happy holidays!!! could you maybe write first disciple wwx or siat drarry??? love your work!!!
a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6
Nie Huaisang has known since he was twelve years old that Wei Wuxian was either going to end up married to Jiang Yanli, made of the first disciple of Lotus Pier, or thrown out of the clan.
There's nothing else to be done with him, after all, when at twelve years old he's sparing against senior disciples, disciples that are older and stronger and with infinitely more experience and skill. Disciples that are losing to an twelve year old boy.
Da-ge lets him visit Lotus Pier because he and Jiang Fengmian have an understanding that the Jiang and Nie are reasonable, sensible people and the other clans are insane, which Nie Huaisang thinks is a bit of wishful thinking, but he's not going to complain about getting to hang out with kids his own age who aren't intimidated by his brother.
"Has he always been like this?" he asks Jiang Yanli, who sits next to him with her skirts nearly arranged and hands steady as she pores them tea and arranges their cakes just so. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian keep trying to dunk him in the lake. Hanging out with Jiang Yanli is much nicer.
She'll push him into the lake too, but she'll at least help him out after.
"Since I've known him," she says, and there's worry in her eyes along with the fondness.
It's a relief to all of them when Wei Wuxian is named the first disciple two years later.
Although. If the Jiang had kicked him out, Nie Huaisang would have stolen him for their own instantly.
a few changes
Hey y’all, the first semester at my university is going well so far, but I am a little bit busier than I’m used to. In light of this, I’m deciding to close prompts on my blog. This is the first time since I’ve started on here that I’ve closed prompts, but I think it’s in everyone’s best interest. This will allow me to (slowly) work through the dozens and dozens of unfilled prompts that I have sitting around, as well as work on a few things of my own. In the meantime, I will be trying to empty my inbox with the headcanon and drabble prompts that I have, as well as working on some wips that I have started. I will also probably reblog another sentence starter sometime soon, and will be accepting prompts for that.
But not to worry! If you’re dying for a specific fic written by me, I am now accepting commissions on my ko-fi account here. There’s various options for a fic with cheaper prices depending on what you choose. If there’s a prompt in my prompt tag here on tumblr, you can commission me to bump that up to the top of the list of things I’m working on for only $10. A regular fic commission is $15, but you can always spice things up with a few extra dollars! For example, you can make a fic nsfw, make it a longer fic, or even have me include an original song in the fic written by me, like the ones I wrote for my fic Dandelions Don’t Die, and even get a fic for fandoms that I don’t write for anymore like Hamilton, Be More Chill, Supernatural and more.
Of course you don’t have to commission me, but if you have a few spare dollars to toss my way I’d greatly appreciate it! I’ve been contemplating making a ko-fi for a few months, and I’m glad I finally did. I hope that I get some commissions, because I’d like to put more content out here in a more timely manner. I will try to have commissions done within two and a half weeks, which is a lot faster than the months that I can go without posting a fic.
I also would not be opposed to fulfilling audio prompts/teases.
To the anon who sent the ask about a sequel to the Youtuber ficlet, I closed prompts at the weekend. Sorry. I had to get back to other projects. But I'll keep the prompt in my ask box for future reference! Thanks for the request. I'm glad you enjoyed the fic so much. That one took off more than I anticipated...
There are still two ficlets left from before I closed prompts, one is pretty much finished, just needs some editing because I detoured in the middle of it. The other I'm about to start. So those should be up in the next few days. Thanks everyone.
hey all! closing prompts for a bit while i finish up the sentence prompts from the list in my pinned post. if you've sent one in, i've got it and i'll have it out soon!!
(for real, the prompts i have left to write have me SO excited, there's a real variety and i'm hype as hell. thanks for sending in such great prompts!!)
Rojascorp - Lena is kidnapped
“Are you scared?”
Andrea whispers into the dark, not even certain whether Lena is awake to hear. The room is dark-- no lights, no windows. All she has is Lena’s hair in her fingers as she strokes the strands with gentle care.
Lena shifts under her hands. “No,” comes the soft, blurry response.
Lena’s hand lifts, pressing against Andrea’s hip. “We’re together.”
She says it so simply that tears burn against Andrea’s eyelids. She sniffles in the darkness.
When Andrea invited Lena to stay with her in Madrid over spring break, she imagined their two weeks would be filled with sunlight and beaches and shopping, with the dreary walls of their boarding school far out of sight. But on their second day in the city, when rough hands grabbed them in the open-air market, Andrea had frozen.
