#they have the cloak so no one knows what they look like

[c-e-d-dreamer]

You're the Kind of Reckless that Should Send Me Running

A/N: you know, sometimes, self-care is... (checks notes) making a sex bargain with a fae to get out of a marriage contract. It just be like that! But happy Day Three of @nestaarcheronweek lovelies! Hope everyone enjoys some smutty Nessian. As a warning, this is toe-ing the line with dubious consent since it is a fae bargain, so please read with care!

Read on AO3

A bottle of your finest alcohol and your most prized possession.

That's what the woman in the market had told Nesta to bring in offering. Whispered words shared between the brick building of the butcher and the wooden stalls bedecked in green leaves and pastel colored petals, the first sign of spring. The woman's own stall had been tucked closer to the alleyway between buildings, half cast in shadow. What little light did break through bounced off the gemstones of amulets, carved into the grooves of runes in animal bone.

Only desperate people spoke with the woman who always kept the hood of her cloak up to shroud her face.

And desperate Nesta was.

She listened to everything the woman said, carefully tucked away the instructions, the tips the woman offered for the best results. And when the woman had finished speaking, Nesta placed a single silver piece into her palm and slipped back into the crowds of the bustling market without looking back. She kept her head down, tried her best to look inconspicuous lest word get back where she didn’t want it to.

But Nesta caught Clare’s eye across the market square, her friend offering the barest hint of a nod. It was Clare that told Nesta about this woman, about the information she offered, about the outcomes that information promised. According to Clare, it was how Morrigan had done it just last week.

So, that day in the market, Nesta seeked out the woman, and now, here she walks.

She steps over roots and brambles, her soft steps doing nothing to quiet the crunch beneath her feet. With each step, she winces at the way the sound echoes in the wood around her. She glances around, between the barks of the trees that stretch out and above her, but there’s no sign of anyone else but her. It doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on edge.

A twig snaps somewhere behind her, and Nesta freezes, nearly dropping the bottle of whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s reserves. She clutches it a little tighter to her chest, afraid to even breathe while she waits for another sound, waits for someone to appear. But the only sound that answers Nesta is the rustle of the wind through the branches and leaves, the distant sound of an owl hooting.

Breathing out slowly, Nesta continues trekking forward. She dares to look back over her shoulder, but there’s nothing but more trees and the streaks of silver from the moon breaking through the canopy above. She shakes her head, reminding herself of exactly why she’s here, why she’s doing this.

She just has to find the clearing. That’s what the woman in the market said, that deep into the woods to the north of the village, the trees would part into a clearing. A ring where the trees dare not grow, where the roots stretch to form an altar. Where a fae waits for humans brave enough to make a bargain.

If only she could find it.

Nesta doesn’t know how far she’s walked, but she feels as though she’s been walking half the night. She can’t help but wonder if it was all a lie, a trick. If there is no clearing and no fae who can help her. It would be just her luck.

With a huff, she decides to call it, decides she’ll make the painstaking trek back to her family’s manor house. She spins on her heel only to find herself standing in the center of a clearing that wasn’t there previously.

Fae magic.

“And what do we have here?”

The voice is deep, rough, practically a low rumble where it skates across Nesta’s skin. She swallows hard, raising her chin, before she turns to face that voice. The man is leaning casually against the trunk of one of the trees lining the clearing, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted as he watches her.

A male, really. A fae male unmistakably from his appearance.

He’s large, bigger than even the butcher back in the village, standing a header taller than Nesta with wide shoulders and a wide chest. Wings stretch behind his back and loom over his shoulders like haunting shadows. Dark curls tumble down to his shoulders, framing a pair of eyes that look almost cat-like, that seem to glint green and gold even beneath the silver of the moonlight. The sleeves of his tunic are pushed up to his elbows, showing off swirls of ink along his skin that Nesta swears shift as though a mimic of the magic she’s sure runs through the fae’s veins.

There’s a rough sort of beauty to his face, to the cut of his cheeks and his jaw. As though they’re carved by the very wind she’s sure he must ride with those large wings of his. His nose doesn’t sit quite straight, a slash slicing through his right eyebrow, but it only seems to add to his features. He’s handsome in a way that Nesta knows she’ll never find in her village, in a way that can only be fae. In a way that Nesta has to swallow hard before finding her voice again.

“Are you the fae that helps women escape their marriage contracts?” Nesta asks, refusing to allow her voice to waver, for her nerves to show.

The fae pushes off the tree, stalking closer to her. “So what if I am?”

Nesta thrusts her arms forward before the fae can get too close. “I brought these in offering.”

The fae tilts his head again, his gaze raking over Nesta from head to toe. Those cat-like eyes rover over her frame slowly, goosebumps erupting across Nesta’s skin as if it’s fingers trailing a blazing path. When his attention returns to her face, there’s something different in his expression. A fire burning amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes, the left side of his lips tilting up in a smirk. He reaches forward, the large span of his hands on full display as his fingers curl around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

“You have good taste,” the fae comments, examining the whiskey.

“I stole it from my father.”

“And the dress? Did you steal that from him too?”

Nesta snorts at the implication. “No. It was a gift from my mother, right before she passed.”

The fae hums, but he doesn’t say anything more. He begins to circle her, like a predator sizing up its prey, but Nesta refuses to be cowed. She stands perfectly still, straightening her spine against his scrutiny, raising her chin that little bit higher in defiance.

“Is it sufficient? To your liking?”

“Why the dress? Why not your hair?” the fae asks, twirling a strand of Nesta’s hair around his finger. He tugs it toward his face, inhaling deeply. “It’s oh so beautiful. Like burnished gold. Even beneath the moonlight.”

“If that is what it will take, then you can have it.”

The fae chuckles, the sound low and seeming to resonate from deep within his chest. “You must really dislike your betrothed.”

“You would too if you met him,” Nesta grumbles, not even bothering to swallow down her eye roll.

Tomas Mandray.

That was who her father saw fit to marry her off to. Nesta’s hated her father ever since he selfishly sat idly by when her mother fell ill, deciding that the life saving medicine she would need was not worth the steep cost. His recklessness since her death has only gotten worse, shady business deals and gambling habits digging the Archerons into a deeper hole.

Despite the confidence her father exudes around the other high society members of their village, Nesta knows it’s nothing more than a facade. She knows their family is one wrong deal away from losing everything. Knows there’s a desperation thrumming just beneath her father’s skin. It’s what led to him agreeing to the first man who came forward for her hand, without a thought for the type of man he is.

“Is that so?” the fae asks, finishing his circle and stopping in front of her again.

“It’s the worst kept secret in the village,” Nesta explains, unsure what compels her to tell this fae the truth. Perhaps there’s something in his face, in his presence, that has her wanting to trust him. “Everyone knows that Lord Mandray raises his hand to his wife, that his sons just stand by while it happens.”

“You think he’d lay a hand on you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Real anger flashes across the fae’s face, hazel eyes practically blazing and his lips curling back in a snarl. His fists clench at his sides, muscles in his arms flexing with the motion. The rage isn’t directed at her, but that doesn’t stop Nesta’s heart from thundering between her ribs. She knows the stories of the fae, knows of their strength. This male could tear her apart with ease if he wanted to.

It’s a ferity and display of power that should terrify her, that should have her spinning on her heel and running straight back to the village, but instead she continues to meet this fae’s gaze.

The fae’s expression softens, almost curious, as his gaze sweeps over her anew. It’s unnerving, as though he can see beneath her skin and down to her very bone. As though she’s splayed open for his examination all the way to her soul. Whatever he sees, whatever he finds, it has him stepping closer still. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her head back to hold eye contact. Close enough she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off him. Close enough that every inhale has her chest a hair's breadth away from his.

“You never told me your name,” the fae says, warm breath skating across Nesta’s cheeks.

“I don’t know yours,” Nesta fires back, raising her chin even higher in challenge.

That cocksure smirk tugs its way across the fae’s face again. “It’s Cassian.”

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron.”

“Nesta,” Cassian repeats, as though tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue. A shiver threatens to skitter up Nesta’s spine, but she’s quick to swallow it down. “Should we make a bargain, Nesta?”

“You’ll do it, then? You’ll end my marriage contract?”

“Happily.”

“For my hair?”

“I’ll accept the dress, but that’s just an offering, sweetheart,” Cassian explains, holding up the dress and whiskey bottle in emphasis before tossing both away. “We still need to make a proper bargain.”

“Alright…” Nesta begins slowly, wading through her memory, through the lessons from her mother. She knows wording is important, knows that she needs to be careful about the phrasing of this bargain. “You ensure that my marriage contract to Tomas Mandray is void, that I’ll never marry Tomas Mandray, that I’ll never marry anyone in the Mandray household nor anyone that I do not choose for myself. And in exchange…”

“And in exchange, you’ll become my wife.”

“What.”

Cassian grins fully down at her, one of his hands reaching up between them to curl that strand of her hair around his fingers again. “You can’t marry anyone else if you’re already married to me.”

Nesta blinks a few times, trying to wrap her mind around it all, but Cassian's hand shifts, the backs of his fingers dragging down her temple, her cheek. The touch is distracting. She supposes it makes sense. How can she marry someone else if she is already wed. Clare never specified exactly what Morrigan had to do to break her own marriage contract to the eldest Vanserra. Perhaps, this is how it works.

But alarm bells still ring in the back of Nesta’s mind, whispering of caution. It’s too vague, gray area so expansive that it feels too risky to simply agree.

“And what does that entail? Being your wife?”

Cassian chuckles again, Nesta practically able to feel it where their chests are nearly pressed together. “You were about to be wed, and you don’t know about wifely duties?”

Nesta’s temper flares red hot, and she glares up at him. “I know what’s expected of a wife.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“What does being a wife mean for a fae? What does a fae expect of me?”

“You can do whatever you want as my wife, Nes,” Cassian offers, palm fully cradling her jaw.

“Don’t call me that. And stop that,” Nesta snaps, knocking his hand away. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Trick you? I’m hurt, sweetheart. I thought you wanted this bargain?”

“I do.”

Panic swells in Nesta’s chest, churning her stomach. What if he changes his mind? Goes back on the bargain? Anything she wants as his wife. It’s not specific, definitely not even close to what Nesta was taught when it comes to fae bargains, but it only hurts him really. Anything she wants. And what she wants is to live the rest of her life far away from the Mandrays and any of the other aggravating villagers who either look down their noses or leer at her.

“Alright,” Nesta finally breathes, sending a silent prayer to the Mother that she doesn’t live to regret this.

“Alright?” Cassian repeats back, bringing both his hands to Nesta’s jaw this time, tilting her head up. “So it’s a bargain then?”

Nesta swallows hard, her heart skipping a beat when Cassian’s thumb drags across her bottom lip. “It’s a bargain.”

Cassian’s mouth crashes against hers at the same moment a burning sensation cascades along her spine and between her shoulder blades. It has Nesta gasping against Cassian’s lips, but he merely uses the reaction to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue into her mouth. His arm drops to curl around her waist, hauling her closer still until she’s pressed flush against his body. She can feel every line of hard muscle beneath his shirt, feel the strength in his grip around her.

He tears his mouth away, but he doesn’t go far, latching his lips against her neck. His mouth is hot against her skin, her entire body roaring to life and reacting to his touch. She tilts her head, a quiet groan tumbling past her lips, when Cassian’s teeth find her pulse point, tongue soothing over the brief sting.

When Cassian pulls away, Nesta’s whole body sways forward, practically chasing his mouth and his kiss. Slowly, her eyes flutter open, finding Cassian’s own gaze already firmly on her face. There’s a fire in his hazel eyes, lips kiss bitten and pink. His grip on her hip holds her steady, fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the strands of her hair.

“What do you say, wife?” Cassian asks, voice low and deep. He drags his nose along her jaw until he can press his lips to her ear. “Should we consummate our bargain?”

Just his voice has heat pooling low in Nesta’s gut. Has her thighs clenching and her toes beginning to curl in her shoes. And when he presses a kiss to that spot behind her ear, a shudder ricochets down her spine. She clutches at Cassian’s shirt to hold herself steady, daring to arc against him.

“Yes.”

Nesta’s world tilts, and then her back is cushioned by grass and moss. She barely has time to register the change before Cassian’s lips are back on hers. He settles atop her, hips cradled within the bracket of her thighs. Nesta finally buries her fingers in the dark curls of his hair, threading the strands between her fingers and tugging hard until Cassian is groaning into her mouth, his hips pressing down against her. She can feel exactly what she’s doing to him, the hardline of his arousal digging into her hip.

She slides one of her hands down his chest, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric between them, feeling his heartbeat just beneath the surface. She traces down and down, but before her fingertips can even brush the waistband of Cassian’s pants, her hand is yanked away. Cassian’s fae instincts are too quick, grip curling around Nesta’s wrists and pinning her hand above her head and into the dirt.

“Don’t you know, sweetheart, that a good husband always ensures his wife is taken care of first?”

Cassian pulls back enough that he’s able to settle comfortably on his haunches. Nesta feels overly exposed, splayed out in the grass beneath him. His gaze roves over her form with a hunger that has her heart rate spiking, has heat flooding through her veins until it settles in her core. Her chest heaves with each deep inhale as painstakingly slow, Cassian unties the laces down the front of her dress.

Her nerve endings are already on high alert, and the slow drag of fabric over her breasts as her dress is pulled open has a moan bubbling up and out of her throat. Her nipples are already pebbled when the cool air hits them, and the heat of Cassian’s hand as he palms them is a welcome reprieve.

Cassian leans back down, his mouth closing over one of her breasts. His tongue laves over her nipple, teeth nipping and tugging at the bud. He pulls back with a quiet pop, switching to her other breath, and Nesta bucks up against him, desperate for friction. Desperate for more.

