and you stayed. Your tears were never ending, they dried out your soul. The hope for feeling like you had someone you could trust to stand with you, to have someone in your corner, withered away. It was by accident when he saw you again. At a coffee shop on a busy Tuesday morning. He could recognize your voice from a mile away and the smile in your eyes when you thanked the barista for your coffee. And the curve of your lips that you licked with the tip of your tongue before you took a sip.

He didn’t know if he should call out for you or let you go. He did neither. He was on his feet before he had the chance to decide, and stood in your way as you were heading outside with your takeout cup, smiling at something on your phone. You almost crashed into him, barely catching yourself before you spilled your coffee on his chest.

“Excuse me,” the annoyance was palpable, but when you looked up and saw his face, the realization hit you like a train.

“Lucien,” you half whispered with wide eyes in the full coffee shop. He was so close he could smell the mint in your breath from your toothpaste.

“Long time no see,” his mouth found a crooked smile and you gasped out a laugh, not believing that he was standing in front of you, not knowing what to do next. It wasn’t forbidden. The love he feels for you, or the love you feel for him. You’re protecting yourself, he knows that. You don’t want to feel like you’ve lost something when he decides to leave again. You don’t want to find yourself alone again. You don’t want to feel like you’ve been abandoned again.

You were inseparable for a while. He was a lifeline for you when you felt most lonely, without friends and belonging in any group that had formed at school. He was a friend, first and foremost, then your first love.

By the end of it he was nothing when he followed his dad to another state one summer. So, you keep telling him that you can’t meet anymore. That it’s not wise to see each other anymore. That this is the last time, before you come back again and tell him the same things again and again. “Happy birthday,” he finally finds you alone by the drinks table, catching your breath after all the socializing and meaningless conversations with people you’ve collected throughout the years to make yourself a safety net that has holes in it. You had said it yourself, “I don’t belong with these people, I don’t know why I think they’re my friends.”

“Thank you,” your quiet voice trembles when you face him and look at him deep in his eyes.

“I have something —,” he begins, but is cut off by the other people who burst into explosive laughter. The sound is a mix of joyful and horrifying at the same time, too loud yet held back.

“Come,” he takes your hand and pulls you away towards the gates of the garden, getting further from the party and the droning chatter with every step. You hold onto his hand with your fingers twined with his and let him take you anywhere he wants.  

He opens the doors of his car but pulls you to his chest before pushing your back against the side of the ride. Your hands reflexively reach for his shoulders and drag him in. Your hungry mouth is about to repeat your script but gets distracted by his lips and the wet glide of his tongue against yours. “What were you about to say out there?” You groan when he sucks at the soft flesh right under your jaw.

“That I have something for you,” the low murmur of his voice makes shivers run down your spine. Your hands don’t shake anymore when you reach for his kisses, when you reach for his belt and pant against his mouth when the now familiar feeling of his tongue fills your mouth. Smoothly he reaches behind your back and pulls the door open, leading you to the backseat. The pleasant mildness of the night feels scorching in the closed car. The windows are fogged up and your hand is slipping against the glass when he buries himself snuggly into you. Your breath catches in your throat every time he reaches that place deep inside you. He makes you discover the fine line between pleasure and pain with every stroke.

He’s careful with it, making sure you never cross that line to painful but teeter on the brink of it. Who would’ve guessed you’d be getting fucked in Lucien’s car by the end of the night, sweat pouring out of your pores, feeling spread open and the intense pleasure with every stroke of his cock in the tightness of your pussy, electrifying your spine and travelling in waves up and down your back. He licks at the side of your neck, a long stripe from your collarbone up to your jaw. He plants soft kisses along it until he reaches your lips. Slowly he lifts himself up to look at you, hovering over you.

His arms are like a cage on either side of you, your leg trapped against his arm. If you were to straighten it, your toes would tickle the dark lining on the roof of the car. The chains around his neck sway with every thrust, all ending up tickling the centre of your chest. You reach for them and wrap them once around your finger.

“I want you to be rough,” you tell him. He looks at you, the seriousness in your eyes. He’d like to wipe away your fears, your need to push him away while simultaneously pulling him in. He considers it, giving you what you ask for. But it’s only part of the script you’ve written in your head to feel better if he were to leave again.

“No,” he says and leans down, touching his lips feather light against yours. He rocks down and watches you take a deep breath. He feels you pulse around his cock, adjusting to the slow invasion. “I’ll give you rough when you believe when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.” He sees your resolve crumble immediately. You’ve been caught, you both know it. You’ve kept yourself from feeling anything for Lucien while feeling so much for him at the same time, so much so that it has turned overwhelming. Your protection has turned into self-sabotage when he’s the one reaching out while he watches you build even higher walls around yourself.

He moves slow, almost pulling out completely, before pushing back in with a slow roll of his hips, until his pelvis is flush against yours and another breath is drawn out of your lungs. You wrap your hand around the back of his neck, your fingers winding around the curls at the base of it, forcing him to hold his forehead against yours. The chains slip from your hand and hang loose once again. They tap against your chin with every little move he makes.