Lena had fought back, slamming her book bag into the face of one and elbowing another in the groin behind tearing off with Andrea in tow. All it did was make them angry when they reached again and hauled them both into a black paneled van.
“Puta!” One cursed before slamming the butt of his gun into Lena’s temple. The last sight Andrea had seen was her best friend falling limp before a hood had been pulled over her head.
The hood had stayed on until they were locked in this room, devoid of light and furniture. They had a single mattress to share: Lena used it now, fading in and out of consciousness.
The blood on her brow has long since dried, but Andrea worries of internal damage, when some of Lena’s words slur, and their hushed conversations drop off suddenly. But Lena keeps breathing, and for that Andrea thanks god.
“You should have run,” Andrea whispers. “You could have gotten away.”
She remembers the moment their fingers had almost slipped apart, when she had stumbled. Lena could have kept going, but instead she had stopped, reaching back to solidify her grip on Andrea’s hand.
The vacation had been a last minute idea, proposed late enough that Andrea’s father was so excited to see her he’d agree to anything. An abduction like this must have been months in the planning-- they’d been after her alone, not Lena.
But Lena’s cheeks swell into a smile, her face turning to press against the back of Andrea’s hand. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Andrea hiccups a sob, knowing comes next. “You jump, I jump, remember?”
No one enters the room, not even to deliver food. Andrea finds a gallon of water and a box of protein bars in one corner, and quickly calculates they have enough for three weeks if they ration it. There’s also an empty bucket, which she refuses to think about.
There’s no way to know how long they’ve been there. It feels like months-- Andrea’s skin is sticky with sweat, and her hair is heavy with unwash. The darkness is maddening. She clings to Lena’s hand.
“It’ll be okay,” Lena whispers. “They’ll pay.”
It sounds so simple, but it doesn’t feel like it. Not with the oppressive dark pressing in on them, tightening Andrea’s chest. But it’s enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, they won’t die here.
Andrea wakes to the sound of a sharp, short boom that snaps against her eardrums. But when she opens her eyes, the darkness is still there, filling her eyes and her lungs with its inky black. She wonders if she imagined the sound. It won’t be the first time she’s imagined something that isn’t there.
Lena doesn’t answer, but the sound of a gunshot does, followed swiftly by another, and another. Andrea screams when the door explodes inwards, sending bits of metal flying. She curls over Lena, shielding them both from the sharp voices and bright flashlights that lance across the room. It’s long moments before the shouting resolves into words she recognizes.
“Yes,” she rasps, squinting up at the hulking shadows surrounding them. “Si.”
The flashlights lower, and Andrea realizes then that they’re affixed to guns. The silhouette who’d spoken crouches down, shining his flashlight against his chest. Andrea almost sobs. A badge.
“We’re here to help.”
Andrea refuses to leave the hospital. They roll her out in a wheelchair and the moment she’s on her feet she strides right back in, her father at her side. Lena’s family hasn’t arrived yet, and so there’s no one to kick her out when she plops herself in the chair at Lena’s bedside. Her best friend looks so small in the sterile bed, her head bandaged and a nasal canula under her nose. Andrea’s dread was confirmed: a skull fracture had slowly bled against Lena’s brain, leeching the life from her. The doctors promise she’ll be fine, that they caught it in time. She’ll be all right.
Andrea won’t believe it. Not until Lena opens her pretty green eyes and tells her herself. She finally does on the second day of waiting. By then, Andrea’s father is antsy and itching to pace, but after the darkness, Andrea sits still as stone, her hand tucked in Lena’s.
Their fingers tangle when Lena smiles at her with tired, bruised eyes.
“How long?” Lena asks.
Andrea chews her lip. “Eighteen days.”
“Toldja they’d pay.”
Yes, their families had paid the ransom, but the Luthors had issued a post script of armed forces storming the location. Andrea sees the six bodies on the floor every time she blinks, but in a way, she’s grateful for the haunting image-- it’s better than the dark of her own eyelids.
“Hey,” Lena tugs at her hand, drawing Andrea from her thoughts. “We’re okay.”
Andrea crumbles then. She doesn’t sob, but her tears pour from her eyes with every blink. “I was so scared.”
Scared she would lose Lena, that she would never see her father again, that she would die alone in the shadows.
Lena just squeezes. “Love you.”
Andrea nods, swallowing thickly, uncaring that her father watches from his seat by the window.
“I love you too.”