“Cass… Cassian,” Nesta begs quietly, moaning when he drags the flat of his tongue over her breast again.

Nesta doesn’t even hear Cassian’s laugh this time, merely feels the vibrations against her skin, but he gets the message. He kisses a blazing path down her sternum, down her stomach. His hands find the hem of her skirts, pushing them up her thighs and her hips until her whole dress is nothing more than a bunch of fabric around her waist.

He keeps sliding down until he’s settled on his stomach in the grass, wings spread wide and tall above them both. For a moment, Nesta is transfixed on the way the moonlight ripples through the membrane, the patterns of the veins and scars, but her focus is brought solely back to the fae between her legs when Cassian’s fingers hook in the waistband of her undergarments, sliding them slowly down her legs.

Her breath hitches in her throat as he settles her thighs over his shoulders, at the feral look on his face. Those cat-like eyes of his are almost completely swallowed by his blown out pupils, and his grin shows off the sharp tips of his canines. With his dark hair falling along his temples and cheeks, he truly looks like a wild man, like a beast ready to pounce and feast on its prey. Nesta tosses her head back with a whimper as he lowers his face down, already anticipating his warm breath across her cunt, his tongue, but it never comes. Instead, Cassian’s lips find home along her inner thigh, a teasing display of what’s to come.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Cassian’s low voice rasps, lips never straying from her skin. “I want to see the look on your face when you fall apart on my tongue.”

Nesta tips her chin back down, meeting Cassian’s gaze fully again. His teeth sink into her inner thigh, sucking a bruise onto the skin. Whether it’s a reward or a punishment for her behavior, Nesta isn’t sure. A glint sparks through his hazel eyes, and it’s Nesta’s only warning before he buries himself completely between her thighs.

The first slide of his tongue over her cunt has Nesta’s thighs squeezing out of instinct, but Cassian’s fingers curl against the flesh, holding her open and exactly how he wants her. The flat of his tongue drags over her until he reaches her clit, tracing tantalizing circles over the bud that have Nesta bucking against his hold. It’s clearly the reaction he was hoping for, and the vibrations of his answering groan only add to the sensations threatening to send Nesta spiraling, send her unraveling, almost embarrassingly quickly.

And all the while, Cassian keeps his eyes on her face, pinning her in place, while he works his magic. Whether it’s his fae magic or just the magic of this male, Nesta doesn’t know. Nor does she particularly care as long as he doesnt stop. Her hands scrabble desperately for something to grasp onto, dirt digging under her nails and moans tumbling past her lips unbidden as Cassian presses his tongue into her. It curls and flicks at her walls like he’s determined to collect every last drop of her arousal, like a male parched and starved.

When Cassian finally pulls back, the sight is obscene. His hair is disheveled, lips and chin glistening beneath the light of the moon. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, merely licking his lips with another low groan.

“I knew you’d make the prettiest sounds,” Cassian tells her, suddenly sinking two fingers into her cunt. “Now, come on, wife. Scream my name for the whole wood to hear.”

The pace Cassian sets is punishing, his fingers fucking into her hard and deep, thick in a way her own fingers have never been. Nesta feels like she’s on fire, her entire focus pinpointed on the fingers driving into her, the stretch of them, the way they drag along the walls of her cunt. She rocks her hips up against his hand, chasing the flames, the friction, the familiar feeling coiling tighter and tighter.

“Gods, look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight. Flushed such a pretty pink and taking my fingers so well.”

Nesta keens at the words, her hand snapping down to curl around Cassian’s wrist. Not to stop him, but to keep him there. He squeezes in a third finger beside the first two, curling them until Nesta is practically arching up off the ground. Her throat already feels hoarse from her moans, from the shouts of Cassian’s name.

“That’s my good girl. I can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Cass. Cassian. Please. Gods, please.”

Cassian groans, dropping his face to her neck, teeth dragging along the skin, across her collarbones, his fingers never stopping. “Fuck. You beg so pretty too.”

Cassian’s thumb finds her clit, working it in tandem with the three fingers still thrusting into her. Nesta’s toes curl, her thighs practically shaking. She can feel herself standing on that edge, on that precipice. Cassian shifts his face down, lips closing around her breast again, and Nesta goes tumbling head first. She clenches down hard around Cassian’s fingers, half aware of the shout torn from her throat as her release barrels through her.

Cassian continues to move his fingers, dragging out her orgasm. But soon, the aftershocks subside, the stimulation teetering toward painful. Her whole body shudders with a whimper, but Cassian slips his fingers free. He makes a big show of pushing them between his lips, groaning around the taste of her. It has Nesta reaching for his wrist again, this time, bringing his hand to her own mouth. She sucks on his fingers, curling her tongue between the digits.

“Mother, save me,” Cassian mutters, watching her with hooded eyes.

He pulls his fingers free, but he’s quick to replace them with his own mouth, kissing Nesta deeply. Nesta moans into the kiss, burying her hands back in Cassian’s hair and tugging hard. His tongue curls around her own, his hips aligning and rocking down against hers. It’s a reminder of what’s still hers for the taking, the brush of fabric against her sending sparks ricocheting anew.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and up, determined to take it off. But his wings. Her fingers falter as she realizes she’s not sure how to get it off around the wings. She pulls back from the kiss to try and get a better look, but Cassian is having none of that, drawing her right back in. She huffs against his lips, tugging at his shirt in emphasis, and when Cassian is the one to finally pull back again, his hazel eyes are alight with amusement.

He reaches behind his back, the snap of buttons almost as loud as their heaving breaths in the quiet wood. Fisting the fabric, Cassian tugs the shirt away with ease, leaving Nesta with the perfect view of the wide expanse of golden skin, of the muscles carved into it, of the dark hair dusted across his chest and down his stomach like an alluring path leading down and down.

Nesta traces the lines of tattoos painted across his skin with the tip of her fingers, traces them all the way down his chest and further still, daring to dig her nails in against his stomach. Cassian hisses at the sting, but the look in his eyes tells her that he really likes it. It makes her feel bolder, braver. She dares to reach down, palming the hard line still trapped in his pants.

With a groan, Cassian drops his head against her collarbones. She continues her ministrations, curling her fingers as best she can and moving her hand up and down. Even through the fabric of his pants, Nesta can feel the way he twitches, can feel the weight of him. The size. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, what with Cassian being fae and not an ordinary man, but it still has heat sparking along her spine, has her mouth running dry just as surely as her thighs clench together.

She pushes at the waistband of his pants until they slide off his hips, down his thighs. Cassian finishes the job, kicking off the fabric. His cock bobs free between his strong thighs, the head already glistening with his own arousal. Nesta goes to wrap her hand around it, but her fingertips barely graze before Cassian is pinning her wrists again. He’s able to hold both her wrists in the grip of just one of his hands, using his free hand to find home beneath her chin and raise her face to his.

For a moment, Cassian merely stares at her, eyes roving over her face as though he’s trying to memorize it. Warmth flares through his hazel eyes, and Nesta swears she can feel an answering spark between her ribs, can feel it grow and tether like a golden thread there. He leans down and connects their lips, the kiss surprisingly soft. Nesta tries to deepen it, tries to free her hands so she can pull him close again, but Cassian keeps the kiss a gentle slide of lips.

“Cassian,” Nesta huffs frustratedly, hooking her legs around his waist and digging her heels into the small of his back, trying to encourage him where she wants.

“So needy, my wife,” Cassian teases, gripping his cock and dragging the head along her cunt, through the wetness that’s pooled there. “Do you want my cock, Nes? Want me to fill you up and fuck you good?”

“Isn’t that what a good husband does?”

Cassian’s whole body shudders with a groan, his wings flaring wide. “Perhaps a good wife should beg for it.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, capturing Cassian’s bottom lip between her teeth and bucking her hips up against him. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

Cassian grasps at her hips, tugging her close and tilting them up. He presses his own hips forward until the tip slides inside her, thrusting shallowly. Just the first few inches stretches Nesta in a way she’s never felt before, in a way she fears she could become addicted to. He pulls his hips back just to sink back in further, the drag along Nesta’s walls leaving her moaning.

When their hips are finally pressed flushed together, Cassian still, nosing along her neck and her jaw. Nesta feels so incredibly full, her every nerve ending on fire in the most delicious way. She clenches down around him, her cunt seeming to draw him that much deeper, and Cassian’s groan echoes her own.

“Gods, you’re so tight,” Cassian murmurs into her neck, lips dragging against her skin. “But you take me so well.”

“Cassian, please,” Nesta begs again, trying to shift her hips against his hold.

Whether the begging does the trick or Cassian merely takes pity on her, Nesta doesn’t care. All she can focus on is the way Cassian pulls his hips back only to snap them back forward. Again and again he drives his hips forward, each hard thrust sending lightning licking through Nesta’s veins. With her hands now free, she curls them around Cassian’s back, practically clawing at his skin as she rocks her hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, as she chases the unparalleled feeling of him filling her over and over.

She dares to trace her fingers toward his shoulder blades. Dares to trace the spindly bone of a wing. Cassian lets out a near animalistic growl, hips digging against her own as his movements stutter.

“If you keep that up, this will be over much too soon,” Cassian warns through clenched teeth. He sits back on his haunches, splaying Nesta’s legs across his thighs.

“Sensitive?” Nesta asks. “What does it feel like?”

Cassian’s thumb presses down on Nesta’s clit, Nesta keening at the sensation and pressure. “Like that.”

Cassian works his hips back up to a brutal pace, moving his thumb in tandem with every hard thrust. It doesn’t take long before Nesta finds herself on the edge of that precipice again, before she goes tumbling over with little to no warning. Her back arches up off the ground, cunt clenching hard around Cassian’s cock. Cassian continues to snap his hips, working her through her orgasm, until he shudders and stills above her, warmth flooding Nesta’s core as surely as the fire blazing through her veins.

Cassian shifts back, pulling his softening cock free and drawing a quiet whimper from Nesta’s lips. She still feels like she’s burning, still feels desperate to dive back into the flames and the feeling sparked by this fae male. And though there’s still the lingering fullness from Cassian’s own release, her cunt still spasms with the aftershocks of her orgasm, still clenches around nothing.

She pushes herself up into a seated position, moving before Cassian can get too far. She all but clambers into his lap, steadying herself on his shoulders until she can settle comfortably. Cassian’s hands find her waist, an almost awestruck expression on his face as he peers up at her. But there’s embers in that hazel gaze too, still flickering as one of those hands glides up her spine, as his fingers curl into the long strands of Nesta’s hair that have fallen free from her updo.

“You know,” Nesta begins, reaching down until she can fist his cock, stroking it teasingly. “There’s this rumor. That fae males can recover more quickly than a man.”

“Is that so?” Cassian teases, but Nesta can already feel the way he’s started to harden again from her ministrations.

Nesta tightens her grip, quickens her pace, until Cassian is groaning and bucking his hips up against her, until his cock is standing at full attention again. She shifts forward on her knees, lining Cassian’s cock up with her cunt and sinking down on it. She moans at the fullness taking over her again, the rightness of being pressed together like this. She feels key-up, the overstimulation too much and yet everything that she needs.

She starts to rock her hips, gasping at the drag and friction, chasing the heat already climbing dangerously high. With one hand still buried in her hair, Cassian draws her mouth back to his, groaning against her lips as he kisses her. He plants his feet on the ground, snapping his hips up to meet hers.

“Gods, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Cassian murmurs against her, hands sliding down to palm at her ass and guide her movements. “Riding my cock like a good fucking girl.”

Nesta shudders at his words, clenching down hard. She picks up the pace of her hips, chasing another release. She starts to feel the burn in her thighs, can feel the stickiness of their own arousal, of both their releases dripping and smeared across the skin there. She’s half aware of her hoarse moans ringing in her ears, of the wet sounds of sex and slapping skin echoing in the woods around them. But all that matters is the slide of Cassian’s cock, the pressure building between her thighs.

She reaches a hand down, fingers slipping through the wetness there and against her clit, but Cassian is too quick. His own fingers curl around her wrist and pull her hand away. Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, tugging against his grip, but it’s no use.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine,” Cassian warns, squeezing her wrist that little bit tighter.

“And am I yours?” Nesta asks, sinking down fully and swiveling her hips to get the friction she was looking for.

“Always. And I’m yours.”

“Good.”

With her free hand not captured in Cassian’s hold, Nesta reaches over his shoulder. She slides her fingertips across his leathery wings, trying to mimic the way her hips move with the shapes she traces. She dares to scrape her nails against his wings, remembering how he’d responded before. With a roar, Cassian all but crushes her to him, his cock twitching deep within her. It’s enough to send Nesta crashing through an orgasm right there with him, spots dancing in her vision as she shakes with the force of it.

Nesta’s entire body feels wrung out and sated, embers banked but still keeping her deliciously warm. It takes her a moment too long to realize she’s slumped forward against Cassian, their chests pressed together and her head dropped to his shoulder. She knows that she needs to move. She knows that, now that their bargain is complete, she needs to return to the village. But trying to will her muscles to work feels like an impossible feat.

She decides to give it under her still heaving breaths even out, until her still thundering heart quiets to a soft beat. Cassian’s touch is surprisingly gentle where his fingertips trace shapes and lines up and down her spine, but soon his hands are gripping her properly. He shifts until they’re both sprawled across the soft, mossy floor of the wood, wings curling almost protectively around her. Warmth seeps into Nesta’s skin every place they’re pressed together, relaxing her all the way down to the bone.

There’s a safety wrapped up in his embrace, and Nesta allows her eyes to flutter shut, allows it to lull her under. She thinks back to Cassian’s words, his declaration that she’s his and he’s hers. And for a moment, just this moment longer, she almost allows herself to believe it.

~ * * * ~

Nesta quietly thanks the seller, carefully placing the folded fabric in the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. She slides her fingers against the pretty pink of it, the color reminding her of Elain. She’s sure that her younger sister will create something beautiful with it.

