#( answered ; prompt )

[joosthead]

SMUT PROMPT 2 PLZZZ

just too soft for all of it || j.k. f!reader

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt(s): 2S) crying crying during sex that leads to a pause or early end to comfort and take care of whatever emotions bubbled over & 3F)  gently pushing their hair behind their ear to see their face better

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader, no pronouns, reader gets referred to as his “favourite girl” one time. notfamous!reader lol also does not speak dutch

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 4.4k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (fingering, piv), a good amount of negative self thought (i may have gone overboard—feeling inadequate as a partner, reader is very hard on themself and quite sensitive), mentions of anxiety/stress/being overwhelmed, a very fluffy and healthy joost :( aur i love him anyways, pls heed the prompt cuz that in itself is a content warning teehee, 🧀🧀🧀alert i can’t lie!!, a variety of dutch terms of endearment i'm not sure i’m using right but it’s for the sake of no y/n

₊˚⊹⋆ track of the fic: "sweet nothing" by taylor swift

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: i resonate heavy with this 🙃🙃 had the worst last few weeks of this uni year but i’m FREE!!!! thanks for requesting this, i combined this with a few other asks stated above! happy first juno joost fic to meee yippeee

rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it!! you've been warned. please do not repost this on any other platform.

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni.

To say the utter least—it had been a hard few weeks for you. 

The whims of life carried you away like a tsunami to your normal routine—work and classes and friends and family and life, life that you couldn’t ignore or get away from like you wanted to do, nothing to do except doing it. And you’d been doing it, just fine for the most part, but one thing led to another, and the last week was a whirlwind of commitments, obligations, your procrastinating on all of them, somehow. You got yourself into a mess of your own making. 

It certainly didn’t help that your boyfriend, Joost, was away for his own life: a festival performance in Canada, one in Belgium, one in the Netherlands but not one you could attend easily with all of the work you had for yourself. After that, he worked on the new album in Germany, putting the final touches on his 9th project, filming new content and preparing for his upcoming tour. 

He left around the beginning of when your life started getting busier. If you added it up—23 days you hadn’t seen him in person, but it’s not like you were counting (you were counting, and sad the entire time about his absence.). It felt like the same amount of time you hadn’t even seen or talked to him, through the phone, on Facetime, even texting each other.

Voice memos in the bathroom at work, always apologizing for how rushed you had to be; leaving him on delivered for hours as you studied, or had an event you needed to be at, or had a person you needed to talk to, someone else who needed your time more than Joost needed yours, and it was too much. All of it was too much. Too much for you to handle easily, every second taken by someone else. 

You felt like a terrible partner, not being able to speak to him as much as you wanted. Seeing all of his messages, the reassurance that he understands how busy you are and that in the end, you'll always make time for each other…his ability to be such a good partner held up next to your perceived inadequacy made you even more stressed. 

In the end, it’ll all work out—today, Joost flew back home, though you still had a number of commitments and assignments to get to and couldn’t pick him up from the airport. Your mutual friend picked him up, and you bit your nails at every update given; willing the time to go slower so you could tidy up more, work on that one last piece of paperwork so you wouldn’t have to worry about it, make sure everything is perfect so Joost can have a good welcome back.

In the nick of time, you were able to get everything done, but it still felt as if there was something missing, like you'd be hit with a missed deadline in the midst of your time back together, and it would all come crumbling down. 

As you opened the door, right as your friend pulled up to your street, you tried to put it aside, and you did—for now. Late afternoon and you stand at the top of your townhouse steps, watching in nervous excitement as Joost unloads his luggage from the trunk. Your friend closes the trunk and waves at you.

You wave back, but your eyes are on Joost as he gathers the two suitcases and starts rolling them to you in a sort of disorganized frenzy, just as excited as you are; you would come forward and help, but it’s cute to watch him, clumsy and stumbling over his long pants and tote bag and everything—your Joost, finally back with you. 

He wears a heavy black jacket, sunglasses, a black cap that he takes off and shakes his hair out of; the sun shines off him, and you can't help but smile at the sight. His hair grew out a little, the darker blonde roots growing in. Those jeans are ones you’ve never seen before, new glasses, new clunky boots that look greatly uncomfortable but perfectly his style. Evidence of the time passed, and for some strange reason, it brings a pang to your chest that you try to ignore as you come down the steps of your house. 

“Come here, come here, come here, baby, I missed you,” Joost exclaims, arms open and leaving his bags behind him to come meet you halfway, laughing. 

You say as you hug him around his neck, his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick—” 

“Don’t worry about it, I know you were busy.” 

You nod as he moves his arms around your neck and you go around his waist, Joost pecking your cheek several times and making you laugh. “I still feel bad I couldn’t pick you up.”