Hi! Are you still doing the trope duo list? 'coz I just found it this morning, and was hopping to make a request. I was going to ask for 41 and 43, then I thought, no... too obvious... then my head automatically goes to 1 and 2, but that's an easy one, so I end up with 1 and 11, would you take it? 😊
SHIT, HOW DID I MISS THIS??? I am soooo sorry for the wait, @rabbit-in-blue! Allow me to make it up to you with some Victorian!lock. I hope it will suffice!
1: Arranged Marriage; 11: Drunk!lock. Taken from my trope duo prompt list. As much fun as it’s been, I will not be accepting any more duo prompts at this time. I have one more overlooked prompt in my inbox that I will fill soon, then prompts will be closed for a while. Thanks everyone!
Alone No More
Molly awoke to the sound of a nearby thud and frowned into the darkness. Damned cat, she thought grumpily to herself, thinking Toby had gotten himself into some mischief or other. However, in the same moment that she realized Toby was, in fact, curled up against her leg, she heard another thud, followed by a colorful string of words spoken in a deep, very recognizable voice.
With a sigh, Molly slid from the warmth and comfort of her bed, pulling a thick tartan dressing gown on over her nightdress, before emerging into the sitting room and lighting the nearest lamp. Indeed, there was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, proper genius, and her husband, sprawled out on the floor like a sea star. Before she could verbalize her annoyance (or quiet amusement), she noticed a slow stream of blood making its way along his temple, beginning at his eyebrow. In addition, his eyes were shut, and he almost looked as though he might be unconscious. Molly sighed again, quickly turning back to retrieve a bowl of water, and the bandages she knew he kept in one of the kitchen cabinets for this very purpose.
As she knelt beside him, his eyes opened and shot to her so abruptly she gave a small start. He stared at her, his expression one of utter bewilderment. “You are bleeding,” she supplied an explanation, though he had not asked for one.
“That explains the headache,” he drawled.
She nearly smiled at him, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought it. She could not explain it, but somehow, she felt if she laughed now, at this moment, it would suggest she approved of the situation—which she most certainly did not. Particularly now that she was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.
“It will be worse in the morning,” she pointed out sharply. “I didn’t think you liked to drink.”
Mr. Holmes scowled up at her. “I am not drunk. I had one—no, two—maybe three...” he trailed off, his brow crinkling as he tried to remember.
Molly raised an eyebrow. “If it is that difficult to recall, I’d wager you’ve had more than enough.” He rolled his eyes, then winced and hissed at the pain caused by the action. Part of her took a bit of petty satisfaction at this, knowing he had brought it upon himself, but she quickly silenced that part of herself. Deserved or not, he was injured and in pain, and he needed her help. Molly doused a bit of cloth in the water, wrung out the excess, and dabbed at the wound. He hissed again, but remained still. When the silence between them became strained, she asked, “How exactly did this happen?”
“Watson,” he muttered, and his eyes slid shut.
She frowned at him. “Watson… you mean your friend, Dr. Watson?”
He scoffed, and Molly grimaced at the more concentrated scent that wafted up to her nose. “I don’t have friends,” he slurred. “I have enemies and colleagues, and that is all it will ever be.” He laughed suddenly, but there was no humor in his voice. “According to Watson, I push everyone away, including my own wife!”
Molly stilled, a quiet gasp falling from her lips. She watched his face carefully, waiting for it to dawn on him that he was speaking of the very woman who was at this moment tending to his wound. When he gave no such indication, she returned to the task at hand, hoping to ignore the subject.
“He doesn’t understand,” her husband spoke again, his voice pitched low and rumbling. “Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.”
She paid no mind to the single tear that escaped from the corner of her eye and focused on applying the bandage. Molly had been under no illusions upon entering her marriage. Sherlock Holmes made his position on love abundantly clear from the moment they first met. The only reason they were married at all was because of their mothers. She knew not what threats Mrs. Holmes had imposed upon him, but they must have been dire indeed for him to have agreed to the union.
For Molly’s part, she had been aware of her family’s dwindling finances since her father died, leaving his widow and seventeen-year-old daughter with barely enough to survive. They had sold their home, and everything in it, save a recent portrait of the family of three, and a single suitcase full of her father’s favorite books. With that money, they bought a small, seaside cottage in Sussex, near Brighton, large enough only for the two of them. Molly and her mother learned to cook, clean, sew, light fires, and tend their small garden. She had also learned how to manage their finances, ensuring that they had enough to get by. And she learned they did not have sufficient funds to support themselves for long. Even with careful scrimping and saving, they would run out within a few short years.