As she steps out of the small shop in the village square, Nesta can already feel eyes on her. They’re practically scorching holes through her shoulder blades, but she refuses to turn and look. The staring has been the trend the past two days, ever since that night, especially with the men in the village. Perhaps she should have found a way to work keeping the village’s disdain at bay into her bargain.

Sighing softly to herself, Nesta keeps her head held high, her shoulders back, as she follows the winding road back toward her family’s home. She keeps her grip on her basket tight, wills her breathing to come steady and slow, even as her every nerve ending feels on high alert, her heart beginning to skip between her ribs.

A hand grips hard around Nesta’s bicep, yanking her into the gap between two buildings. She barely has time to let out a shout of surprise before another hand is closing over her mouth. Her back slams against wood, nails biting into the skin of her arm, her cheek. The basket slips from her fingers, items skittering across the ground, as she comes face to face with a pair of brown eyes, ruddy cheeks, and lips pulled back in a sneer.

“Did you think you could get away with embarrassing me?” Tomas spits, leaning in until he’s right in Nesta’s face.

Nesta uses her free hand to pry Tomas’s fingers off her face. “Leave me alone. There’s no longer a contract between us or our families.”

“You think I don’t know how you did that? That the whole village doesn’t know? A lowly whore just like Morrigan.”

“Fuck you.”

“It seems you’ve dirtied your mouth as much as your body. Don’t worry. I’m more than happy to use both to remind you of your place.”

Panic flares through Nesta’s chest as Tomas uses his body weight to pin her in place, his hand reaching for her skirts. A low growl echoes in the space around them, Tomas’s entire body going rigid at the sound. They both look toward the other end of the alleyway, a large figure looming there. Even with the shadows, the silhouette of wings is unmistakable.

“A fae?” Tomas whispers, true fear leaving his voice trembling. “In the village? During the day?”

“Get your hands off her,” Cassian warns, voice low and threatening.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas calls out, all fake bravado Nesta is sure.

Cassian prowls forward, each step slow but measured. “I won’t ask again.”

Tomas’s eyes dart between Cassian and Nesta, and Nesta watches the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow. Of all the things Tomas may be, one of them is clearly not stupid. He releases his hold on Nesta, stumbling back a few steps. His eyes never leave Cassian, a true prey caught in a predator’s trap, as he backs away.

Cassian’s smile is all ferity and teeth. In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance, hand snapping out and curling around Tomas’s throat, holding him in place. “Did you think I was just going to let you go?”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas repeats, but even he sounds unsure at his own words.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine.”

Cassian doesn’t give Tomas the time to say anything else. His hand tightens around Tomas’s throat, lifting him up off his feet and slamming him against the wall opposite of Nesta. Tomas sputters and chokes around Cassian’s hold, his feet kicking out helplessly as he claws at Cassian’s forearm.

“What do you say, Nes? Should we break his fingers for committing such an offense?”

Nesta swallows to find her voice again. “Why stop at his fingers?”

Nesta can’t see Cassian’s face with the way he’s holding Tomas, but she can imagine the gleam in his hazel eyes. It’s clear from the way Tomas’s face completely blanches. Cassian’s wings flare out wide behind his back, keeping him balanced as he strikes. The crunch of breaking bone is drowned out by Tomas’s blood curdling scream. Cassian works with an almost terrifying ease and efficiency, as though he’s tearing mere parchment and not body parts.

Tomas crumbles to the ground with a soft groan when Cassian finally steps back. The fae crouches down, but Nesta can’t hear what he whispers to Tomas. He reaches his hands out and wipes them against Tomas’s shirt, cleaning the man’s blood off using the fabric. When he’s finished, Cassian straightens and turns back to Nesta, carefully retrieving her dropped basket and items and holding it out toward her. Slowly, she takes it from him, stepping over Tomas’s body and back into the village market and sun.

“You’re a hard woman to find, Nesta,” Cassian starts, stepping out of the alleyway behind her.

“I didn’t realize you were searching,” Nesta comments idly.

She pauses, hesitates, in the now empty town square before squaring her shoulders and continuing the trek back to her family home. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when Cassian falls into step beside her, unbothered about the villagers who clearly scattered due to his presence.

“What did you expect? Most wives don’t sneak away from their husbands in the middle of the night.”

“I thought that was how it was done.”

Cassian’s chuckle is just as warm in the light of day. “You humans have very odd traditions then.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at his teasing words. “Not that, you big bat. I meant your bargains. Do you track down every woman you make your wife to end their marriage contract?”

Cassian’s fingers curl around Nesta’s wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tugs her to a stop. With a quiet huff, Nesta turns to face him properly. It seems almost strange to see him under the bright light of the sun, without the rays of the moon casting silver shadows across his face, his wings.

He’s still as ruggedly beautiful as Nesta remembers him.

With the curls of his hair scraped away from his face and secured in a bun, the hard line of his jaw is on full display. His hazel eyes seem to burn as golden as the high noon sun, and with the light stretching through them, Nesta realizes there’s a reddish hue to those powerful wings stretched behind his back.

“I only have one wife, sweetheart.”

Nesta blinks a few times, sure that she misheard, trying to wrap her mind around his words. “What do you mean?”

“What other meaning is there?” Cassian drawls, reaching for a stray strand of her hair and twirling it around his finger, a gesture reminiscent of their night together. “The only wife I have is you.”

“So you tricked me with your bargain.”

“Tricked you? I distinctly remember you agreeing. Remember the way you begged for–”

“Stop.”

Nesta takes a firm step back, Cassian’s hand dropping away from between them and back to his side. He tilts his head as he watches her, but Nesta squeezes her eyes shut. He’s too distracting. His presence, the warmth that radiates off his frame, his eyes and the kaleidoscope of emotions swimming amongst the golds and greens. She needs to think.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins, his voice soft and low.

“I said stop.”

Even his voice is distracting, the timbre and drawl of it skating across Nesta skin, wrapping around her limbs like a warm embrace. It seems to rumble from deep within his chest, and Nesta knows exactly what that chest feels like pressed against her own. She knows exactly how his lips feel dragging across her skin, against her lips, against–

“Why?” Nesta asks, her eyes flashing open again. “Why would you make that your end of the bargain then?”

“Because from the moment I saw you in that wood, I knew there would never be another for me.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I was ready to drop to my knees before you bargain or not,” Cassian continues, stepping back into her space. This time, he wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her flush to him until Nesta has to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. “Now, I know I said you could do whatever you wished as my wife, and that is still true, but you can’t tell me you wish to stay in this sorry village. Come home, wife.”

Warmth pools through Nesta’s chest, tugging just below her ribs, at her heart, but that voice in the back of her mind still scrambles and screams. “And how do I know I’m not escaping one cruel man just to run into the arms of another?”

The question pulls a growl from Cassian’s throat. “I would never dare to lay a hand on you unless you asked. And anyone who does dare will have my wrath to answer to, just like that sorry excuse of a man in the village square.”

Before she can think twice about it, before that voice can talk her out of it, Nesta presses up onto her toes, crashing her mouth against Cassian’s. He responds instantly, his lips dragging and sliding with her own, his arms and wings wrapping around her. There’s a comfort, a safety, a contentment here in his embrace, and that warmth in Nesta’s chest puts down roots, unfurls and blooms. It settles all the way down to the very marrow of her bones, to her soul.

When she finally pulls back from the kiss, she steps back from Cassian completely before he can drag her back under. She clears her throat and resettles the basket on her arm, turning on her heel and continuing toward her destination. Only when the familiar worn wood of the door comes into view does she finally stop again, turning over her shoulder.

“Stay out here.”

She doesn’t wait for Cassian’s response before she steps inside her family’s home, the scent of fresh bread greeting her. She spies her father asleep in the rickety chair he favors in front of the fire. Typical. With an annoyed huff, Nesta sets down her basket, heading in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Nesta? Is that you? You were in the market longer than I thought. I was starting to get worried.”

Nesta ignores her sister, continuing down the hall and through the bedroom door. She digs a bag out from beneath the bed, laying it open and turning toward the wardrobe. She makes quick work pulling out all her favorite dresses and folding them into some semblance of order.

“Nesta? Is everything–what are you doing?”

Nesta only glances toward Elain now standing in the doorway, Feyre standing just behind her and peering over the middle Archeron’s shoulder. Instead, Nesta returns to the task at hand, grabbing her most beloved books and adding them to the bag as well. Her attention dances briefly toward the old desk in the corner, but she presumes even a fae would have parchment and pen for her to write.

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta finally says, closing the bag. “But I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Feyre echoes, stepping back enough that Nesta can walk back out of the bedroom.

“Yes. Now that there is no longer a marriage contract with the Mandrays, there’s no…” Nesta sighs, pausing in front of their home's front door and turning back toward her sisters, but there’s nothing but understanding on Elain and Feyre’s faces. “I’ll write once I’m settled. I swear it.”

With a final nod, Nesta pulls open the door, stepping back into the sun. As if she already inherently knows where to look, her eyes find Cassian where he’s leaning casually against the trunk of a tree. It’s reminiscent of the first time she saw the fae, only this time, his expression seems to soften as he takes her in. Nesta refuses to admit to the way her heart stutters at the smile on his face.

“Is that–”

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta cuts Elain off. “Just know that this is what I want, that I’ll be happy. Don’t let father ever try to convince either of you that you don’t deserve that too.” She starts down the path away from their house before another thought occurs to her. “And perhaps stay out of the woods. Especially at night.”

Nesta continues down the path and across the grass until she reaches Cassian, wordlessly holding out her bag. She swears it’s purposeful, the way his fingers skate across her skin as he takes it, and yet goosebumps erupt up her arm either way. She waits for Cassian to begin leading the way back between the trees and deeper into the woods, but instead the fae takes the time to secure her bag over his shoulder until it rests between his wings.

“Oh, we’ll be flying,” Cassian explains, answering her unasked question.

“Flying?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Cassian scoops her up and into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Nesta is quick to wrap her own arms tightly around his neck, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the rush, of the wind, but it never comes. When she opens her eyes again, she finds Cassian watching her. Waiting for her permission.

“Well? Take me home, husband.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#NestaWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

[cosmicluvcore]

To be human part 2

Rottmnt Leo x reader, gender neutral, friends to lovers, himbo Leo (?), one sided pining

Part 1 here

Summary: Leo has the biggest crush on you but he's afraid that you'd never date a mutant, so with the help of a clooking broach he plans to become your perfect human boyfriend!

☆

Idk if you can tell but this is kinda Aladdin inspired

Also I wasn't sure abt posting this since it has no Y/N interactions umm so sorry if you're dissapointed

I promise the next one will have fluffy moments between Y/N and Leo!! Sorry this is short

Tag list!!

@lunaflyer @wings-of-sapphire @ssak-i @nessarolla-in-constant-flux @envyjmoney

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"¿Qué hice para merecer esto?" Is what the disgruntled Señor Hueso muttered under his breath, as he watched Leo come crashing into his restaurant.

Of all the times that mutant decides to show up, it had to be on a good day. A loud sigh left the skeleton's mouth as he watched the turtle bump into one of his waiters, knocking all the dishes out of her hand.

"Señor! Señor!" Leo called out eagerly as he approached, "I have a really, really important request and you have to-"

He was interrupted by Hueso placing his hand up, narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

"Instead of disturbing my guests, Pepino, let's talk in the staff room."

~

Leo was still wiping spilled spaghetti off himself as he spoke. Amazingly, that didn't stop his excited flow.

"Señor, bone head, buddy! Long time no see, right?" Leo asked in an overly friendly manner, offering Hueso a hand.

Hueso glanced at his hand, which had marinara sauce on it, before glancing back at Leo with an unimpressed expression.

"Uf hijo, did you just come here to cause trouble?" He asked rather bluntly.

Leo chuckled to himself, "Of course not! I just came here for a little... help."

"Help?" Hueso repeated, tilting his head as he watched Leo's over excited behavior.

"Yeah, I was wondering if you could help me get my hands on a cloaking brooch." He explained briefly while wiping away the bit of sauce that was on his shoulder.

"A cloaking brooch?" Hueso repeated raising his brow, "Why would you need one of those? I've seen you walk among humans like it's nothing."

"It's not for that."

Leo bit his lip unsure whether he should let the truth spill, no one knew of his little crush and he was afriad if he started talking about them he wouldn't know when to stop. So he took the easier route.

"It's for uh- You know... science." He lied, smiling awkwardly as if that made his reply more believable.

Señor Hueso simply shot him an unconvinced expression.

"Este idiota..." The skeleton muttered under his breath, "Why don't you just say why you really want it? It would save you from the embarrassment of lying to my face."

Yeah, Hueso wasn't buying it. Figures.

"Okay okay, I'll admit that wasn't my best performance," Leo said with a grin, although his trade mark smirk faded into a small frown as Hueso stared back at him with narrowed eyes.

"Truth is I'm trying to impress someone..." He admitted quietly, his gaze darting to the ground, while he fidgeted with his hands sheepishly.

Hueso blinked in surprise at the turtles sudden shyness, "Trying to impress someone?" He repeated curiously, looking back to the blushing turtle for futher confimration.

Leo bit his lip, his heart fluttering at the thought of them, "A human." He confessed softly.

"I've never felt this way about anyone before, they're just perfect in every way!" He explained brightly, though his happy expression faultered, "But, I don't think they'd be interested in, this whole situation." He frowned, gesturing to himself.

Hueso nodded slowly as he listened, "I see," He hummed in reply, looking thoughtful as he considered Leo's situation for a moment, "So you want to pretend to be human and lie to them?"

Leo frowned at the skeletons blutness, "It's not a lie! I'm just... bending... the truth," He said, his brow furrowing as he spoke.