“I want to hear it,” his voice rumbles and buzzes in your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, while he demands your attention with the push of his hips. The arm that was supporting your leg at the bend of his elbow suddenly secures the sole of your foot against the passenger seat while your ankle presses against the center console.

You open your eyes just as you feel his fingers slip between your legs, his thumb finding your slicked clit without much trouble like he has mapped out how you like to be touched. He gathers even more of your wetness from around his cock and circles the sensitive nerve endings in sweet circles, making your eyes roll back into your head and your back arch off the leather seats.

“Tell me,” he demands softly, bringing you back from losing yourself to the pleasure. He doesn’t stop touching you, only slows down the circles, just like he slows down his thrusts to be a continuous movement, in and out, keeping your pleasure on high alert and your orgasm ever present, but not letting it take you away from him, not just yet.

“What?” You gasp out when he once again reaches deep, tilting his hips up.

“Tell me you believe I’m not going, and I’ll give you rough.” You moan out at the feel of his thumb suddenly losing pressure for it to only move up and down against your clit.

The words are on your tongue, catching the humidity of his breath. You’d want to believe him, you’d love to believe him. But you can’t.

You know this isn’t the first time he’s back in the city. He has come and gone many times, and you’ve only heard about it afterwards, when he’s long gone already. And every time, even when you hadn’t seen him, it had reminded you of how he left when you were still a couple of kids, trying to navigate the world that seemed too big and too small at the same time.

You’d want to tell him you believe him. You’d want to have enough faith in yourself to not break apart when he will eventually leave. You’ve been seeing each other for a couple of months now, but the fear is still there, only growing stronger. You wait for the moment, when he’s just gone.  

You force yourself to look at him in the eye, to see the dark pleading in them. To believe him. He sees the same in yours. To not hurt you. He shoves himself in you and holds the tears in your eyes with heartbreak in his.

He gets it. There’s nothing he can do, or say, to make you change your mind about him. He pushes himself up and runs his large hand down your soft side, his thumb tracing the line of your bra under your breast.

You brace yourself for what he’s about to do when your request from earlier hangs heavily in the humid air between the two of you. His eyes rake down your clothed front, sees the budding bruises of his mouth right by the edges of your bra. Your dress, which he hiked up to your waist, has gathered the few drops of sweat that have dripped down from his face.

Last, his eyes fixate on the gleam of your lips around his length, how he still hasn’t stopped the push and pull of his hips, drawing out more and more of your slick. He thumbs at where you’re joined, earning a groan from you that invites him closer to cumming. It’s your final warning for what’s to come.

The air smells of sex, heady and thick. He grinds his teeth together and breathes deep. His thighs are on fire from kneeling between your legs for so long. Some of the seams on the seats chafe against his legs.

“Just do it,” you cry out. Your voice isn’t only asking for him to take you however he pleases. You’re pleading for him to do what you expect from him. To take what he wants, and to leave.

Without waiting any longer, he digs his fingers into your hip, squeezes the supple roundness of your bottom and slams himself into you, starting a ruthless rhythm. You scream out before you manage to cover your mouth with your hands. You breathe harshly between your fingers while he takes and takes, forcing you to gasp out your moans.

It's too much, his hold, his thumb on your clit, the thickness of him between your legs, in you, his grunts and heavy breaths that intoxicate you. You love to hear his voice when he’s close. It’s the most erotic sound you could ever think of. You record it in your mind, only to repeat to yourself when you know thinking about these moments together won’t cause too much pain.

He does this thing where he reaches deep inside you, presses his whole length against the squishy, most sensitive parts of your flesh, and uses it with abandon. You can’t hold in your moans behind your hands anymore; the sound only turns into whimpering screams.

He doesn’t stop. He’s giving you what you wished. Your birthday wish. He abuses the softness of your pussy repeatedly. He forces your palms off your mouth and wraps his hand around them to push them against the door so you can scream your pleasure into his mouth.

Your blissful climax topples you off your awareness. There’s only Lucien, guiding you through your orgasm with slowing thrusts when you squeeze around him. He gasps into your mouth and licks into it, against your tongue, and lets you ride it out, but he doesn’t stop.

He listens to your whines and makes them the sound that encourage him to cum. With weak arms you fight his hand off yours, and wrap them around him, the other under his silky shirt, the other in his thick, damp curls.

You kiss him with newfound fervor, barely hanging on to your rationality while he makes you forget yourself in the intense pleasure. Pins and needles run up and down your skin, it’s almost painful.

“Let go for me, Lucien, cum for me,” you manage to mumble against his lips. He gives out a ragged moan when the grind of his hips stutters. His whole body trembles. Sweat pours down his temples, down his neck, and his chest glistens in the half light of the hidden parking lot with a blush that has crept up to his cheeks.

He catches his breath against your neck with shuddering exhales, his moans heating your skin. You massage the back of his neck and allow yourself to close your eyes. You imagine what it would be like to let him love you, to let yourself relax without any uncertainty.  You’re still split open by him, and if you could, you wouldn’t mind staying like this for longer.

Lucien opens the door and lets the cooling night air slip into the car. You push yourself up and with shaky fingers try to close the buttons that will hide the hickeys he left on your breasts.