The solution, her mother had told her, was clear: she would have to marry into money. Fortunately (or not so fortunate, depending on one’s viewpoint), Mrs. Hooper still maintained a steady friendship with one Violet Holmes, who was eager to see her younger son married and settled. His inheritance was certainly less than what his elder brother, Mycroft, would receive, but the wealth of the Holmes family was quite substantial, and her marriage to the younger son would secure her well-being, and her mother’s, for many years to come. In any case, the elder Mr. Holmes had married the previous year, and was therefore not an option. Thus, she was promised, and duly married, to Sherlock Holmes.
Had she known what it would be like… had she suspected she would fall in love with the man…
No, she shook her head. That knowledge would not have swayed her decision. To refuse would be unforgivably selfish, as it was not merely her own situation under threat. Though her unrequited feelings weighed on her heart, she could never have done such a thing to her mother. A heavy heart was a struggle, but one she could bear. Would bear. No matter how infuriating her husband could be.
As if he knew her thoughts had strayed to him, Mr. Holmes opened his eyes again, his gaze landing upon her face. Something in those eyes made her pause, her fingers still resting against his forehead, and found herself quite unable to move. The air grew thick with mounting tension, and Molly knew… something was about to change.
“Why do you stay?” he breathed.
Molly blinked, frowning in confusion. “Your wound needs tending”
“No,” he shook his head. Slowly, he shifted into an upright position, his eyes never straying from hers for a moment. Her throat grew dry as he leaned forward, inspecting her as though she were the most fascinating, bewildering puzzle. “Why do you stay with me?”
Her heart thundered in her chest, and she drew a trembling breath through her lips. “You are my husband.”
“Mycroft sees his wife twice each year—on Christmas Day, and on our mother’s birthday—and the remainder of the year, they live in separate homes, corresponding through the occasional letter. Husband and wife are under no true obligations to one another, except those the law dictates.” His eyes narrowed at her. “Why. Do. You. Stay?”
His meaning became clear to her then; he did not want her. He wished for her to leave. Another tear made its presence known, and she turned her head to hide its descent. “If that is the sort of marriage you wish for,” she breathed, heart crumbling even as she spoke, “I will make arrangements to leave tomorrow.”
Molly moved away from him, unable to stomach the inevitable look of relief that would undoubtedly be written across his handsome face. She was stopped, however, by a large, warm hand lightly encircling her wrist. She looked down at it, then swallowed as she turned her eyes to the owner of the hand, and was astonished to find not relief, but fear. Wild and furious panic blazed in his ice-colored eyes, the muscles in his jaw twitching.
“Mr. Holmes—” she began, but she was unable to finish her sentence as his free hand reached out, and the pads of his fingers lightly traced the contours of her face. Molly drew a trembling breath, stunned by the contact.
He had not touched her since their wedding day, and one could hardly consider the quick, perfunctory pressing of his lips to hers as a real kiss. At the time, she had thought nothing of it, having no more desire for his touch than he had desire to give it. Her love for him had built slowly, so gradually that she could not determine a precise beginning. Indeed, she had no notion of the change of her feelings, until the truth of them washed over her like the waves of the sea—sudden, bracing, overpowering. And despite his indifference toward her, it only served to grow over time.
And now, almost a year later, he was touching her, and she had to fight to keep her wits about her.
“Can it be…?” he whispered, leaning closer still. “Is it possible, after all this time, all that you have endured, that you might… choose to be here?”
Molly heard the true question hidden behind his words, and her breath caught. She searched his eyes, still wide and panicked, looking for any sign of indifference in him, and found none whatsoever. He was afraid, yes, but in those crystalline eyes, fear mingled with desperate hope, the same hope she now felt bubbling up inside of her.
It was neither a declaration, nor a grand romantic gesture, but such things were not in his nature. This, however, the look in his eyes, the warmth of his touch… was more than enough.
“Yes,” she answered him finally, baring her heart to him with a single word, and praying he would not trample it with his usual cutting words.
Mercifully, he seemed to have no intention of doing so. The hopeful embers dancing in his gaze were fanned into a blaze, and in a move as fast as lightning, his hand cradled the back of her head and guided her lips to his. The fire transferred into her through the contact, warming every inch of her, burning ever hotter with his continued touch. Her hands moved of their own accord to his chest, relishing the feel of his racing heart beneath the tips of her fingers. Not so indifferent, she thought with a smile.
Sherlock felt her smile and drew his head back to look at her. “Something amusing?”