Even he didn't believe himself this time.

"Alright it's kinda a lie, but what other chance do I have?"

"I don't know, tell them the truth?" Hueso retorted, Leo couldn't help but roll his eyes as he was lectured on the obvious answer, "If you really think this person is worth it, then you should be honest with them."

"The last thing I need to be is honest." The turtle insisted stubbornly, his expression souring at the idea of even attemping to tell his crush how he felt.

Leo hated to picture it, he hated that he knew his voice would tremble as he would try his best to convey to them how deeply he felt.

He hated how he knew he would stammer over his words as he scrambled to find the best way to express his feelings.

And then he would have to wait impatiently for their reply, fearing the worst, after this new discovery.

Not like he could blame Y/N.

Who wouldn't turn down a nervous idiot? And why would anyone ever be interested in someone who looks like him?

"I don't want to risk losing them." Leo finally said, sighing before meeting Hueso gaze again with a serious expression.

"Look, all I need is a brooch. I just want a chance to be with them and make them happy. Please, Señor?"

As Hueso watched Leo's sad expression he was still unsure how to reply, he knew this was an awful idea yet Leo seemed so attached to it. The puppy dog eyes that the blue masked turtle was giving him eventually casused a defeated sigh escape Hueso's mouth.

"Fine, I have a spare somewhere around here," Hueso muttered reluctantly, too tired to keep pushing, turning to his desk and opening a drawer, "Just don't blame me when things go terribly wrong."

Leo's expression immediately brightened.

"Really?!" He leaned over Señor Hueso's shoulder, eagerly watching as the skeleton searched.

Eventually, Hueso found it, a gold gemstone-adorned brooch.

As Leo looked at the badazzled brooch, excitement began to bubble in his chest, the glamorous item really did make this whole situation seem a lot cooler. This was his key to being Y/N's perfect romantic partner, something he'd dreamed of for far too long that was now finally a possibility. His heart soared at the thought.

"Here," Hueso said, handing him the brooch, "Try not to get spaghetti on it, Pepino."

Leo was practically vibrating with excitement as the brooch was placed into his hands. He nodded at Hueso's words despite not really hearing them.

"Thanks Señor! I can keep this right?" He asked.

"Just don't damage it." Hueso warned in reply, "If you do, it could stop-"

But before he got the chance to finish his words, Leo had disappeared into another blue portal.

"-working..."

#Spotify #rottmnt #rottmnt leo x reader #rottmnt leo x you #rottmnt tbh #rottmnt to be human #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt x y/n #rottmnt x you #tbh #to be human #rottmmt x gn reader #gn reader #rottmnt leo x y/n #rottmnt leo x gn reader #rottmnt leo #rottmnt Leonardo #rottmnt himbo leo #tmnt x reader #Idk if this is himbo #hes being a bit of a silly billy rn #but its because hes excited #senor hueso #rottmnt senor hueso #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rise leo #rise x reader #rise leo x reader #rise of the tmnt x reader

[fandomwriterstuff]

Slut!

Sirius Black x Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader (Slytherin)

Words: ~3.3k

Heavily inspired by Slut! by Taylor Swift

Seventh year was turning out to be the best yet as far as you were concerned. Sure, you were navigating the landscape of emotionally stunted seventeen year olds that also frequented the Slytherin dungeons and that you called your friends. And you also had your N.E.W.T. exams coming, as well as the inevitable detentions you were sure to rack up with your mischievous friends. And you also had the pressures of your pureblood family, and their expectations of you which were approaching just as fast as your graduation from Hogwarts. 

Alright, so maybe you were looking at a shit show of a year, but you were a girl of many talents. One of those talents happened to be romanticizing everyday things. Your uncharacteristic outlook on life (uncharacteristic for a Slytherin, that is) was what was turning seventh year into the best year. And that was directly related to the two boys you’d attracted with your whimsy, passion, and pretty smile.

Now, you’d dated before. However, you’d never had a friends-with-benefits situation before. And you’d certainly never had that sort of thing with an established couple. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were Gryffindor’s power couple and also the two most attractive boys in Hogwarts. (You were being generous by saying most attractive boys, because you all know that if you’d said people it would have included yourself and one Lily Evans at the top of the list). 

“And that, dear reader,” you wrote in your diary. “Is how I ended up getting invited to a Gryffindor quidditch victory party. A victory which they won against Slytherin.” You were making your last entry before trying to escape the dungeons without Regulus or Barty finding out about it. Both loving in their own ways, they were incredibly nosy when it came to your situationship. They were very protective of you and were already unhappy that the two Gryffindors hadn’t asked you to be theirs yet… Publicly. 

“I do love these victory parties though, I get to dress up for the boys and feel like an absolute goddess when they see me. Though I do wish they would just date me. I’m becoming tired.”

As you touched up your hair and makeup in the mirror before your escape, you wondered what the other Gryffindors thought of the sole Slytherin showing up to their victory fest. (That is, unless Regulus decided to get his shit together and just kiss Potter, then you wouldn’t be alone in there). 

You evaded wandering eyes and snuck out of the common room, wondering whether Remus or Sirius would walk you over. Typically one of them would come find you beforehand and snog you in a closet. You liked the feeling that they couldn’t get enough of you. 

This time it was Remus, sitting on a windowsill at the top of the staircase and holding a lit cigarette between his fingers. Though when he saw you, sheer black tights and impractical shoes peeking out of your Slytherin cloak as you hurried up the stairs, he rubbed the tip of it into the stone and smiled down at you. 

“Hey, dove. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got hiding under that cloak. You know Sirius loves those miniskirts you wear,” voice low in the dim light, you gave him a soft smile. Merlin, he was beautiful in the moonlight coming in through the window. You wished you could have them. Sirius and Remus and you. It was a pipe dream. 

“And you know how much I love when you wear your shirt like this, it’s like you’re trying to entice me,” you murmured, brushing your manicured fingernails against his exposed forearms. He had the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his necktie long gone and hair mussed. You were envious that you weren’t so effortlessly ethereal, but you also felt so lucky you were able to see him like this, touch him like this. You steeled yourself against the encroaching depression that tried to take over when you thought of this… thing ending. Which it surely would. Sirius and Remus were the perfect couple. But you would do anything to make it last, to be theirs, for them to show you off like they did eachother.

Adorned with smoke on my clothes

Lovelorn and nobody knows

Love thorns all over this rose

I’ll pay the price, you won’t

The Gryffindor common room was a raucous place after quidditch games. You were able to slip in unseen, Remus shielding you from prying eyes with his tall and lanky figure as he ushered you up to his shared room. James was likely already downstairs, and Peter always made himself scarce during these things, so you weren’t too shocked to see Sirius shirtless, flicking his wand to dry his freshly cleaned hair. It was always a wreck after quidditch. Somehow the low bun he tied it in always got knotty. 

“Moony, I thought you were coming with my favorite Slytherin?” He teased, and you peeked around Remus’ arm from your spot hidden behind him. “Oh, there you are, princess! I thought he’d lost you along the way,” he smiled as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “Come on, don’t be shy, let's see the outfit.” He never failed to make you feel pretty, and so you unclasped your cloak and hung it on the edge of his bed before doing a little twirl. Today’s was a pretty little black minidress with a swinging skirt that draped across your thighs in such a way that you had to buy it. You knew they would love it. 

“You’ve no right to be so beautiful,” Remus’ voice from behind you had you blushing. And you’ve no right to woo me like this, like you want to date me, you thought to yourself. You didn’t have time to wallow in your thoughts before he came up from behind you and wrapped his big hands around your hips, thumbs rubbing into your skin and making you forget all the reasons this was a bad idea. Just like every time.

“Maybe not, but she is and we can enjoy the view,” Sirius, shirt still unbuttoned, was approaching you like a lion stalking its prey. But when he was standing chest to chest with you, looking down at you with those pretty eyes, he was nothing but gentle when he reached up to tilt your chin so he could kiss you. He had you like putty in his hands, and as you opened your mouth to let him in, Remus cleared his throat. 

“You two do this every time. They’re going to notice we’re gone,” you could hear the fondness in his voice. 

“I think Rem wants a kiss, princess,” Sirius breathed against your lips and you giggled, turning in their hold to blink up at your taller companion. 

“Is that true, Remmy?” You wondered aloud, smiling up as his sandy hair fell over his forehead. 

“Well I’m never going to turn one down from you,” he smirked before leaning down to press his lips against yours. It was a gentle thing, but when he squeezed his hands where they sat on your waist and pulled you in you gasped, and you were suddenly losing yourself in the taste of him. Smoke and chocolate and his hands were reaching towards your hair when Sirius tutted at him and you broke away.

“Don’t ruin her hair, I’m sure she worked hard on it.”

“I don’t mind,” you said breathily at the same time Remus chuckled with a “Alright, let’s get down there.”

The difference with tonight, which you would have noticed if you weren’t hiding behind Remus on your way in, was that the alcohol hadn’t come yet, and nobody was drunk enough for you to get past them without being noticed. Potter has just come in with some others with their contraband firewhiskey and other beverages, and so when you stepped off the bottom stair, laughing at something Sirius had said, lips kiss-reddened, and heart eyes glowing… Well people noticed. 

You didn’t notice at first, too wrapped up in your two not-boyfriends. But you caught the whispers in the air.

“Isn’t she a Slytherin?”

“What’s she doing here?”

“What’s she doing here with them?”

Now, something you would write later in your diary went along the lines of: “As it turns out, everyone assumed Remus and Sirius were gay and that I was corrupting them.”

But all you could hear in the moment was the muttered “Slut!” from multiple directions.

Now, whimsical and romantic or not, you were a Slytherin and you had generations of pureblood rage instilled in you. You were away from your boys for the first time when you heard it. Uttered in the dim light, drunken words. But then a drunken Gryffindor boy tried to talk to you. 

“So, are you just fucking Lupin? Or Black? Both?” He cocked his head to the side, and your eyes widened in horror before narrowing in anger. You’d pulled your fist back, moments away from knocking his lights out when a strong hand held you back.

“Oh, Remus!” The random boy was too drunk to see how close he’d been to being punched. “Hey, I just wanted to know if she was your girl? Or Sirius’? If not, I’d like a chance to see what’s under that dress,” he smiled and winked salaciously, and you saw red. 

“Let me go,” you gritted out, pulling against the iron grip holding you back. 

The tunnel vision was starting to fade and you were beginning to notice others with their eyes on you, but you were seated in your rage now. 

“Pads, com’ere,” he must have been close by, because Remus hadn’t raised his voice.

“What’s going on over here?” His usually excitable demeanor was mellowed out by the alcohol. However you were red in the face and Remus was quite literally holding you back. 

“McLaggen wants to know whether we’re engaged in a torrid affair with this lovely creature, and if not-”

McLaggen interrupted Remus, clearly confused by the big words. 

“I dunno about all that, just wanted to know if she was with you. Because if not,” he wiggled his eyebrows… or he tried to. But with the alcohol and sweat it just looked messy. You were loosening in Remus’ hold, his strong arms always helping to bring you down from a high. He was like an anchor. 

“She’s with us.” The elder Black brother’s voice was deadly serious, no room for jests, and luckily McLaggen took the hint and fucked off. 

“You need a drink, pretty girl,” Sirius exhaled before turning to grab a new cup. People were beginning to look at you, wrapped up in Remus’ arms, and whisper. You felt the pricking of your tear ducts and you wrinkled your nose up to make it go away, which prompted Remus to gracefully spin you into a corner where he could tower over you and shield you from prying eyes. 

“You alright, dove? Want me to punch that tosser?”

You hadn’t yet unclenched your fists, and the tall boy in front of you used his own scarred hands to pry them open and gently massage your palms where you had little crescent marks embedded. 

“I think she wished you’d let her punch him,” Sirius shouldered his way into your corner, holding three cups of punch in his hands. “It would have been super hot, too.”

“They’re calling me a slut,” you whispered, not one to be easily moved by harsh words, this feeling was new to you. You couldn’t look up at them, still staring at Remus’ hands holding yours.

The two were silent for a moment, probably doing that thing where they looked into eachothers eyes and had quiet conversations. You always assumed it was lovers' telepathy. You were always jealous of that, you wanted it with them. 

“Princess, I don’t care what they say, and I don’t think you should either,” Sirius started, and Remus reached up to tilt your face up to face them. “You’re not a slut. And to be honest, this has been going on long enough,” your mouth dropped open on instinct. Was he about to end your… whatever this was? “We can put the rumors to rest, because we want you to be ours.”

With that, your mouth shut with an audible click as your teeth crashed together. 

“Officially, of course. Because unofficially… we’ve always been yours, darling,” Remus was smiling down at you and you swore he could have been a star in the sky the way he was glowing. 

“You want me?” It came out a little more needy and desperate than you wanted it to, and Sirius cooed at you. 

“Of course, pretty girl. We’re just idiots and didn’t know how to ask. So will you be ours?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded vehemently and used the extra height from your shoes to aid you in reaching up to crash your lips against his. You were mid-kiss when some fucker bumped into Remus who nearly knocked you over. 

“Hey, piss off,” the drunken boy slurred and Sirius pulled away from you (making sure you were upright and unharmed in the process).

“Don’t talk to our girlfriend like that,” the words seemed to come out of his mouth in slow motion and you watched as all the eyes in the vicinity turned to you. And then the whispering started, spreading across the room like a wildfire. 

But if I’m all dressed up

They might as well be looking at us

And if they call me a slut

You know it might be worth it for once

And if I’m gonna be drunk

I might as well be drunk in love

“I’ll take that drink now, Siri,” you breathed, and your boyfriend (your boyfriend!) grinned and passed one over to you before giving another to Remus.

“Cheers,” he exclaimed, and the three of you clinked your cups together. 