He leans his head back against the headrest. He pushes his hand through his drying curls, leaving them tousled. You try your best to make your hands stop shaking, but they don’t. It almost seems like it’s getting worse.

“Let me,” he whispers, and you’re met with his quietness as he reaches towards you and steadily fastens the small buttons, covering your skin.

“Lean back,” he tells you and you do as he wishes. He gets something off the floor, which you recognize as the lace of your panties. He maneuvers them on you, and up your legs until you have to push your hips up and you replace his hands with yours. He sees the mess between your legs, his cum that is slicking the insides of your thighs.

“Was this what you wanted to give me?” You ask, almost hopeful that he’ll say yes. He looks up as he lifts his own hips to pull his trousers back up the rest of the way, closing the button right under the softness of his belly.

He shakes his head once and accompanies it with a chuckle. His eyes stay the same, rich and admiring, serious and playful at the same time. He buttons up his shirt while you put space between the two of you.

Suddenly, even after all the times you’ve fucked, you’re nervous. You don’t like to feel vulnerable around him, when it only means that you’re putting yourself at risk.

“No,” he finally says and reaches for the center console between the two front seats. Inside is a small box that he hands to you.

“Happy birthday.” It comes out so much deeper than it did before, full of the remains of his lust for you. You take the box and manage to get it open.

“It reminded me of you,” he says when you see a small, dark green gemstone pendant on a thin chain. You swallow against the dryness of your throat and touch it with the tips of your fingers.

“Let me,” he tells you softly and takes the box from you. You turn your back to him and close your eyes to fight the tears that are threatening to spill onto your cheeks.

The chain feels cool at first, but then burning hot when he closes the lock behind your neck and traces the metal against your skin. You turn back towards him and look at the gem between your fingers. Even in this faint light you can discover vivid red flakes on the surface.

“Thank you,” you reach for him and close him inside your arms. He buries his face against your neck and kisses it, the chain pressing between his lips and your skin.

“Want to go back?” He asks and with a trembling sigh you separate from him. You let him pull you out of the car and to your feet.

He straightens your clothes. The dress you chose to wear just because you knew he’d like it on you and which you hoped he’d take off you. He brushes his thumbs under your eyes and over your forehead and combs his fingers through your hair to make you look at least somewhat like you weren’t just fucked in someone’s car. The fresh air clears your head. It cools the deep burning in your chest and the dripping cum in your panties. It lets you close your heart from him again.

“Yes,” you say and lead him back towards the party, while you’d want to turn around, get back into his car and ask him to drive you away from here. He could take you anywhere, and you wouldn’t say no.

#lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x f!reader #lucien flores x female reader #lucien flores x you #lucien flores x f!plus-size!reader #lucien flores x plus-size!reader #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fic #lucien flores fanfic #lucien flores fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #katsheadincloudswrites #summer nights you and I

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | damned if i do ya (damned if i don't)

a/n: oooohhhh i love them bad. the slow burn is slow burning a little bit. btw the song is daylight by 5sos!

series masterlist | previous | next

v. damned if i do ya (damned if i don't) by all time low

all the progress luke thought he was making with you was thrown out the window after the concert. at first, he was glad to have some distance between you guys. he was dealing with sorting out what he felt for you. it was stupid, really, how he realized that you reminded him a lot of his childhood nickelodeon crush, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it was more than that. 

sure, you were a fucking headache sometimes, but he liked it. he liked you. he liked how you always tore him a new one, made him feel normal, like he wasn’t luke castellan – lead singer of poisoned mercury, he was just luke when he was with you. you asked him about his music, his life, but knew when to stop right before the conversation got too heavy because you understood him. you knew how he felt even when he didn’t say it. 

maybe he’d just been around his bandmates too much, teenage boys with emotional iqs of a thumbtack, but you took one look at him and he knew that you understood what he was feeling. as great of a writer he was when it came to music, he was never good with expressing how he felt. 

but now, it’s been weeks since you last talked to him, like really talked to him. whenever he’d see you in your smoke spot, he’d try to start a conversation, but you’d stuff your vape in your pocket and walk away before he could even say hi. you stopped going to the gym in the morning, often coming into the cabin after your workout during random times of the day, no longer following a set schedule. you rarely hung out with the boys, opting to retire into your room earlier than usual. you still joined clarisse during her counselor duties, but she stopped letting the boys tag along when luke was available as much as she used to. she’d offer an apologetic smile to luke and slip out an excuse why he couldn’t join for music lessons. 

luke was tired of it. he didn’t know what went wrong, what he did wrong, to make you act so cold towards him. even when you didn’t know him yet, you were never like this. you always had a snide remark ready for him, but now, he was met with silence. 

on the bright side, he at least had inspiration to write new songs. 

he wandered into the cabin, thinking that it would be empty. clarisse was being held hostage at arts and crafts again. (she complained the whole morning about it until chris offered to join her so she wouldn’t be the only one covered in glitter this time.) the stolls were in the studio recording the instrumentals for the song luke showed them a few days ago. they’d asked him who the song was about, though he had a feeling they already knew. he wasn’t really trying to be secretive with the words. and you, luke could only wonder where you were. 

he stopped in his tracks at the sound of mr. d’s voice in your room. your bedroom door was wide open and luke feared that you’d see him so he hid around the corner, back pressed against the wall. 