“Never feel bad, you’d still be the best even if you left me on the side of the road.” You give him and his compliment a weak smile as you pull away. 

—

The first time you get a moment to yourself in a month: Joost’s head lays in your lap as you both watch some cartoon on the couch together after eating. 

You cleaned most of yesterday and some of today; you cooked most of last night since you knew you had more time, preparing Joost’s favorite meal—it was the best you could reasonably do, considering all of the other obligations you had in these last two days. 

As he ate, you pushed around your own food; would’ve made it fresh, could've had a nice table setting for dinner, should’ve prepared more for all of this. You still gave him a sheepish smile as you watched him happily eat the microwaved meal you warmed up for him, no indication at all that he’s disappointed or unhappy like you are with yourself. You shouldn’t feel like this, but you do. It’s getting increasingly difficult to shake. 

The colors and lines dance across the TV, spouting raunchy jokes that you can half understand with the few years of Dutch you have under your belt; the air conditioner is on, and you can finally rest. Joost is changed out of his airport outfit and into some shorts and a shirt. He’s home, and you did the best you could do, and now he’s in your arms again. 

You don’t even mean to, but you sigh, perhaps louder than usual, because Joost looks up at you from your lap, brushes a lock of your hair out of your eyes, says, “You’re the best, you know?” 

It catches you off guard enough that you shake your head almost instinctively, not fast enough to hide…whatever feeling this is you’re feeling. “I don’t feel like it, Joosty.” 

“You don’t?” He gets up from your lap, sitting next to you, and brings his face close to yours. “You should, because you are.” 

Your noses are brushing, and even in the midst of your racing thoughts, you can't help but smile at him. His face grows into a smile, and you come forward and kiss him, deeply; you know it takes him by surprise, how he takes a little to kiss back, like trying to learn each other again. Nonetheless, he kisses back, holding your face in his hands, grinning into it—he's so pleased, so content, you know it by how sweetly he holds you. 

The TV becomes background noise to you, the air conditioner no use with how hot you feel when you move to sit atop him in his lap, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other on your ass as you grind down on him, licking into his mouth. 

“You're so tense,” Joost says when you pull away, thumbs rubbing into your back where there are sure to be knots in your muscles. 

You roll your eyes. “Can you blame me?” you snicker and he smiles. 

“I’ll relieve some tension for you, then.” 

Nothing but a few layers of clothes separate you—he smells so good, tastes so good, feels so good that you pull away, run your hands underneath his shirt, feeling his warm body, his stomach. You move to take it off of him, and he’s a step ahead of you, taking it off himself and attaching his lips to yours again, like a magnet. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” he says as you rest your hands on his chest and kiss down his stubble covered jaw to his neck, on top of Lola Bunny and back up again. 

“I need you, Joost,” you breathe in between kisses, and he pulls back and groans which makes you giggle, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You can't just say that, oh my god,” Joost whines, looking up at you pathetically, pupils blown and lips swollen from yours. “That’s so hot,” he laughs, and it makes you laugh too, how ridiculous he is. “Fuck, I love you.” He comes back in for one more kiss before he shifts so you can lay down on the couch, and he's on top of you, kissing again. He helps you shimmy down your shorts, your underwear, and in no time—his hand is between your legs.

“I would have taken it slow but—I’m too excited,” he breathes. You palm his hard cock through his shorts, coaxing a sigh out of him. Joost hovers above, leaning on one elbow and using the other hand to run his fingers through your slit, wetting them with how aroused you are. Involuntarily, your legs twitch, your breath catches in your mouth, and Joost gives you a soft laugh. “You’re so sensitive, schat.” Fingers still touching you so gently, he noses at your cheek—you’re a hairpin trigger, how reactive you are to him. “Has it been that long?” 

Breathless, you nod as he presses his thumb to your clit, petting at it. “Too long, I was waiting for you.”

“I could say the same for you.” 

You sit up, pushing up against him, still kissing like you can’t bear to be separated from him, but he pulls back from you—brings two fingers to his mouth, wetting them with his spit, and the sight brings your heart to your stomach with how arousing it is. 

Sure, Joost sends videos; yes, you have…homemade…videos of your own between the two of you; his deep voice through the speaker in your late night Facetimes, talking you through it or his incessant compliments when you send him some pictures of your own. 

Nothing compares to the real thing—the smell of his cologne on his collar even after he’s taken a shower; his blonde hair in your eyes as he kisses you; holding onto his strong arms as he fingers you, the wet sound music to your ears though normally, it would make you sheepish at how filthy this all is.  

Sometimes it makes you laugh that the random guy you met with a Crazy Frog tattoo on his forearm is now your boyfriend, but it feels so serious now more than ever. You realize now how much you’ve missed him, and how much you’ve pushed down that feeling in favor of everything else. 