What you would later learn (you seemed to be learning all these lessons after the fact) was that once the student body realized that neither Remus or Sirius were gay, it would be hunting season. The only issue was you couldn’t tell who was the prey, you or the boys. 

You weren’t sure if the people sending you withering looks wanted to be you or kill you, but those were somehow better than the saucy winks and up-and-down gazes that made you feel naked. 

Everyone wants him

That was my crime

It all came to a head one Saturday afternoon. You’d been eating lunch with Barty and Regulus out by the Black Lake, enjoying the rare afternoon warmth, a cloudless day. The only way things could get better was if you had your boyfriends there with you. You were excited for a moment when you heard footfalls behind you, but the pace was too quick, the gait unfamiliar. You turned around from your seated position to see two Gryffindor girls you didn’t recognize approaching you, looking rather sour. 

“Salazar, save me,” you sighed, tired of dealing with jealous girls. At your comment, both boys looked around at the two outsiders. Now, typically, having Barty Crouch Jr. and Regulus Black lay their deadly cold glares on you was enough to send you running. But these girls were determined. “Let me handle this,” you muttered before dusting off your skirt and meeting them on your feet.

“What is it?” You cocked your hip, arms crossed, and stared at the two unfamiliar faces.

“We just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” one started, looking you up and down with a sneer. Not a very convincing one though, you could tell she wasn’t used to squaring up, which meant these were likely girls younger than you.

“Can’t tell why those two chose you though, you’re just a regular boring girl. And a Slytherin at that,” you rolled your eyes at the second girl’s words. 

“What, can’t come up with any better insults? Not going to tell me I’m a slut? That I’m corrupting the school’s favorite golden boys? That I’m too ugly or too dull or too mean for them?” You couldn’t care less about girls like this, but something prompted your two friends to stand and flank you. You weren’t sure what alerted them, but you were glad to have them behind you for what came next. 

“Should have guessed a girl from a family of death eaters would be used to being called names,” one giggled nastily, and you felt your would narrow down to just see them. 

“The boys will leave you once they realize you’re just another follower. Wouldn’t be surprised if you already had a dark mark. Let’s see,” she reached for your arm and before she could touch you, two wands were pointed at her throat. 

“Don’t touch her,” Regulus growled from behind you. 

“You’ll regret it,” Barty followed, gleeful. He loved an excuse to scare people. 

She paled, and her friend scoffed. 

“Typical Slytherins. Let’s get out of here.”

“Run along, and go tell McGonagall that you were harassing another student. I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” you forced out a haughty laugh, and reveled in their nervous frowns. 

You thought it was over, but then you heard one of them mutter: “Of course she has two death eaters doing her dirty work. She doesn’t deserve-” 

You couldn’t hear anything else over the waves crashing in your ears. You were sure Regulus was telling you to let them go, but you couldn’t let them slander your two closest friends like that. 

“Hey!” You were agitated, and pulled the one that was being nasty by the hood of her cloak, effectively spinning her around and throwing her off balance. 

“What are you gonna do? Crucio me?” She laughed, unafraid. 

“No,” you grinned, a shark with blood in the water. “I just came to tell you, you have blood on your collar,” she looked down, confused. As soon as her face came back up to face you, your fist collided with her nose and she went down, blood decorating her pretty white dress shirt. 

“You better keep your fucking mouth shut about things you don’t know about,” you spat down at her as she cried, and you stormed back into the castle. 

You let your sleeves drape over your fingers, hiding your bruised knuckles, as you wandered the halls. You didn’t want to go back to the dungeons yet, but you didn’t want to face your boyfriends. Unluckily for you, they had a magic map that helped them find you. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” you were greeted by Sirius, and you felt a bit of the tension leak out of you as he and Remus steered you towards the Gryffindor common room. 

“Regulus told us something happened but wouldn’t tell us what,” your taller boyfriend said once you found yourselves in their shared room. You pursed your lips and clenched your aching fist, tear ducts stinging as you held back your tears. 

“I punched a girl in the face,” you admitted. You’d talked to the two boys before about how you were afraid of turning out like your parents, violent and cruel and heartless. You never hit anyone before. You stretched out your fingers at the thought, letting your knuckles crack with the effort. 

Soon you were seated on Remus bed, Sirius holding your undamaged hand while Remus tended to the other and you repeated what had happened. 

“Have people been bothering you a lot?” Sirius’ voice was soft and you nodded. 

“They all hate me,” you breathed in deeply, trying not to let it all get to you. 

“Oh, dove. They don’t hate you. They’re just mean-spirited and jealous,” Remus wrapped you up in his strong arms and nestled you under his chin. “If anything else happens, let us know. We’ll deal with it.”

“Preferably before my brother or Junior find out about it. We don’t need any maiming happening,” Sirius joked, and once again the air was alight with love and laughter.

And I break down

Then he's pulling me in

In a world of boys he's a gentleman

#marauders era #the marauders #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #x reader #reader insert #sirius black x reader #taylor swift #songfic #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x sirius black #wolfstar

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Ch 2

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagine #jon snow #tyrion lannister #lannister!reader #new series alert! #I know y'all don't want this but I wanted to make the title thing so bad #tyrion's daughter #theon greyjoy x sansa stark #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #got fanfiction #robb stark

[impishtubist]

seed moon fest snippets

Sometimes you just have to admit defeat and say that a story simply isn't going to be finished 😂 Anyway, here's my attempt at knocking Remus up for my own informal fest. It's nearly 3K words of unedited nonsense and unfinished scenes that was supposed to be a much longer fic that spanned all of OOTP.

Someone else with more brain cells than me should definitely knock Remus up during OOTP properly, as he deserves. Until then, enjoy this fragmented chaos:

---

September 1995

“We need to talk,” Remus says as he unwinds his scarf. 

“The last time you said that to me, you wanted a divorce.” Sirius helps him out of his cloak and hangs it on the rack. 

The corner of Remus’s mouth quirks. “Can’t exactly divorce you twice, can I?”

“I suppose not.” Sirius examines him. “You look a bit peaky.” 

“Yes, that’s what--”

“Lupin! Black!” Kingsley’s voice carries up the stairs. “Order meeting!” 

Sirius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Duty calls. You can divorce me again after the meeting.”

***

Dumbledore hands out assignments at the end of the meeting--guard duty for everyone except Sirius and Remus, as usual. Sirius is ordered to stay in the house, and Remus is assigned to another werewolf pack, this time in Poland. 

“No,” Remus says, and the whole room goes silent.

“Remus,” Dumbledore says after a moment, “you are the only member of the Order who is able to infiltrate the packs, and need I remind you of the importance of--”

“Yes, I’m aware of the importance of my missions,” Remus says dryly. “Given how successful they were in the first war, I understand why you want me to repeat them. The answer is still no. I will not be infiltrating any wolf packs for the foreseeable future, and Severus, I will no longer require Wolfsbane from you.” 

“Remus,” Sirius protests, “you can’t--” 

“I can,” Remus says forcefully. 

“But this is your health we’re talking about!” 

“Lupin’s no use to us if he won’t perform his missions as instructed,” Snape says. “Of course I’ll no longer be providing Wolfsbane to someone who refuses to make a contribution to the cause.”

“I don’t understand why,” Molly begins.

“Neither do I,” Sirius says. 

“Remus, if you could enlighten us--”

“Sonorus!” Remus shouts, pointing his wand at his stomach. 

A steady thud thud thud fills the room, and it takes Sirius several seconds to realize that the heartbeat isn’t Remus’s. 

“Oh, Merlin,” he breathes as eyes widen around the table. 

A flurry of emotions flash across Dumbledore’s face--anger, disappointment, resignation. He settles on grim. “You intend to keep the baby, then, Mr. Lupin?”

Remus flinches slightly, but he holds Dumbledore’s gaze. “Yes.” 

“Very well. Your services are indeed no longer required, and Severus will no longer provide you with Wolfsbane for the moon.”

“You can’t fucking do that!” Sirius shouts at Dumbledore. “Just because he’s physically unable to be your puppet-”

“It’s poisonous to the baby,” Remus says quietly, and Sirius’s mouth snaps shut. “Wolfsbane, I mean. I can’t take it while I’m--while I’m pregnant.” 

***

Dumbledore ends the meeting after that. Thankfully sensing that Sirius and Remus have a lot to talk about, the rest of the members file out of the kitchen quickly, leaving them alone. 

“So,” Sirius says after a moment. “Is it, er--”

“Yes, Sirius,” Remus says tiredly. “It’s yours.” 

“Oh, good,” Sirius says, and then quickly adds, “Not that it would have been a problem if it wasn’t! Obviously, you were allowed to have a life these past thirteen years, and--” 

Remus kisses him. “Shut up.” 

“So, er, in June…”

“Yes. We could blame it on Dumbledore, really. He’s the one who sent you to me after the Task.” 

“Oh, Merlin.” Sirius passes a hand over his eyes, shaking with silent laughter. “That would go over well, after tonight.” 

Remus smiles briefly, but it quickly drops from his face. “I didn't mean to break the news like this, and I know I made the decision without even speaking to you, but--”

“Remus,” Sirius says, “it’s fine, really. I mean, Merlin, a baby. Of course I wasn’t expecting it, but I think it’s great.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I mean, it’s also insane. I’m still a convict who isn’t allowed to leave the most heavily-warded house in Britain, which also happens to be the headquarters for a secret organization fighting the darkest wizard of our time, and you’re a werewolf living through an era of unprecedented anti-lycanthropic legislation. This is madness, and yet, I’m thrilled.”

Remus bites his lip. “Can we do this?”

“Yes.” Sirius reaches for his hand. “We can do this. I used Crookshanks to access my vaults last year, and I can do it again. We won’t hurt for gold. This is the safest house in Britain, so you’ll move in here permanently. We’ll have nine months to make it, er, baby-proof, but yes we can do this. We will do this.”

“Six months.”

“What?”

“I’m twelve weeks along, so we have roughly six months to get everything ready, although the baby might decide to make an early appearance.” 

Sirius grins. “Six months it is. I like a challenge.”

“You’re taking this rather well.” 

Sirius shrugs. “Always wanted to have a baby with you.” 

“What?”

“If we raise the baby here, we’re taking Harry in as well,” Sirius goes on, as if he hadn’t just said something earth-shattering. “I’m not going to send him to his relatives for another summer, and then raise another child simply because they’re my blood.”

“I agree,” Remus says. “But you--want this? You’ve wanted this?” 

“Wouldn’t have gone about it like this, but yeah.” Sirius’s lips quirk. “Next time, we’ll do it after I clear my name and we’re living somewhere that isn’t a house full of dark objects.”

“What do you mean, next time?”

***

“Sirius, where’s Kreacher?”

“Hogwarts,” Sirius says, and Remus blinks at him. 

“Hogwarts?”

“I’m not having him in this house once the baby arrives.” Sirius resumes his scrubbing, though perhaps with more force than is called for. “I grew up with that elf, and I won’t have the baby do the same. I won’t put them through that.” 

“Oh, Sirius.”

“And I wasn’t going to behead him like my dear old mother would have, so sending him to work in the kitchens at Hogwarts seemed like the best solution.” 

“That was kind of you.”

***

“Well?” Remus asks, holding out his arms. “What do you think?”

Sirius circles him, examining the outfit.

“It’ll do,” he finally declares.

“It’ll do? I should hope so! This one alone costs more than I made in a year at Hogwarts.” Sirius had insisted on buying him a whole new wardrobe as soon as Remus started having difficulty fitting into his usual clothes. He’ll have to buy Remus new clothes every few weeks now as Remus increases in size, and doesn’t seem to see an issue with that.

***

December 1995

“Remus is still staying here,” Sirius says, “and, er, there’s something you should know before you see him.” 

Fred and George give him twin glares that could kill, and Sirius can’t blame them--their father might be dying, might be dead already, and Sirius wants to talk about one of their former professors? But Harry looks inquisitive, so Sirius plunges on. “He’s going to look a bit different when you see him. He’s, er, pregnant, and he's pretty far along."

“Pregnant!” Ron blurts, while everyone else stares at Sirius in shock.

“You’re the other father, then,” Ginny says, and she doesn’t sound surprised at all.

“Are you?” Harry demands.

“I am,” Sirius says. “It…wasn’t planned, to say the least.” 

Remus comes into the basement kitchen as Molly and Sirius are in the middle of making breakfast, and he does a double-take at the number of people who have appeared in the house overnight. 

“Fill Remus in, Harry, won’t you?” Sirius asks over his shoulder as he prods at the bacon. 

He listens as Harry recounts the events of the previous night. At the end, Harry adds, “And Sirius told us about the baby, so, er, congratulations, Professor.” 

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or girl, Professor?” Ginny asks. 

“No, we want it to be a surprise.”

Now that Arthur’s out of danger, his children are more than happy to pepper Remus with questions about the baby. He patiently answers all of them while they eat breakfast, and even lets Ginny feel the baby kick when she asks. They’re always more active after a meal.

After breakfast, the kids go off to nap, except for Harry, who lingers in the kitchen with Sirius and Remus.

“Where’s the baby going to stay after they’re born?”

“Here, with us,” Sirius says. “Remus has already moved in, and we’re turning one of the guest bedrooms into a nursery.” 

Harry nods. “I’m really happy for you.” 

“Harry,” Remus says gently. “There’s a place for you here, too.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean--”

“I know you didn’t, but we want you to know that.” 

“I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys?”

“Dumbledore will want you to, and he’ll probably try to force you to go,” Sirius says. “If I have to kidnap you from Kings Cross myself, I will. We’re not letting you go back.” 

“As long as that’s alright with you, of course,” Remus says. “It won’t be easy, living with a newborn.” 

“Anything is better than the Dursleys,” Harry says fervently, and then he throws himself into Sirius’s arms. “Thank you.” 