“this is serious, kid,” mr. d yelled. “your teammate is pressing charges so i need the full story! i don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. this can go on your record permanently.” 

“so let it!” you screamed back. luke heard you pacing around your room, heavy steps against the cabin floors. “i don’t care.” 

“i care! i’ve been pretty goddamn lenient when it comes to you, y/n, but this?” mr. d countered, veins on his neck bulging out as he raised his voice. luke had never seen him like this, “this is fucking serious. you need to tell me exactly what happened.” 

“she was talking about you, okay?” you sobbed. you sat on your bed, hands buried in your open palms. “she said something about your addiction. i don’t fucking know how she found out, but she said something and i just lost it, dad. she was talking out her ass and i just needed her to shut up because she didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about.” 

mr. d’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek. he gulped, not saying a word. your dad looked at the decorated wall of your bedroom, polaroids of you and your friends, your framed high school field hockey jersey, and the concert ticket from the first show he ever took you to. he looked down at the pink rug on your floor, unable to say anything. 

you looked up at him, eyes brimmed with tears, “there, i told you. happy now?” 

it wasn’t long before mr. d stormed out of the cabin. luke flinched as the door slammed shut behind him. he heard you sobbing in your bedroom and he contemplated approaching you. you were already mad at him, for a reason that he still didn’t know, so what the hell? 

with a deep breath, luke emerged from the corner and walked towards your door. his knuckles softly knocked on the open door. you looked up at the noise, rubbing your eyes with your forearm. you chewed on your bottom lip, “not in the mood to argue, castellan.” 

“not here to argue,” he stood under your door frame, leaning against the side. “i’m here to see if you’re okay.” 

you had this habit of running away from things when you knew it had the power to hurt you. it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, but your fight or flight response was triggered every time you started catching feelings for someone. it didn’t happen often, you developing actual feelings for people. you developed crushes, sure, but not feelings. 

you didn’t get googly-eyed and love-dumb with guys. you knew better– growing up with a dad who could quite literally transform people’s lives with a snap of his finger made you hyperaware of people’s intentions with you. but sometimes, you get blinded by the guy who sweeps you off your feet and you forget about it all. 

after the concert, you couldn’t stop thinking about luke. you already knew what kind of person he actually was, kind, caring, talented, all of the above, but there was still a nagging voice in your head telling you: “what if this is all an act?” “what if this is his move? pretending to be a different guy from the tabloids just to get you to fall for him then break your heart like everyone else did?” so you fled. you ran away from luke. 

clarisse caught onto you avoiding luke fairly quickly. she no longer saw you two walking into the cabin together in the early mornings when she was getting ready for the day. you started declining invitations to hang out at the activities center, stopped having time to help her with music lessons when the band was tagging along, and started hanging out with her in your room instead of the common space. 

she asked you about it after a week of the same thing. you told her you just weren’t in the mood, lacked energy. you said a million excuses but she could see right through you. you and the lead singer weren’t really subtle with your longing glances. 

you crossed your legs under you, pulling the blanket up to cover your legs. you moved over on your bed, tilting your head to let him inside. luke took his shoes off and closed the door behind him, sock-clad feet tapping against the wooden floors. he sat on the edge of your bed, playing with the stray thread on your blanket. 

“you ever feel like your parents wish they had a different kid?” you whispered, “maybe a kid that wasn’t so difficult?” 

“all the time,” luke replied, “every time my name is in the tabloids, i swear it takes years off my mom’s life.” 

you laughed, sniffling, “you need to take it easy on your mom. she’s too good for this world.” 

“that she is,” he leaned back on his elbows, resting his head on his shoulder. he tapped your leg under the blanket, “you know your dad loves you, right?”

“yeah,” you sighed, looking at luke. your makeup was smudged under your eyes and it took all his power not to lean over to wipe it away. you hunched your shoulders over when you spoke again, “just feels like sometimes i’m too much for him and i don’t know how to stop doing that.” 

“i don’t think you should.” 

it was the truth. you dealt in extremes. you were intense but it was only because you were passionate about things. he’d seen you practicing for hours, staying up late to help the younger kids with their projects even if it wasn’t your job, bossing people around to make sure that the camp activities were perfect. when you put your mind to something, luke knew there was no stopping you. 

“so i’m guessing you heard that whole thing with my dad?” 

“yeah,” luke rubbed the back of his neck. he looked at you, feeling caught that he’d been listening in on your private conversation. “i didn’t know anyone was in here when i walked in.” 

“it’s fine,” you shrugged, “pretty sure the whole camp heard my dad yelling anyways.” 

he laughed, “probably. i’d never seen him like that before. he’s usually so chill. it kinda caught me off guard.” 

“me too.” 