Joost crooks his fingers inside of you and you moan into his mouth, which he smiles at. “You like it?” he asks, both of you knowing the answer. He knows you so well, inside and out. Knows that spot inside of you that renders you unable to speak, how to hit it just right like it’s muscle memory to fuck you with his fingers. He rubs your clit at the same time, using his spit and your wetness to do so, and God—you wish never leaving this spot was an option. 

Your climax fast approaches you; Joost kissing at the side of your lips, your chin because you’re too lost in your pleasure to kiss back. With a few more pumps of his fingers, he brings you there, a choked moan tumbling from your mouth as you cum, almost falling into him as he takes you through the last waves of your orgasm. “Thank you,” you breathe, pressing a deep kiss to his lips again now that you have the ability to. 

“Thanking me? Nothing to thank me for,” he says, but you shake your head.

“I disagree,” you say quietly, palming over his erection once more now that you’ve gathered yourself. “I have everything to thank you for,” you think, but can’t say out loud. You move so you can be on your knees on the ground in between his legs. It’s been quite a bit, enough so that the program on the TV is completely different now, the AC has turned off—he’s still so hard, still hasn’t been taken care of.

You're about to lower his shorts, take him into your mouth, but Joost takes your hand and says, “Can we skip it? I wanna be inside of you, lieverd.” 

Almost a whisper, you reply, “Whatever you want,” nodding, and he cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“You’re so quiet today. Is anything wrong?” He can read you like a book, the furrowing of your brow at his suggestion an easy giveaway. 

“Nothing’s the matter,” you lie, but he still looks disbelieving. “I just wanted to give you something back.”

“This is something back and more, baby. Lie down.” 

You do, too tired to argue for your side—the side that wants to give Joost everything you have and more, pay him back for the time you’ve been so absent, so distracted from your relationship and all the things Joost had been doing in the time away. It’s not as if you don’t want to lie down and have him fuck you—it’s just that you feel that you haven’t earned it yet. 

Your body language gives you away—“Still so tense, lieverd,” he says, squeezing your shoulder as you adjust, legs on either side of his thighs. “You sure you want to do this?” 

“Of course I do,” you purr, because of course you do, reaching into his briefs—Joost Klein branded, of course—and pulling his cock out, jerking it a few times and making him groan with the sensation. “You're so sensitive,” you quote him from earlier. “Has it been that long, schat?” 

The pet name makes his cock twitch; a month away, hard work on his album and music videos, content and marketing, coming back home to his favourite girl gazing at him starry-eyed with a hand around his dick and ready to take him inside. If you peered into his mind, this is what he’d be thinking. No thoughts match your worried thinking about how you may or may not have let him down—you didn’t. That would be impossible, at least to him. 

“Much too long.” 

You rest your head on a throw pillow that Joost has laid for you, and he lines himself up with your entrance. Fingertips on his stomach, you stop him for a few seconds from coming forward, and you wrap your hand around his shaft, swiping it through your slit a few times, collecting your wetness and his pre-cum on the head of his cock.

Loudly, he swears in Dutch, and the latter half sounds more like a strangled whisper than any real word. “You…fuck, my god…you are evil,” he laughs, even though he’s now rubbing the head of it against your clit, making you mewl. 

“You ready for me?” he asks, and you nod, licking your lips, trying to control your breathing. Your initial apprehension is long gone, though it could creep back every second—who cares? You’re finally together again. “You’re so wet,” Joost breathes as he eases the head of his cock into you. The stretch is something to get used to after so long away, but he gives time for you to adjust—seems like he might need it more than you do, how he sucks a breath in through gritted teeth, the snail’s pace he's going at. “I might cum right now.” 

“You promise?” you tease, watching the slow slide of his cock inside of you, watching just like he is. 

“I might have to promise with how this is going.” 

“You can do it,” you giggle and then moan because he's managed to fit half of his length into you. “I believe in you.” 

“Yay,” Joost smiles as he bottoms out in you, then gives you a kiss. “We did it!”

He holds his hand up for a high-five and you laugh—”I’m not high-fiving you while you're inside me.” 

“When has that ever stopped you before?”  

Rolling your eyes, you give him the high-five he so desperately wants and he beams at you with a toothy grin. “Never, I guess.” 

“Never,” Joost repeats, and then straightens up. You look up at him through your eyelashes—his mullet is mussed from the tangles of your fingers through his hair, his chest moving steadily up and down with the exertion of this all.  He moves your legs so your left ankle rests on his shoulder, the right wrapped around his hips. 

His hand creeps up your shirt, and you do the rest, exposing your tits to him. Joost is normally so clumsy, so heavy-handed—what a contrast that he can be so calm dragging his fingertips around your nipple, making it pebble in the cold.