***

Pregnancy seems to calm the wolf, a side effect Remus hadn’t been expecting. He still prefers moons where he can take Wolfsbane, but at least these transformations aren’t traumatic without it. He still sometimes dislocates a joint or breaks a bone during the transformation itself, but Sirius tells him that while he’s the wolf, all he does is nest and sleep. 

Moony has decided that the Black family library is the perfect place to build his nest, and he spends each moon gathering items from around the house and dragging them to the library. So far, he’s confiscated all the couch cushions, every blanket that had been moldering in a wardrobe, and three of Sirius’s cloaks.

***

Remus’s labor begins on a sunny Tuesday shortly after lunch, and he stays in early labor well into the night. He’s able to go about his day mostly as normal, despite the increasing discomfort.

That changes in the early hours of the morning, when he grips Sirius’s arm hard enough to bruise and grits out, “Get Molly.” 

Their birth plan isn’t much of one--they’ve been relying on Sirius’s years-old Healer training and whatever books they can lay their hands on. They can’t risk telling anyone about the baby who wasn’t at that initial Order meeting, not even Poppy. Molly has helped two wix friends through their own pregnancies, so she’s the closest thing to an obstetrician that they have. 

She helps keep Remus comfortable, checks to see how dilated he is, and coaches him on when to push. She makes sure Sirius is actively involved as well, and he’s the one to catch their son as Remus pushes him into the world. 

“Oh, fuck,” Remus wheezes as Sirius cradles the infant in his hands, tears coursing down his cheeks. “Oh, fuck, I am never doing that again.” 

The baby starts to wail in earnest, and Sirius laughs, giddy and relieved and so fucking terrified. Molly helps Remus with the after birth, and then Sirius lays the baby on his chest. 

“Still think he’s a Teddy?” Sirius asks softly while Remus cuddles the baby close. He presses his nose to the top of the baby’s head and breathes. 

“Yes,” Remus says finally. “He’s definitely a Teddy.” 

***

Harry knocks on McGonagall’s office door precisely at eight, and it swings open immediately.

“Mr. Potter, come in,” she says. “Have a seat.”

He sits in front of her desk, wondering what task she’ll assign him for detention tonight. Scrubbing all the toilets on the fifth floor with a toothbrush, probably. At least it won’t be lines with a blood quill, he thinks as he massages his hand absently. 

“I have a message for you,” McGonagall says.

“Right,” Harry says, blinking at her. A message? He’s here for detention. 

“Edward John Lupin-Black was born at five-thirty this morning. Professor Lupin is doing well, and your godfather is beside himself with happiness.” 

“Oh.” Harry blinks, absorbing this. “Remus had the baby?”

“He did,” McGonagall says, and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’m sorry for the ruse, but serving you a detention seemed the best way to get this message to you. I was summoned to Headquarters for a meeting this afternoon, which is how I learned about the baby. Mr. Black also wanted me to convey to you that he’s looking forward to seeing you this summer, and that he loves you.” 

***

June 1996

The kitchen door bursts open and Sirius hurries in, his wand in one hand. He has a crying bundle in the crook of his other arm, and for a moment all the thoughts flee Harry’s brain.

“Harry? What’s going on, what’s wrong?”

“Teddy?” Harry blurts.

Sirius holsters his wand and kneels before the fire, adjusting the baby in his arms. For a moment, the sight of Harry’s floating head distracts the baby, and he stops his wailing. 

“Where are you Flooing from?”

“McGonagall’s office,” Harry says, jolted back to reality by the question. “Sirius, I thought--I saw--you were being tortured! Voldemort kidnapped you, and he was holding you somewhere, and--”

“Harry, breathe,” Sirius said. “It must have been another vision. I’m safe; we all are.” 

“My other visions have been real,” Harry says--hesitantly, because he wants to believe this is Sirius in front of him. “Mr. Weasley did get attacked, and that old man really did die.”

“I know,” Sirius says, “but we already know that Voldemort can get into your mind, and that Snape never completed your Legilimancy lessons. That means that Voldemort can plant visions in your head, ones that aren’t real and never happened.”

“Sirius?” Remus comes into the kitchen, knuckling sleep out of his eyes. He freezes when he sees Harry’s head in the fire. “What’s going on? Harry, are you alright?”

Harry explains the night’s events as quickly as he can. He doesn’t know how much longer he has before he’s discovered. 

“You should come through, Harry,” Remus says when he finishes. “If Voldemort is giving you visions at Hogwarts, you clearly aren’t safe there and there’s no point in you staying.” 

“But what if this isn’t real?” Harry demands. “What if this is the vision?”

“Voldemort doesn’t know about Teddy,” Remus says. “Unless you think Professor McGonagall is a spy, then we’re the only ones who know about the baby. This can’t be a vision that Voldemort has planted in your head, because you know details he doesn’t. This is real, Harry.”

Remus has a point, and none of his visions have ever been this vivid. Harry ducks back into McGonagall’s office for another handful of Floo powder, and then steps fully into the fireplace. 

“Hi,” Harry says, and he barely has the word out before Sirius engulfs him in a hug.

“Hi, Haz,” he says into Harry’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I’m sorry you were so worried.”

“It’s not your fault.” Harry pulls away. “Can I--”

“Of course.” Remus adjusts the bundle in his arms so Harry can see the baby. “Meet Teddy. Teddy, this is Harry. He’s going to be living here with us, too.” 

“Hi, Teddy,” Harry whispers. He reaches out a hand, and when no one stops him, touches Teddy’s cheek. “I’m--”

“You brother,” Sirius says, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “This is your brother, Teddy.”

#imp is writing #wolfstar #seed moon fest #breed that old man 2024

[fandoms-are-my-friends-1321]

Silly Little Love Song

So, I decided to start with the Margarette Macron x Reader because they deserve more attention in the fandom and I absolutely love how this character is portrayed. The title of the fic comes from the song by Wings (I sang it in my head trying to figure out what the actual name of the song was), and if anyone has future suggestions, feel free to let me know! Extra note - Y/D/N stands for "Your Dorm Name" to make things more inclusive!

Summary: The reader has always admired Margarette's piano playing from a distance but does not want to admit this to them. However, Margarette picks up on the reader's glances and tries to get them to open up. Will a love song that reveals the reader's hidden musical talent finally bring the two together?

Warnings: None, if I miss any please let me know!

Y/N's quill traveled smoothly across the page as they finished the last sentence of their notes for potions class. The professor completed the lecture ten minutes ago, but Y/N was in no hurry. They did not have any classes the following period, and potions was the subject that they struggled with the most, so detailed notes were a must if they were going to pass.

"You really shouldn't worry about taking notes, dear Y/N. Haven't you aced the past two exams?"

Y/N looked up and met the soft gaze of the Prefect of Orca dorm, Margarette Macron, their eyes the color of forget me not flowers that Y/N could get lost in if given the chance. Y/N shook their head and closed their notebook. "Oh, hello Margarette, I wish your statement was true, but my grades are more horrendous than some of the freshmen in this year's entrance exam..."

Margarette chuckled at the comment, and Y/N wondered how it was possible for even their voice to sound like the most beautiful serenade. Still, Margarette was a powerful magic user that was in line to be the next Divine Visionary, so how could they possibly be interested in a mediocre magic user from Y/D/N. Margarette leaned on the table and tilted their head, their industrial piercings reflecting the torch light from the room.

"Such a shame that people from Y/D/N put so much pressure on themselves, especially someone as-"

"Hey, Margarette!! Can you show us some of your magic again?!" A cluster of eager freshmen dashed up towards the table like children sprinting to a glass candy display. Each of them had bass clefs or eighth note marks that matched that of musical magic users, so it made sense why they would want to see the famous piano display that Margarette would sometimes show off. Margarette crossed to the front of the room that was free of any tables, and with a wave of their wand, their piano materialized in front of them. As they sat down on the bench, Margarette's fingers gracefully moved over the ivory keys, causing awes and oohs to fall from the dazzled freshmen, and Y/N found themselves equally entranced by the music notes that swiveled and turned among purple ribbons. Margarette, while at one with their music, took every chance they could to glance over at Y/N. Any time they looked, however, Y/N seemed to be preoccupied with their shoes or an imaginary stain on their cloak. The moment Margarette would not be paying attention, Y/N would remain fully focused on their playing or let their focus wander to take in Margarette's makeup that looked perfect in this lighting. Just stop it, Y/N muttered to themselves internally, They would never take a second look at you if some pretty magic user walked through the door right now.

As Margarette finished the last lines of their signature melody, their head shot up in hopes of finally catching Y/N watching their performance, but all they saw was Y/N leaving the room with their head facing the floor. The freshmen crowded Margarette and praised their magical abilities, but their compliments were not enough to prevent a frown of disappointment to appear on the Prefect's face. Once the freshmen left the room, some more quickly than others at the realization that they would be late for their next class, Margarette let out a sigh. Oh Y/N, why do you flee when the spotlight always shines brighter on you in my eyes...

..............................................................................................................................

Y/N's temples throbbed as they tried to study the potions formulas in their dorm room, but none of the numbers or ingredients were adding up. If anything, they created a murky abyss in Y/N's mind that made no sign of clearing any time soon. Y/N rubbed their eyes as they shoved their chair back with a squeak, the annoying sound miniscule compared to the running thoughts that zoomed in their head.

There was only one thing that could help them at this point.

Y/N traveled down the stone hallway, their feet clicking on the slate colored walkway as the remaining tangerine rays of the sun began to dip below the protective walls of the school. They knew that it was risky to leave their dorm this close to dark since students were not allowed to roam the halls, but Y/N needed to find a way to alleviate their stress and doubt. Finally, they reached the music room, a place where magic users who did not specialize in magical spells imbued with lyrical notes could practice. Y/N could feel a weight lift from their shoulders at the sight of the piano in the middle of the room, the familiarity like a comforting hug from a close friend. They sat down on the mahogany bench and drew in a gradual inhale, their fingers positioned on the keys and waiting in anticipation.

The tune that Y/N began to play was a simple one, but it was a melody that they had learned from their childhood. Each note felt like home, and Y/N could feel themselves swaying with the beat of the song. They were so lost in the moment that they did not hear Margarette enter the room.

It was an encounter that happened merely by chance.

Margarette had just finished the first patrol round of the night, and as they began to return back to their dorm room, they heard the sounds of a piano from down the hall. The tune was simple, but the emotion that came from the music caused goosebumps to cover Margarette's arms and curiosity to sparkle in their eyes. Upon entering the room, Margarette half expected to see one of the freshmen from earlier, but seeing Y/N playing the piano with the grace of a dancer made Margarette's heart swell with pride and a surprised gasp to leave their purple tinted lips. "My, my, you never told me you played piano, Y/N."

Y/N jolted at the sound of Margarette's voice, the shock causing them to tip backwards and the bench below them to slide and topple to the floor. Instead of colliding with the jagged and ancient stones below, Y/N felt a pair of arms wrapped securely around them. The same eyes Y/N could feel themselves almost drowning in earlier were now inches from them, only this time, Y/N could not look away. Margarette assisted Y/N back to a standing position before placing the bench back upright. The prefect dusted off the bench and took a seat, patting the space beside them. "While I enjoyed the heavenly melody you were playing, may I show you a new song? It's one that I hoped to play for you one day."

Y/N could feel a blush heating up their cheeks, but to be so close to the person who inspired them so often was an offer they could not refuse. Y/N sat down next to Margarette, their scent a mixture of lavender and musk, which to Y/N's surprise made them feel relaxed and not nervous. Margarette hesitantly reached for Y/N's hand's, but they stopped themselves. "Is it alright for me to show you how to play the song?"

Y/N nodded as they rested their hands in Margarette's palms, their fingers gently intertwining as Margarette placed them on the piano keys. Margarette took things slow and allowed Y/N to sense which keys to press when and what notes would follow next in line, and unlike the usual purple ribbons that surrounded Margarette's music, the musical notes were surrounded by a pinkish hue. Once the tune was complete, Margarette let go of Y/N's hands and their chest rumbled with laughter. "You are a natural, Y/N! You should play more often and share this beauty with the world!" Margarette looked away then as a thought crossed their mind. They rubbed the back of their neck as their pale cheeks appeared more red than normal. "Then again, I would gladly cherish your beauty on my own."

Was Margarette really confessing their feelings right now? Y/N's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but after seeing the brief glimpse of fear enter Margarette's eyes at the potential of being rejected, Y/N knew how to respond. Y/N leaned up and kissed Margarette on the cheek, but they retreated soon after with their arms wrapping tightly around themselves. Despite the cold temperature of the room, Y/N 's embarrassment made it feel like they had been hit by one of Dot's spells. "As long as I can admire your beauty and learn more songs by your side as well, then we have a deal..."

Margarette felt as if someone had just told them that they were the next Divine Visionary, and yet this overwhelming adoration was far greater than such an announcement. Margarette cupped Y/N's chin, their fingers light as they leaned closer. Margarette pressed their lips against Y/N's in a feather light kiss, parting away with a grin wider than before. "I would accept that deal any day, my darling."

Tags: @ansbobcar, @rainee-da, @mayurin17, @thebasicbword, @mashleverse, @xram7x

#mashle magic and muscles #mashle #mashle magic and muscles anime #mashle magic and muscles manga #margarette #margarette macaron #margarette macron x reader #margarette macron fanfic #mashle magic and muscles fanfics #mashle magic and musles x reader #fanfic #margarette macron x reader fluff

[sailorshadzter]

Prompt: Jon doesn't know the depth of his feelings for Sansa until he reunites with his sister Arya.

thanks anon!!!

send me prompts

He’s standing in the godswood when he hears the approaching footsteps. 