“it’s not as bad as when my mom yells at me though,” luke offered, trying to lighten the mood. he grinned when he saw your eyes brighten. you never did pass up the opportunity to have luke embarrass himself. if he could stop you from crying, he would lay out all his embarrassing stories in front of you for your listening pleasure. “the time she found out that me and trav got banned from wichita, like the whole city, she got so mad that the hotel we were staying at kicked us out because there were so many noise complaints. had to sleep on the bus. my back was killing me the entire time we were playing a show the next day.” 

“what the fuck did you guys do that warranted a ban from the whole city?” 

luke’s cheeks turned pink, “we mooned a cop car.” 

you bursted into uncontrollable laughter, falling back on your pillows. luke watched you, laughing along at your reaction. you were crying again, but it was a good cry this time. luke thought you looked pretty like this; cheeks red, eyes shut as you tried to regain your composure, and smiling, all teeth and lips. he hadn’t seen it in a while and he wanted to take a picture of you right now just so he could always remember how you looked at this moment. he wasn’t sure if he could survive another few weeks without seeing it again.

luke nudged you as your laughter died down, “if shit goes down with your teammate, there will be three of us with a permanent record in this cabin.”

you smiled at him, sadly, voice returning to the hushed tone you used earlier, “you think my dad could forgive me for this?” 

“don’t think anyone could hold a grudge against you even if they tried, five star,” luke placed a hand on your thigh covered by the blanket. he relished in the feeling of the hand you placed over his own. it felt intimate. “what does your mom think about all of this?” 

“i dunno,” you played with the rings on his hand, twisting the silver metals on his fingers, “i haven’t talked to her about it yet. been avoiding her calls.” 

“well, happy to know that i wasn’t the only one getting the silent treatment,” he teased, no bite to his voice. “shit, five star, even with your punishments, you still manage to not make me feel special.” 

you squeezed his hand, a giggle escaping your lips, “shut up.” 

luke looked at you, “you should probably talk to her soon.” 

“i will,” you nodded, meeting his gaze, “soon.” 

the two of you stayed there in silence, you playing with his rings and the bracelets on his arm. you were so enamored by the silver jewelry on his hand, twirling his rings to read each engraving, looking at each design, humming in appreciation. you looked at the camp half blood bracelet on his wrist, recognizing the beads on the string. 

“i can’t believe you got a camp bracelet before i did this summer,” you huffed, admiring the beads. “i’ve been here longer than you and nobody made me one yet.” 

“a little girl made it for me,” luke said, smiling at the memory. “i helped her with her with the production of the song for her summer project and she made it for me.” 

“i didn’t know you also produced music.” luke castellan continued to surprise you. 

“not well,” he replied. “just the basics, but i like to think i helped her out. annabeth— you know her? the kid with perfect pitch. fucking brilliant. smarter than i was at her age.”

“i love beth. i’m pretty sure she’s the smartest 12-year-old to ever exist,” your eyes twinkled, moving your index finger to his own, “what’s the story with this one?”

luke looked down at the ring you were touching. it was the silver ring he bought for himself using his first paycheck from their album sales. it cost him a pretty penny, but it was worth it. the font was tiny, but he memorized the words. 

“aγάπη χωρίς πείσματα δεν έχει νοστιμάδα,” luke said, no doubt butchering the pronunciation. “it’s greek. my mom used to read greek proverbs to me as a child. i think she hoped i’d become the next great philosopher, but instead i became a musician. this phrase stuck with me.”

“what does it mean?”

“love without a bit of stubbornness isn’t tasteful,” he whispered, “it’s a little reminder to myself that even though i can be difficult as shit sometimes, i’m worth it.”

luke cleared his throat, “had a tough time when we first got big. i’m sure you’ve heard of some stories. there was a time when me and my mom didn’t talk much. i thought i knew what was best and i pushed her away. i was so stubborn, five star.” 

“my dad left when i was a kid and for second, i thought i would lose my mom too,” he shook his head, the bitter taste of regret in his mouth as he recalled those memories. “im glad i didn’t. this ring reminds me that no matter how stubborn i am, i still deserve love, y’know? maybe it’s stupid, but sometimes i doubt it. mom always told me that love isn’t supposed to be easy, but it’s supposed to always be worth it– worth all the trouble, the stubbornness, the hurt, so this little phrase keeps me grounded in a weird way.”

“worth it to an extent,” you said. there was something hidden in your words like you were somehow asking him if you fell within the extent of it being worth it. it was in the look in your eye, doubt and worry that maybe you pushed it too far this time and you were no longer worth the fight. 

“extent is subjective. i know my mom thinks i’m worth it. i know that no matter how much me and the stolls get into fights, our friendship is worth it. i know that even though me and chris grew up to be different people, our bond is worth it,” luke leaned in closer as if he was going to tell you a secret, something that stays between you and him, only allowed to be spoken within the walls of your room. “and you, five star–” 

he couldn’t finish his sentence. his words got caught in his throat. he was afraid that if he kept talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop. he didn’t know if there was a universe out there where fighting for you wouldn’t be worth it. had you been thinking about him all this time you’d been apart? have your thoughts been plagued by the idea of him? all he could think of was you. all his songs were about you. it seemed like everything had been about you since he met you. 

is it too much too soon to even say things like that? luke didn’t know where you stood, if you even felt the same way about him as he did about you. how evil must the world be to have you exist in his orbit but not allow him to fight for you? 

the corner of your lips lifted a tiny bit and luke knew he didn’t need to say anything else. you understood. 

luke wanted to stop you when you removed your hand from his, but he didn’t want to test his luck. you dug through the drawer by your bed, pulling out the familiar vape, “i could really go for a smoke right now but this stupid thing died.” 

an idea popped into luke’s mind. he got up, motioning for you to do the same. you stayed seated on your bed, eyebrow raised in concern. 