Feeling emboldened, Molly inched closer, settling herself into his lap. Her hands slid up around his neck and into the soft curls at the back of his head. He sucked in a breath, eyes darkening with unmistakable lust. She stopped just shy of kissing him, her lips hovering teasingly over his. “I believe,” she murmured, “you like me, Mr. Holmes.”
His answering grin was decidedly wolfish as he wrapped his arms around her. “An excellent deduction, Mrs. Holmes,” he replied, and moved to kiss her again, grunting in frustration when she leaned away
“Even though ‘alone is what you have’?” she quoted with a wry smile. “‘Alone protects you’?”
“Oh, sod what I said,” he grumbled, yanking her back towards him until her chest was flush against his, and the wall that had stood between them crumbled into dust and rubble. “I’ve pushed you away long enough. No more.”
Molly was moved to tears once again, though these were a much happier sort. “Thank God,” she breathed, and his mouth captured hers once again. He tasted of brandy and cigars and Sherlock, and she had never tasted anything so mouth-wateringly delicious. His hands roamed her back, her sides, her neck, while hers buried themselves in his hair. When she experimentally curled her fingers and lightly scraped his scalp with her nails, he groaned his approval into her mouth. Then, in one astonishingly deft movement, he was on his feet, sweeping her up into his arms.
“I hope you don’t mind, Molly,” he said in a low growl, “but I’d very much like to take you to bed.”
Giggling softly, she pressed a fervent kiss to his lips. “Get on with it, then.”
Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all the wonderful prompts! They’re all amazing!
School just started and I’ve been pretty busy, but I promise I will write each one!
Prompts are now closed :)
Because I like to sow chaos... Mood ring dragons >;3€
That sounds like a cute idea, I guess?
I’M SO SORRY!
For the time being, my prompts/requests are closed, mostly because I have a lot on my plate at the moment. With life and the fact that I have a lot of prompts to get started on. I’m sorry if I’ve upset anyone
Just a note: Thanks for all of the prompts and I’m so happy for everyone liking my content but I’m closing prompts for right now. I have sketches that I need to finish for my new followers as well as two comics for an ask and writing the new chapter for my BATIM au.
I’m so happy for all of the support and asks I’ve gotten and I love you all my followers! :D
Okay! Prompts are closed! You guys are amazing and I have so many prompts waiting for me <3 Thanks for sending them in, I’ll get to work on them as soon as I can <3
Happy Holidays!!!! :D Would you consider doing more for your gryffindor draco series? I really love it :)
Harry corners him in the dorm when it's just the two of them and Draco has to bite back his irritation at the theatrics because they're only a few months into second year and barely friends and he's been told being an asshole doesn't help with that.
"I think I'm descended from Slytherin," he says in a rush.
Draco stares. "I think that's the stupidest thing I've heard since the last time you spoke during potions."
Oops. In his defense, Harry is quite awful at the subject, and only a little bit because his godfather hates him.
Harry scowls, as unphased as always. "I'm serious! I can understand snakes. That's what Slytherin could do, right?"
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. "If you're just messing with me-"
"I'm not!" he insists. "It's bad, isn't it?"
"It's the coolest thing ever and wasted on you," he says. "Come on, lets go find a snake to talk to!"
Harry actually seems taken aback. "Um, we have class? And mostly what they say is pretty boring."
"So we'll find an interesting one," he insists, "Come on, let's go, I'll get the notes from Hermione."
"You're really willing to skip class for this?" Harry asks suspiciously.
Draco doesn't have the patience for this. "Yes! Let's go!"
Harry agrees, looking like he thinks it's a trick the entire time, when Draco's pretty sure he's the one being pranked here.
Do you accept requests for tickle stories recently? If so, do you accept only from certain characters or all in general?
I just closed prompts for the first time since starting tumblr so normally I’d say yes, but as of right now, I’m only accepting commissions. As long as the characters are from fandoms that I know & am familiar with, I’d say yeah! But there are certain characters/character dynamics that I wouldn’t feel comfortable writing, but it’s hard to come up with off the top of my head. But for an example I’d have to say Vesemir’s one that I’d feel weird writing in that situation. I have more info on my ko-fi linked in my pinned post & bio if you’re interested in commissioning me tho!
Prompts are CLOSED
Thank you gays for sending so many prompts, I love you all ❤️
Please be patient, I'll answer all of them as soon as I can.
disaster earth witch,,, bits of grass in my hair, dirt smudges on my cheeks, probably some rocks in my pocket is literally me lmao
I Can’t Unlove You
@chelseamh98 prompted #26 for Sherlolly: “I forgot to mention that I’m… I’m completely in love with you.”