He turns, the smile already tugging on his lips, twin colored eyes meeting from across the snowy path. Truth was, he can’t recall now just how long it’s truly been since he last saw her, this most precious little sister of his. But, what he can still remember is the way he’d felt leaving her, just the same as he’d felt leaving Robb, wishing for only one moment more. “Arya…” He’s the one to call out first, watching as she comes ever closer, swearing she must be the very same height as she was so long ago. 

A moment of hesitation and then a smile is transforming her face- he’s surprised by how it changes her. “Jon,” she says and a moment later, he’s wrapping her in his arms, holding her as closely as he can. 

Their conversation sways with the memories they both share and the ones they must explain to one another, details of lives neither of them thought they would ever live. They aren’t finished until the sun is streaking crimson across the sky, reminding him of the other sister he holds so close to his heart. “We should return,” Arya is saying, gesturing back towards Winterfell, which looms in the distance. “Sansa will be missing us.” The way she says her sister’s name, all vowels, reminds him of their father and he’s smiling. 

“I’ll follow you, I just need a moment or two longer,” he says, hand to her shoulder, their eyes meeting as if she understands. But then she sighs, shrugging those shoulders and turning on her heel, heading back the way she’d come just a few short hours ago. Jon stands and watches her retreating back, thankful to have this moment with her. He and Sansa had gone from being alone together to gaining back pieces of their broken family and he was incredibly thankful for such a thing. And yet, happy as he was to have Arya home, here during this first reunion of theirs all he could think of was her. 

When she’s out of sight, he sinks back down onto the tree trunk he usually sits upon, running a hand over his face as he lets out the breath he’s been holding all this time. As much as he missed Arya, the feeling was simply not the same as it was for Sansa- he doesn’t mean to compare them, certainly not for his love, but… It’s different and now that he’s been reunited with Arya, it’s glaringly apparent. 

He has to wonder if it’s apparent to everyone else, as well. 

These feelings he’s tried so desperately to squash, to hide, to ignore… At this moment, they are vibrant and warm, wonderful and wild. They are so unlike the brotherly feelings he has for Arya. Try as he might to outrun these feelings for Sansa, try as he might to hide the feelings deep inside of himself, this moment has laid it out quite honestly for himself. There was no hiding it now, he fears. 

He looks up then, pulled out of his own thoughts by the sound of snow crunching beneath boots- he would know those footsteps anywhere, after all. There she stands in the falling darkness, her cloak tucked tightly around her, the lightest dusting of snow sprinkled in her auburn hair. It was as if his thoughts of her and summoned her to him. “I thought I might find you frozen solid,” she teases as she approaches, looking down at him with those big, blue eyes of hers. “You’ve been out here quite some time.” She sobers now, knowing he’d met with Arya and likely been left with a thousand different thoughts and feelings, just as she had been. 

“I lost track of the time,” he admits, rising up from where he sits, closing the gap between them. “Did I miss supper?” He asks and she laughs, looping her arm through his, gently tugging him back towards the path that would lead them home. 

“I saved you a plate,” she grins as he falls into step at her side. Jon smiles, warmth flooding through him as she huddles in closer, her other hand laying over his forearm; he can feel the warmth of her skin through every layer of wool he wears. “Come, I will pour you a goblet of ale and get you warm once more.” Jon nods and allows her to lead the way, chatting happily, her cheeks as rosy as her lips. He realizes, as they walk, that he wouldn’t change this for anything- not the depth of his feelings and certainly not the way she looks at him when they’re alone like this. Wrong or right, he’s just happy to have her at his side. 

So he will let her into his rooms and pour him some ale, though he will pour her one as well, and they will be happy, even just for the night.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #i wrote this #my writing #this is something like a comeback #anon asks #writing prompts #send me prompts

[britishassistant]

An Act of Infinite Optimism

Apollo notices it quickest.

Some might say he could have been quicker on the uptake, which, okay, rude. He’d like to see this hypothetical some do any better, considering the circumstances.

He thinks he can be forgiven for being somewhat distracted given he and Trucy found Lamiroir unresponsive inside an instrument case.

So no, he doesn’t notice while he’s sent Trucy to get help, staying to make sure Lamiroir keeps breathing, that whoever hurt her doesn’t come back to finish the job.

(Every time he blinks, Mr. LeTouse’s face swims in front of his eyes, gasping his last terrified breaths as Apollo can do nothing. He’s not letting that happen again. He won’t.)

But once help has arrived, after Ema’s let them ride in the squad car with her to the Hickfield clinic, and they’ve received the news that Lamiroir is going to be all right?

Things fall into place fast enough to give him whiplash.

It’s the first time Apollo’s seen her without her mantle, is the thing. And his brain, in between being desperately glad she’s okay and dutifully recording her account of the attack, absentmindedly notes that she has the same stickity-up cowlick Trucy gets whenever her top hat is removed.

It must be a thing that people with that kind of wavy hair share, he assumes, as they have the same pseudo-curls framing their faces and fighting to escape the confines of their respective hair ties. True, Trucy’s hair is a much darker shade than the singer’s, almost verging on black, but apart from that, she could have a career as a Lamiroir impersonator later in life. It may not pay as well as magic, but she’d be able to pull it off. Especially with how similar their noses are.

In fact, call him crazy, but Lamiroir’s eyes and Trucy’s are practically the exact same shadOHMYGOD.

“Polly?”

“I’MFINE!” Bursts from the Chords of Steel before he can stop it. “I, uh. I stubbed my toe!”

Trucy cocks her head to the side, squinting at him. “How? There isn’t anything to.”

“I stubbed it. On my shoe.” Apollo lies.

Trucy’s squint only gets more pronounced, but thankfully Lamiroir’s real doctor comes in with the chart that corroborates her testimony.

She doesn’t bring it up as they head back to Sunshine Coliseum to see if he can get anything more out of “Uncle” Valant, but Apollo’s mind keeps darting between the evidence for the actual court case which is his job and the evidence for this completely insane hypothesis that‘s probably a product of stress. Or sleep deprivation. Or both.

He just needs proof that this is nothing but a delusion. Then it’ll stop bugging him.

Which is why he awkwardly asks, “So, if Valant was partners with your father, was he friends with your mother too?”

Trucy freezes.

Only for a moment. To anyone else, it looks as though she’s smiling bright as usual as she follows along beside him.

But even without his bracelet tightening around his wrist, he can spot her fingers pinching the folds of her cloak.

“I dunno! I mean, she musta been, since Uncle Valant and Daddy were best friends and partners!” It’s almost impressive how she deflects the question.

“But you’re not sure?” He probes gently. “Trucy, if you don’t wanna tell me, it’s okay. I trust you, I just wanted—“

“No, it’s fine!” She grins, a brilliant performance. “I can’t really remember Mommy too well—Daddy always said when I was really little, one of her tricks went wrong and she vanished! Somewhere where even Daddy, who’s the best magician of all time, couldn’t find her! Unlucky, huh?”

“Yeah,” Apollo says, screaming internally. “Unlucky.”

Spotting Ema spraying for blood in the hall where Lamiroir said she was attacked is so great a relief Apollo thinks he might faint.

“Trucy, do you think you could try to find Valant for me?” He leans against a wall in what he hopes is a casual way, crossing his legs. “I’m kinda worn out from…everything, and you probably have some magician experience that lets you know where he’ll pop up, right.”

Trudy gives him that suspicious, squinty look again, before she snickers.

“Really, Polly, I’m not that delicate! You can just say, ‘oh I need to go to the bathroom’, you don’t need to dance around it all the time!”

“WH—!” Apollo sputters, “No, I—!”

“Feel free to take your time, Polly!” Trucy sing-songs as she skips away. “I’ll bring Uncle Valant to the stage when you’re done!”

An aggravated groan drags itself out of Apollo’s chest. He cares about Trucy, but he’d really appreciate it if she stopped trying to kill him with embarrassment.

“If it’s that bad, you could always use the staff bathroom.” Pipes up the detective behind him. “It’s down the hall and—“

“I DON’T NEED TO!” The Chords of Steel interject.

At Ema’s disapproving glare, he clears his throat, focuses on his volume modulation. “I just, uh, needed to talk to you about something. In private.”

Ema lowers the spray bottle. “About the case? But why send Trucy away?”

“Not…about the case, exactly? But it’s not unrelated, per se…”

“I haven’t got time for riddles, Apollo.” Ema says, folding her arms. “Just spit it out already!”

Apollo exhales.

“I think Lamiroir might be Trucy’s birth mother.”

Ema stares at him.

“This isn’t just because they have brown hair and blue eyes, is it?” One hand begins to rifle through her satchel in a now familiar search for Snackoos. “Because I have brown hair and blue eyes, Apollo, and last I checked the only family member I’ve got is coming up for parole upstate—“

“No, thAT’S—?!” Apollo focuses on forcing his voice down to a harsh whisper. “Okay, fine, it was kind of based on that, but your eyes aren’t the exact same color as Trucy’s. Lamiroir’s are. And the similarities don’t stop there!”

At Ema’s doubtful gaze, he persists. “Plus, Trucy said her mom ‘vanished’ when she was little, which lines up with Lamiroir saying she can’t recall any of her past before she and Machi got their start—even if she did, Lamiroir may not recognize Trucy now she’s gotten older, especially since she only has Trucy’s voice to go on! Trucy herself admitted that she was so young, she had very little memory of her birth mother! And, she introduced herself as Trucy Wright, not—!“

“Okay, okay.” The sharp munching of Snackoos cuts off his tirade as Ema continues. “You have a lot of talk. But that doesn’t actually prove any relation between the two suspects here. Could just be a whole load of weird coincidences.”

“Suspects?” Apollo mouths to himself.

“No, what we need is definitive evidence.” Ema shakes her head, popping one last Snackoo into her mouth. “Decisive evidence.”

She flips her glasses down over her eyes. “And the only way to get that, is through Science.”

Apollo blinks at her, overcome with a looming sense of foreboding. “We?”

“Yes, Apollo.” Ema grins victoriously. “We.”

#ace attorney #ajaa #apollo justice spoilers #ajaa spoilers #apollo justice #ema skye #trucy wright #aa ema skye #aa trucy #aa apollo #lamiroir #thalassa gramarye #yeah baby #we’re getting CONVOLUTED #also #this boy watched #romien letouse #die in front of him and no one mentioned it again?? EVER?? #after he prosecuted his boss and lost his job and was made to become a mob lawyer #he needs a hug #and therapy #and a steady paycheck

[zecoritheweirdone]

first art post of the new year!!! granted, i don't share my art here that much anyway, but– shhh.

hehehehhhooo,, here's something i've been working on for 'bout a month,, albeit not consecutively– took a few,, very very long breaks in between working on this,, but i managed to finish it in the end! am i satisfied with it? .......ehhhh? not completely, but if this took any longer, it might not have seen the light of day, so like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

anyway,, made a little poster for my favorite fic, tommyinnit's services for villains, vigilantes, and various other vagabonds, by @scorpionoesit!!! it's really really good,,, and i've always wanted to make more art for it,, so i decided– poster! at least,, that's what it's mean to resemble,,, dkdmkdmdkd.

i will freely admit,, i'm... not the biggest fan of the fan-made logo i tried to design for it,, feels a bit boring, and could definitely have used a bit more pizazz, something to make feel more like the fic itself(what does that mean? you figure that out),,,, but– again, steam was running low,, dkdnksjs. graphic design is my passion. i do also have other complaints, but i'm afraid i already punched my one-use self-critique card,, oh well,,, dkdnkxjdkd.

regardless,, even with the flaws only i can really see,, this still turned out pretty okay!! hope you enjoy it, mx. scorpio and mx. alibi!!! and i hope everyone else has a wonderful new year!!!!

#my art #dream smp #tommyinnit fanart #tommyinnit #i don't wanna try tagging the rest of them so i'm just not gonna <3 #anyway wrow i wonder who the skull guy and mysterious shadowy figure are....... could be anyone. #i was gonna try and fit in some sort of hero so i could check all the dots of everyone tommy's help #specifically either dr**m (derogatory) or phil #(was mostly leaning towards phil) #but 1) couldn't figure out a way to make it look good with the current set up #my first thought was to try moving the current characters around a bit; but then it would feel too crowded #my second thought was to have them appear from the smoke; somehow? a smoky figure? #but that only really looked good in sketch form and i didn't have the patience to figure that out properly #and 2) no clue what their designs look like. don't even know what their powers are; yet! #was also wanting to fit fundy in but it didn't work for the first reason #fun rapid fire character design facts: niki has a littol sharp tooth 'cause of the joker stuff! #i originally gave tubbo green eyes;; but i decided blue-green looked cooler #tech– [cough] i mean;; *orion's* cloak has a faint lil orion pattern on can barely see it but it's there i assure you !!! #(i tried my best for his design but i am. not the greatest at outfits;; especially hero/villain ones) #tommy has long hair bc it's *MY* art and *I* say he gets long hair. this definitely isn't canon to vagabonds i just like to do this #<- also why michael and tommy have freckles #tommy has a bit of green in his design(through the patch) due to a theory of mine :D #might have over-rendered the hair a bit but. fuck you i like it #anyway i think that's all i have to say about it? if you've actually read all these tags;;; have a cookie -> 🍪 #pretend it's a peanut butter cookie #actually. no pretend it's both. you get two cookies. as a treat. #anyway have a good rest-of-your-day !!!!!!

[lucalicatteart]

Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 16: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

Yesterday's poll decided that The Adventurer should offer to help the travelers with their broken wagon.....

~

After much internal deliberation (and some zoning out staring at butterflies), The Adventurer decides it would be best to offer his assistance. Technically, he IS still following his goal of not getting distracted, because theoretically it would make his journey much faster if he were able to catch a ride on a carriage. So really, this is all an ultimate big brain genius strategy for maximizing efficient travel.. Or, at least that sounds like a good enough justification to him.