“come on,” luke sighed, playfully rolling his eyes when you still refused to get up. he held out his hand, looking down at you. “you trust me?” 

you glanced at him then at his hand, deciding. it felt like a loaded question, like he was asking about something more than if you’d go with him to whatever adventure he had planned for the both of you. his heart hammered in his chest as he waited for your answer. you didn’t say anything to his question, unsure if you could rationalize your decision, but when you laced your fingers with his, luke didn’t let go of your hand until you were both out of the campgrounds.

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke pjo #luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fic #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic #pjo fanfic

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 14 - Naughty

(Ao3 Link) (Masterlist Link)

Morpheus had been acting… strange. As of late. Hob almost wondered if he was coming down with something. They have been out in the cold more often lately. And it did all seem to start after they’d gotten their Christmas tree. But whenever Hob would ask him, he said he was fine. No fever (he’d made Morpheus take his temp, just to be sure), no chills, no nothing. So whatever was going on with him, it wasn’t because he was ill.

It did make Hob wonder, though, what was causing his friend to act so strange. He wondered if it was something he had done because for the past two weeks, it’s like he’s been avoiding him. Hob would plop down on the couch next to Morpheus, getting ready for their Friday movie nights, like they had for the past two months. Then, Morpheus would get up, either grabbing a drink or a snack, but rather than sitting back down where he had, he’d go sit in one of the armchairs instead.

It hurt. And it wasn’t just movie nights either. He sat across from Hob for meals, rather than beside him. Or he’d go eat in his room. Whenever he’d reach out to give his friend a hug, Morpheus would duck out or shy away. He used to always accept them.

Had he felt obligated, before? Did he finally realize that he would always be welcome here and no longer had to try and please him by being close to him? Not that Hob ever wanted him to feel that way, regardless. Wherever he was, Morpheus would always be welcome, in whatever capacity he wished. Now Hob just worries his friend felt… forced. It made his stomach twist.

Morpheus is in his room. Hob knocks, gently rapping his knuckles against the wood. There’s shuffling behind the door before it’s opened. Morpheus looks flushed again. Maybe this is just his body in the winter?

“Hey,” Hob greets, stepping back away from the threshold. He didn’t want Morpheus to feel uncomfortable again. “Mind if we talk for a sec?” The flush in his friend’s cheeks all but vanished. He nods, stiffly, and walks back into his room, sitting on the edge of his bed. Hob takes a breath and follows in.

Morpheus sits, his hands holding tightly onto his knees. Christ, he looks like he’s a second away from bolting. It stabs Hob right through the heart. He had done this. The worst part is he doesn’t know what exactly he’s done. Hob knows he’s carried a torch for his friend for the longest of times, and that flame only grew when he became human, but he’d thought he’d done a good job at keeping the line between friend and crush separate.

Apparently not.

He hesitates, debating if he ought to take a seat or remain standing. He’s not sure what was better. He decides, in the end, to sit, but at the very bottom end of the bed.

“Listen… I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really, really am.” He sighs and rests his forearms on his knees. “I didn’t mean to make this awkward or, or make you feel uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I’d ever want. So, whatever it is I’ve done, tell me. Please. So I can try and fix it. I’ll swear I’ll never do it again.”

He feels Morpheus’s gaze on him. He’s silent for a while.

“You... are apologizing.”

“Yeah,” Hob says, turning to his friend, his face pulled tight in regret. “Sorry it took so long. Didn’t realize till today.”

“I do not understand.”

“Why am I apologizing?”

“Yes.”

Hob blinks, suddenly wondering if he’s drastically misread the situation.

“I… You’d been dodging me. Thought I did something to make you not feel safe around me.”

Morpheus laughs and the weight on Hob’s shoulders begins to fade. Not completely, but some.

“It is not you who ought to be apologizing, but I.” Morpheus closes his eyes and sighs, his shoulders falling in the way Hob has learned to recognize means Morpheus thinks he’s going to say something that has dire consequences. “I have, as of late, been thinking of you as the object of my desires, especially those of a carnal nature. I had verified that it was not due to my siblings interference, and so I have accepted that it is just… me. And my doings. And so I apologize, Hob Gadling. You are my dearest friend and deserve better.”

It takes Hob a good few minutes to process everything he just said. But then it hits him like a truck.

“Are…” He pauses, squinting at Morpheus, because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to recover if he also misunderstood what he just said. “Are you saying that you… fantasized… about me?”