Tentatively, Sherlock took a step closer to her, holding her gaze with his. It was for the best; Molly deserved so much more than he could give her. He could’ve been a territorial git, but he realised he could never be so selfish to do such a thing. Not with Molly, never with Molly. Sherlock knew he loved her in that crucial moment two years ago, but it wasn’t until now that he understood just how deep his love for her went. He wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him.
Heart racing, difficult to breathe, pupils dilated. Molly saw her own feelings reflected in the eyes of the man she had loved for so damn long. Could it be he? She dismissed the thought. He was so close, and oh God he was leaning down. His lips were headed straight for hers. Molly was gonna let it happen; she’d been craving his touch for years. She was surprised she could look him in the eye in this moment. Those ocean eyes were filled with the wistfulness of what could’ve been. His lips hovered above hers, nearly touching…almost there. The look in his eyes changed, and he switched tactics, opting to press a kiss to her cheek, just near the corner of her mouth.
He began to walk away, knowing he was too late to be the one to make her happy. This was his way of giving her all the happiness in the world. This Tom fellow sounded suitable enough. He hoped he would treat her right. There was no telling what Sherlock would do if Molly had been mistreated by him. Yes, he loved her more than anything, but the worst part was he knew he could never unlove her. Sherlock opened the door, feeling the crisp, frozen air sting his face. Was this right? Shouldn’t she at least know that she has options?
Just tell her, he told himself. Stop being so damn afraid, and tell her.
Sherlock turned back to see the dazed look on her face. Yes, he was going to tell her. “I forgot to mention that I’m…” he took a deep breath, noticing the anticipation in her eyes. “I’m completely in love with you.” In that moment, time seemed to have stopped. His heart leapt to his throat, hoping against all hope that he hadn’t just royally screwed up their friendship. He looked away, unable to watch her look at him with anything but love. He jolted back to reality at the touch of her hand. Swallowing hard, Sherlock searched her eyes for her unspoken answer.
“I’ve never stopped loving you, Sherlock Holmes.” The words she spoke mended his heart in that moment, sewing the reopened sutures back together with her gentle precision. However, he realised, although she felt the same, it didn’t mean she was going to choose him. He felt the need to put all of his cards on the table.
“Don’t marry him, Molly. It’s selfish of me to say, but I have to try.” Sherlock mentally kicked himself for his selfish request. “I know I’m an egotistical arse, and I’m an insufferable fool, but damn it all, I love you. How could I not? You taught me how to love.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, threatening to spill over. “Sherlock.” She spoke his name with such sweet conviction, drawing nearer to him, finally enveloping him in her arms. Automatically, he reciprocated, holding on to her for dear life, his head resting on top of hers. “I’d kiss you, but I need to settle some things first.” Her words elicited a sigh of relief from him, his shoulders loosening from the tension. Sherlock could finally melt into her the way he wanted.
When they pulled apart, both longed to come together once more, but there would be time for that later. “Chips tomorrow night at my place?” he asked, hopefully.
“Sounds perfect,” she smiled. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
FFN | Ao3
As y'all can probably tell,
I'm back from visiting my in-laws!!! Which means I'll be finishing up my remaining prompts as quickly as possible.
Thanks for your patience!!!
I have an announcement to make:
My prompts are currently closed.
I just have too many to get done right now, on top of school and my personal life. I am still taking questions and headcanons, but any sort of prompts I get from now on will not be completed until I have the old ones written.
Thanks for understanding guys!
Cersei x Jaime
“You should let me kill him,” Jaime says lazily.
Cersei frowns at him. Jaime is rarely serious, but this isn’t the first time he has spoken of killing Robert. He usually voices it after he knows Robert has claimed his rights, and there are times when Cersei is sorely tempted.
Jaime doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how Robert hurts me.
Don’t be foolish,” she scolds. “It would mean your death.”
Jaime kisses her in answer, and Cersei knows he is being a fool.
A jealous fool.
“I am with child,” she tells him.
Jaime pulls away, stiffening. His frown is a match for hers from a moment ago.
“Do you want me to find the woodswitch again?”
Cersei shakes her head.
“No,” she says fiercely. “Not this time.”
Jaime’s expression is a little sullen, and Cersei takes his hand and allows herself a smile of triumph.
“This babe is not Robert’s,” she whispers.
Her twin’s smile quickly matches hers, a golden mirror.
Cersei knows that the babe will be golden like them too.
Inktober - 5/31