Gathering up all of his social courage, he approaches one of the travelers fiddling with a broken wheel near the far end of the carriage and meekly asks if there's anything he could do to help.

The man was so focused on his task, he seems initially startled to look up and find someone near him. "OH..! Oh, uhh.. help? With the wagon?", he smiles pleasantly, gesturing towards a few wooden boards that are just out of his reach, "Sure, kid. If you could just hand me th-"

"Apologies, but we actually won't be needing your assistance, stranger." A taller man, surprisingly almost matching the stature of the Adventurer, suddenly slinks out from somewhere behind the carriage, sternly placing himself like a barrier in front of the man working on the wheel. Wheel Guy nervously averts his eyes, making himself smaller, silently resuming his work.

The Adventurer tries his best to maintain composure against the weight of the tall man's bitter gaze, but can't seem to muster much of a response "Aeughh,,, uh… b-but, h- Bu--HHHh,,?.."

"Look, disregard whatever my father told you, he's old, never has any clue what he's talking about. It'd be best for you to simply move along." ('Father'? They don't look alike at all, and seem to be nearly the same age..)

"W-well.. he.. he didn't really tell me anything, I me-hhH,,.. I mean, I literally just got here, s-so...."

"Good. Even more reason to be on your way."

Placing a gloved hand firmly on his shoulder, the tall man begins to motion the Adventurer away from the wagon, but a strange noise interrupts, echoing from inside. Perhaps some sort of animal sound? Or a person faintly yelling about something? Or… both?

"WH-wHggg… whAT was t-that???!!" The Adventurer immediately stops in place, pausing to listen as the tall man keeps trying to push him ahead.

"I didn't hear anything, stranger."

"No, t-there.. was dEFinitely, UHH, a-"

"Likely something in the forest."

"Wh--aah... d.. do you think it was an animal?"

The tall man continues a dramatic struggle to 'subtly' drag him further down the road, whilst the Adventurer mindlessly digs in his heels, too distracted to even notice he's being so strongly prompted to leave.

"Many animals do, indeed, exist within forests. This should not be suprising."

"...It's just.. ..eughh… s… so weird…"

"I assure you, it is not."

"I-it really sounded like.. like it came f-from insid-"

"Yes, from inside the forest. Now, please, if you would.."

The noise interrupts again. It's definitely someone, or something, in some sort of distress.. And definitely from inside of the cart.

"wHoAAGH, aa!!! T-tHat's NOT from the f-forest, that-"

The tall man fully just shoves him now, sending the Adventurer toppling across the dirt, clumsily rolling and landing just past the other side of the carriage. A mother and young child who seem to be part of the traveling group simply stare down at him with empty blank gazes, wholly unconcerned about helping him up.

As the Adventurer fumbles back to his feet (still confused as to why he was even pushed in the first place), the tall man looms by the carriage, diligently watching to ensure that he leaves.

"Travel safe, stranger."

Despite his initial obliviousness, the Adventurer begins to piece the situation together as he stares back at the man, now fully convinced something suspicious might be going on...

…What should he do next??

~

~

~

Additional Information

the adventurer's current main quest: follow his map to reach the abandoned castle ruins and see the rare animal specialist about the mysterious egg he has

#paventure posting #poll #polls #choose your own adventure #ERM.. ... hee hee... yes.. alas.. it has been like two months since the last one lol #IT'S SUMMER!!!! how can anyone function in the summer..? It's literally 83F in my room indoors right now at this moment at NIGHT #I'm about to go to sleep.. who can sleep in an 80+ degree room comfortably?? ghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #Really no hope of productivity at all from like June - September basically... EVIL.. and also the spring this year had some heat waves so #AUGhh... my nemesis the Summer.. Or moreso capitalism is my nemesis for worsening climate change and also keeping people in such #economic inequality that cheap apartments with terrible ventilation get made and people cant afford air conditioners and etc. etc. #but ALSO... the summer... grrrr.. 'Heat' you will never be famous.. you will always be lame nasty and so forth.. #ANYWAY.. also sorry this is another blurb that's longer. The text is always longer when there's actually spoken interactions lol #I know I'm not very good at this style of writing (especially when rushing with these) so I always feel kind of awkward having really long #sections people will have to slog through or etc ghbjhjh but.. I don't really know how it make it shorter. the interaction #is just the interaction. certain things must be said and conveyed. peace and love on planet orth. #Ough it's been so long I almost forgot to draw his injuries lol.. in-world it's only been what like.. a day? since he got into a fight with #that mysterious cloaked person who was tracking him to steal the egg. I also always just forget how to draw him in between breaks #hopefully his hair and stuff doesn't look too different. They're meant to be really quick sketches anyway but still.. you at least want him #to be recognizable lol #ANYWAY.. another update from the Son.. what is he up to on his little traveles...

[foxgloveinspace]

Do you ever figure out your Type and you go Oh No cause it’s just 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

#very much so #haha i’m in danger #listen. big. full face coverings weather it’s mask do helmet I don’t mind. staff maybe. long cloak. mostly the mask though we gotta focus on #the mask/helmet kink ok? that the big one here. someone who looks like they can command a lot of power. and like has the confidence to just #dominate a fuckin room when they speak people listen. but they are kind and soft and pick up kittens #and maybe they hold your hand and they definitely wrap you up in their arms when sleeping #I have a size kink and a helmet kink. I don’t know what else to say ok #hold me big man. I am small and need of comfort #I’m tired. I’m trying to hard to get through this stupid af ow battle pass to get the new hero while also unlocking Ramattra cause I didn’t #start playing ow2 until like late last month. don’t wanna talk about this post is… well it started out cuase I was think of my current fav #characters and Ramattra is on the list so it’s k #ok. him. Vessel (he counts… they all count tbh). Tron. technically Vanitas but I don’t wanna uhhh. Be With Him. #hmmmm. let’s see who else. Daft Punk. they fall under the ‘just masks though’ category of this #I liked Mando at first but he’s just kinda everywhere now and it’s Too Much for me. #anyway. big strong man with a mask/helemt. to reiterate #but also like. if they have a dark aesthetic👀 that’s a major plus. Otay okay

[waloeders]

almost done jupe reference (wip) but i am. getting sleepy.

you too can get a funky cloak from the certified Not A Cult of Susurrus' worshippers!

#jupiter.speaks #.wip #> i have more lore but ive decided that he should have some more chaos in his life. sussy isnt enough #> and rheddah knows n seemingly loves sussy sooo... #> i was gonna have just a tanta who hates sussy n therefore wants them both dead BUT. lets make it messy #> now there is a tanta who hates them and a tanta who likes them. theyre at odds. this is what he has to deal with off the bat LMAO #> i need to finish his face + shows still. plus quite a few details i wanna add. his trousers arent right yet but. the jist #> its like. my first art of him is his initial 'in athia!' look. this one is what he usually looks like 'in rheddah' #> in game it would be a case of u can pick through the looks (+there are a few other cloaks im adding later too) #> but think imma do a separate ref for cloaks i already have the linearts done. just need to draw the rest #> final thing. the weapon spear needs fixing too But. fun facts. thats the shape of sussys crown i think jupe just pulls from there #> like so much of his powers are just. using sussy basically. and thats one of them. its the equivalent of freys sila sword or thalias sword #> FUCK. i forgot to add sussy to his arm. 😭😭 the main fuckin component lmaoooo #> whatever wip i need to lie down my back wehgh old man

[art-heap]

Arkady redesign but this time leaning more into the rogue/hacker side

03/06/2022

#arkady patel #tscosi #arkady #artheapsart #the strange case of starship iris #starship iris #fI ally getting the hang of drawing on samsung tablet #if i could just for one moment NOT write STARTship iris Please #also like. clothes. have not given all that much thought to clothes #but figured one of those like long and formless coats would be nice. though they specifically say jackets so idk but im rolling with it #more of a cloak really #and arms looked too bare so i threw stuff on them but like. i dont know what should be there #i think i basically htought Lets Tone her Down A LITT LE BIT ONLY #and now i think i like the previous versions in term of face shape. physique can be either more tank-like like the prev versions or more #lean like here. undecided. the difference is subtle. but the missing elements are pinchable cheeks and ear shape. rounder face w/ strong jaw

[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

“Opening Statements,” Web of Spider-Man (Vol. 1/1985), #126.

Writer: Todd DeZago; Penciler: Roy Burdine; Inker: Randy Emberlin; Colorist: Kevin Tinsley; Letterer: Susan Crespi

#Marvel #Marvel comics #Marvel 616 #Web of Spider-Man #Kaine #Kaine Parker #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #KAINE PLEASE #I know his upbringing has not encouraged a particularly high EQ nor good communication #but “I really respect you” while beating said person with a stick sends /very/ mixed messages hahaha #and yes!!! my favorite Kaine tactic! when he grabs one of his brothers by the ankle and just swings ‘em around a bit! #that and what looks like Peter stepping on Kaine’s cloak add to the “petty squabble” feel of this fight #but anyway more seriously #Kaine does respect Peter and he brings up the comparison to Ben but I find interesting that Kaine doesn’t mention himself at all #part of that is probably because Kaine hasn’t revealed that there is a genetic connection between Peter and himself yet #but it might also be because A) if Ben isn’t worthy of Peter’s consideration than Kaine DEFINITELY isn’t and Kaine might recognize that #and/or B) Kaine might possibly have a very poor sense of self #whereas Peter and Ben at this point are so caught up trying to entangle which of them is the “real Peter Parker” #Kaine has concluded that he’s /definitely/ not Peter (but instead something Worse ™️) and has abandoned the pursuit of self #in favor of obsessing over protecting Peter’s happiness in general and protecting it from Ben in particular #but yeah as always that’s just imo hahaha

[a-passing-storm]

I’m gonna make a tunic first, then do the toga. I just need to figure out how to dye only a specific area of my fabric... 

#i wanna make a tunica laticlavia #(tunicam laticlaviam? should i decline it when im using latin words in english??) #bc like idk why not make a senatorial toga and tunic #more fun than like plain ones #but idrk how to dye just stripes on something #i feel like i could use tape to tape off the areas but actually No bc wouldn't the dye just bleed #like i should def research that but ughhhh #i literally have enough canvas laying around from my cloak to make a tunic #like i could make a tunic *today* #and so i am so distraught that i have to first figure out how to dye laticlaves into my fabric #oh and get the right color of dye #like oh man somewhere between purple and red whyy #do i end up going more purple so people actually know they're purple stripes #or more red bc that's what it looked like #sobbing #toga #togae #tunic #tunica #dante dicit #im sorry this is so incomprehensible

[radiance1]

This au again lawl. Where Danny wears these special sunglasses to hide his eyes that also track down ghosts in his human form.

The Justice League tracks down a summoning for the ghost king, an eons old tyrant of the infinite realms and known to bring war and devastation whenever he is summoned.

The cultists do manage to summon the ghost king, except, not how they wanted. They did indeed summon the king, but Pariah Dark is still trapped in eternal sleep and somehow, just, somehow, they managed to draw the lottery and dragged the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep to the summoning circle.

So there the Justice League were, wondering what to do with the (currently) locked away and sleeping ghost king.

Until Constantine's coat flipped itself open and a boy with glowing white hair and a mist of blue blowing from his mouth.

"Old man." The boy greeted.

"Brat." Constantine said.

"Do you mind explaining why and how this," The boy gestured to the Sarcophagus. "Is here and not in Pariah's Keep?"

"Funny story, that one." Constantine said, only half-jokingly. He then went on to explain that the Justice League came to track down cultists, said cultists somehow managed to drag that here, and now they didn't quite know what to do with it.

The boy stood still for a moment, before taking off his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and sighed, a large amount of blue flame spilling from his mouth. "Ancients above, why is it every time something notable happens, it's always you?"

Constantine snorted, reaching into his coat for a pack of cigarettes and lighting himself one. "Hypocritical coming from you."

"I know, but still." The boy walked over to the Sarcophagus and sat on it, as if it wasn't the thing currently holding one of the most powerful ghosts in the infinite realms. "You know smoking is bad for you, right?"

"What, you learned that in class?" Constantine snarked, making no move to do anything and causing the boy to sigh again, toxic green eyes looked around the room, falling over each hero present before homing in on Flash. The boy pointed to him. "You. Come here."

"Whatcha want with red?" Constantine asked and the boy simply shrugged his shoulders. "Passing on a message."

The boy blinked once, and if he was surprised that the Flash was already in front of him, then he didn't show it. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a green sticky not, motioned for Flash to bent down and stuck it on his forehead.

Superman was... concerned. There was a heartbeat there, he could hear it, but it was so slow and seemed rather weak, like the boy was near death.

"Alright, now I gotta get old mean and green back to his keep before the Observants get on my case." The boy put back on his sunglasses and got up, waving Flash away and lifting up the Sarcophagus above his head he walked over to Constantine, whose face wrinkled.

"That ain't going to fit." The warlock pointed out and the boy scoffed, probably rolling his eyes behind his glasses. "And you've fit bigger things, just shut up and lift the coat old man."

Constantine did so, and somehow the boy just shoved the entire Sarcophagus inside. The boy was very obviously smug as the blue mist that was blowing from his mouth the entire time petered out. "I'll clean up the mess on my end," The boy said before waving his hand in the Justice League's general direction. "You deal with all that."

"Just get going already, I'm not about to get those sentient eyeballs on my ass."

"Yea, yea. You got enough to deal with as is." The boy then stepped inside Constantine's cloak and as soon as the man let it drop, he disappeared.

Constantine looked around the room, silently assessing the situation as he brought another cigarette to his lips.

He lamented the fact he would have to deal with this sober.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #Just so ya know #Danny ain't ghost king or prince #Just normal halfa here #Haha #Where does Constantine's cloak lead? #We may never know. #Just know that Danny can come out and go into it #Because I thought it was funny