His friend flushes and nods, not looking at Hob, but rather the wall across the bed. And here Hob thought he’d been too forward, somehow. Turns out he needed to be the opposite.

“How long has that been going on?”

“For a fortnight hence.”

“Two weeks.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been jacking it to me for two weeks?”

Morpheus’s face scrunches at the verbiage and Hob smiles.

“Yes. Since you seem so keen to mock me with such crude terms.” Hob scoots closer, feeling emboldened by the confession.

“Yeah? Would it please you to know you’ve been the subject of my fantasies for the past, oh, four hundred some years?”

He can feel the wind from how quickly Morpheus whips his head to face him. His beautiful blue eyes are wide and dart across his face.

“Truly?”

“Yup.” Hob says, popping the ‘P’. “So really, what I’m hearing is, I should be apologizing for not noticing and taking care of you earlier?”

Morpheus’s eyes darken. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips and Hob can’t help but follow the motion.

“Perhaps,” he muses, leaning forward into Hob’s space. “And how might you pay for your actions?”

Hob chuckles and leans in as well. Their lips are just centimeters apart. He can feel Morpheus’s hot breath on his skin and he shutters.

“I can think of a few things.” He slides down, off the bed, and onto his knees. He shuffles so he’s positioned right in between Morpheus’s legs. His friend turns his feet in, closing Hob in with a smile. Then Hob has a thought.

“Wait,” he says, resting his hands on Morpheus’s knees. “Two weeks ago. Is that why you were acting so weird in the car ride home?”

Morpheus looks to the side, raising his chin in a defiant manner. “Perhaps.”

“Okay,” Hob laughs, shaking his head fondly. “I have to know, though, what was it about buying pre-cut trees in the Tesco parking lot that really did it for you?”

Morpheus sighs and looks down at Hob from the corner of his eye. “It was not the trees, Hob Gadling.” He chides, still somehow managing to sound regal, despite their situation. “It was the show of strength and prowess at your ability to provide.” He clears his throat. “Also, you looked quite fine from my angle whilst you were securing the tree in place.”

“It’s cause those jeans made my arse look good, wasn’t it.”

“Perhaps.”

Hob hums and climbs up out of his kneeling position. He slots his arms between Morpheus’s arms and his body, trapping him between the bed.

“Well, those jeans are in the wash, unfortunately, but I can show off that strength of mine again for you.” Hob winks before he hauls Morpheus’s body up and over his shoulder. His hips dig into Hob’s shoulder, his legs dangle in front. Hob places one hand on the backs of his knees to keep him steady and gives him a firm spank on the arse. Morpheus squeals.

“Hob Gadling,” Morpheus growls without any heat behind it.

“Yes dear?” He replies in a sing-song tune.

“If you do not carry me to your bed and fuck me proper, I will not forgive you for this.” Well, if he had to worry about not being hard enough (he didn’t), that command did the trick.

“Your wish is my command.”

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #december writing list #kydrogen's december drabbles 2023

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Blue Moon

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (movies) Ship/Pairing: Eomer x Reader (one mention of reader wearing a dress) Trope: Noble x Humble worker Note: IT’S SOTWK’s FAULT. We talked about Eomer’s hands and here we are. The title « Blue Moon » is a reference to the song « Blue Moon », my favourite rendition being sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Warnings: Horses? Word count: 1 595 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

There was something hypnotising about his hands.

The way his palm moved along the planes of the horse’s back. They were delicate. Deliberate in their care for the animal. Several times today, you had caught your gaze lingering a little too long on his slender fingers and their dexterity. Several times you had wondered what they’d feel like against your skin, in your hair weaving braids during a quiet evening. Those were fairy tales. You did not dwell on them, even when it kept you up at night; heat clinging to your skin, the chilly wind doing nothing to help your wandering mind.

It seemed to appease his uneasy nature to come here. He would go in the early hours of the day, only to come back in the middle of the morning. To the outside world, he was a leader. Someone they could trust and follow into depths unknown. Here, he was only Eomer. You considered yourself lucky to have witnessed both.

Others were concerned by his willingness to spend so much more time with you instead of them. You had dismissed them easily enough, but the thought had lingered. Why was he only asking you to help him? A bucket, water, hay, a brush for the horse’s mane. You were not willing to fathom an answer, especially if it was the wrong one. Seeing him like this it made you happy enough. You were content with this, whatever this was.

From time to time, he would ask about your day and you would always answer the same things. Fine and good. Excellent, perfect or grand. Never would you have said what you wanted to say. That it was him who made those days fine, and good and excellent and perfect and grand. Until meeting him, working with horses had been your life’s dream, and you were fulfilled by it. When he was there, you weren’t so sure anymore. It felt as if all of him was completing what you had and did not know you were missing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Barely above a whisper, his question lingered in the air between the two of you, almost as if he had not meant to ask it aloud. He was still working his fingers through the hair, looking beyond the horse’s back, away from you. If he had looked at you, you could have traced a lingering hint of a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

A chilly breeze rose, and you had to tighten the cloth around your shoulder, crossing your arms close to your chest.

“Nothing important, Sire.”

A laugh echoed through the wooden box around you.

“Then why are you boring a hole in my skull with your staring?”

Your cheek felt warmer than they had been moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire. If you need me to go, I… — No. Stay.”

Eomer had not meant for his voice to grow this loud. Nor to turn around so abruptly. The nerves in him, electrified by your eyes, led him to act so.

It had grown almost suddenly, this affection he had for you. First, you were something to behold. Once he discovered your face, your features, the way you moved and talked, he only ever wanted you to be near him when the mask fell off. When he could be himself and not who he was supposed to be. Second, you never pressured him into talking, going silent for hours on end, just being there with him and Lia. She was not his usual horse. He preferred not to overexert Firefoot, especially after the events he had seen on the battlefields. You were the one to care for her when he could not, even before he started mounting her. The mare had a gentler temper, dark robe and larger body. She adored you and if instincts served him right, animals were always the true tellers of someone’s nature. Thirdly, and lastly, your presence calmed him like no one else could. Except when you were threatening to leave. Or when you were looking at him, behind his back. He never wanted you to stop looking at him like that. When your eyes were observing and kind on him, his weary body and his weary mind, he felt that he could take on another thousand wars just to find you here again, safe and sound, watching him. He only hoped you could say the same about him.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The goosebumps on your arms and the way you protected yourself from the cold struck him then. With the winds of winter approaching, the weather had gone incredibly cold, and you were only wearing a thin linen above your usual dress and robes. He stepped out of the box, coming closer to you as he’d ever been. He grabbed for a cover lying around. Those were used for the horses but they’d have to do. He wrapped it around you, as tight as he could. It smelled of the stables and hay. A hint of pink shattered across his cheekbones in the morning lights. Your breaths were leaving your lips in hot clouds between you. The way he settled his palms on your shoulders, securing the cloth around you, drove a whole different kind of shiver down your spine. You could feel his fingers over the fabric, his overexerted hands catching some threads, before he took them off you, gently. You could not help the sharp inhale you took when he did.

“Would not want you freezing to death on my account.”

His smile did not reach his eyes, but you felt the warmth it procured you down to your toes. At a loss for words, you smiled in return, trying to hide your face. Your arms were still secured against your chest but your heart was not as protected as you had hoped it would be.

In a thoughtless step, Eomer leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek. He could feel the burn of them under his skin. The way you looked up at him, bewildered and hopeful, brows knitted together in confusion, only made his mouth ache for more. Still, he would not do it unless you said so. He had already overstepped and behaved un-gallantly enough. Hence his surprise when he found your hands gripping at his lapel, obviously not willing to let him go. A soft curve graced his mouth, a pleasant feeling growing in him.

“Can I…?”

Your vigorous nodding let him know exactly what he wanted. Only then did he pull you closer, his hands drawing you in, the warmth you felt from his lips and the tenderness with which his fingers nestled against your jaw below your ears, enough to make you forget about the world around. Delicately, his mouth danced with yours, eager to please and swift to do so. Soon, his wide hand drew you in, pulling you at the waist. Your fingers met his heart through cloth and flesh and bones, beating in a rhythm only known to you both.

“I…”

You bit your lip while you could see him observing you through hooded eyes, his fingertips sending shivers down your arms. He was tracing the hollow of your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you breathless once more. He looked as if he had seen the most marvellous creature in the entire world. You could not believe it was you on the other end of that fantasy.

“I… do not know what to say… I… — Then you don’t need to say anything.”

His fingers found their way down the length of your throat. He looked positively charmed, yet you pulled back, hesitant. What if this had been… just a fling? Just something he could do, just because he wanted to. No other reason. No feelings involved. What if he was playing with you?

“I will. — What?”

He chuckled at your incredulous expression.

“I will say something. — Oh.”

He brought you back to him again, kissing your cheek.

“I…” He kissed your nose. “…will never…” your other cheek. “…ever…” Your fingertips now. “…let you…” This was getting on your nerves and he knew it, smirking behind your hand. “…be seen by anyone else but me, in this state.”

The last words murmured against your cheek, to the shell of your ear, elicited a burning anticipation deep in your bones.

“My King, I would never ever let anyone but me see you in this state. — I don’t think anyone had ever really seen me before you.”

His candid answer surprised you. In a tender caress, he stroked your back through the fabrics of your clothes, not thick enough to keep his touch at bay. A thumb ventured below your breast, too close to be accidental. You inhaled sharply.

“And I will never let anyone else see me like this. If you’ll have me, of course.”

His declaration hit your heart at an arrow’s speed.

“You really mean that? I’m not just a… — You’re not just anything. You are the world and beyond. You are everything. I hope to be everything to…”

Before he could finish, you pulled him down for another kiss. This one arousing and passionate; desires trapped, finally meeting in the middle.

“I will. I absolutely will.”

A heartbeat passed in his arms, trying to keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were asking me to… — … court and eventually marry you? Yes. And you said yes, you cannot take it back now.”

Your laughter rang through him as it rang through the stables, enlightening the new day ahead.

#eomer xf!reader #eomer imagine #eomer x reader #lotr imagine #one-shot #lotr fic #it's sotwk's fault #fluff