He cups your cheek after you moan, then runs his tattooed knuckles down it, slips his thumb between your lips and hooks it on your teeth momentarily—you chase  it, but he continues down your chest and to your belly until his thumb is finally back on your clit and circling it slowly. 

The drag of his cock out of you is wonderful, so wonderful it makes you shudder when he does it, combined with his terribly slow treatment of your clit.

“My baby, did you miss me?” Joost says softly, kissing at your calf, your ankle as he sinks back into you. The sensation robs you of a response, a sigh tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it, but he takes it as a response enough.  The smile on his face—the beauty mark under his lip, those deep dimples so prominent—you could never tire of it. “I missed you more, schatje.”

It feels so good, it feels like heaven being with him again. He comes back from such a busy time in his life, where you’ve done little, and all he has is praise and warmth and affection for you—fingers you within an inch of your life and doesn’t even ask for anything in return, just takes care of you in the way you need most. 

You know that he benefits from this just as much as you do—this isn’t so one-sided. But your brain is so frazzled from this last month, the nerve endings fried and in want of a fuck up to cling to like they have been whenever you’ve made a mistake at work, in class, in your relationship. 

Joost interrupts your thoughts: “I was so happy to see you on the steps, I could’ve sprinted to you if I wasn’t wearing those damn shoes.”

All of the times that you forgot to reply to Joost, getting a text saying your name and a sad face right after; the times where you were too distracted to give him your full attention and could only hum your acknowledgement to him, having to be reminded about what he said later; that one time just a few days ago you fell asleep on call with him in the middle of him excitedly speaking about a breakthrough with a bridge on the most important song of the album. 

The pleasure you felt earlier is now overshadowed by your racing thoughts. 

“I wrote a song about you, you know?” Joost says, his voice so gentle. I was only going to let you know when the album came out, but I can’t keep a secret.” Rocking against you, his pelvis rubs against your clit and it makes you cling to his shoulders. “The voice memo I sent you earlier—it was my first draft, just me. Did you like it?” 

“You…you wrote a song about me?” 

Only now do you remember the voice memo Joost sent you in the morning when you were still cleaning, the one that you saw and made a fleeting mental note to reply to later on, which you promptly forgot as you vacuumed, dusted, folded. 

Such misplaced priorities, and now you're paying the sad price.

“Joost,” you say, eyebrows screwing up, that all too familiar pulling feeling behind your nose and eyes—you realize quickly that all of the emotions bottled up inside of you from the past month have come out with vengeance at the new knowledge of Joost’s song about you. The knowledge wouldn’t have been new if you just paid more attention. 

You try to hold it back, pushing down the feelings again, but it just won’t work. All of it spilling over at the worst possible time, tears streaming down your face before you even know it. You fail to wipe the wetness from your cheeks—Joost stops his movements, asks in a panicked and concerned voice, “Oh my—are you crying, schat?”

Attempting to pull it together once more, you cover your face with your hands and shake your head silently, but your already sniffly nose sells you out. Your shoulders shake with your crying. Too far gone now. 

“I wanted—“ you sniffle, and he hands you a tissue from the side table for you to blow your nose into as he stumbles out and off of you. “I wanted to be with you tonight, but I just—so much—I never—I never listened to your memo, I couldn’t, I had to finish so much before you got here and I couldn’t and I feel so bad, like, you wrote a song about me and I didn’t even have the time to listen—” 

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” Joost coos, brushing your hair out of your eyes as you sob. “Baby, please.” His expression is so concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he pats your back. “Wait, shit,” he says, getting up from the couch and looking down at his still bare bottom half. “Let me put everything back on, I’m sorry schatje, give me—“ In a hurry, he puts his underwear and shorts back on, tripping over himself and almost falling over. “I just can’t do this naked, I’m sorry.” 

That brings a laugh out of you and a laugh out of him, and you start explaining as he sits back down next to you, rubbing your arm. “I don’t—I don’t deserve you.” You shake your head, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. “I should’ve listened to what you sent me, I should’ve been there more.” 

“Bro,” he deadpans, beckoning you to come and sit on his lap. 

You do, still trying to get the tears out of your eyes as you settle into his arms. “Shut up, don’t call me bro while I’m crying,” you laugh, voice weak but lighthearted.

“Bro. I will do it again.” Joost gives you a second to let it out more, to breathe as he smooths his hands back and forth on your back. “You did everything perfectly, lieverd. Perfectly. We were both so busy, and you still made time to call me and text me. I would have been lost without you, I know for certain.” 

You shake your head. “I forgot to reply and pick up your texts so many times, Joost, I felt like such a bad person for doing so.” 

“You did? I didn’t notice. All I cared about was that you replied.  You’re not a bad person at all,” Joost says, and the sweetness of his words just make you want to cry more. “I appreciate more from you the effort that you put into everything, into what we have. Not what you couldn’t or didn’t do.” 

“You’re so nice,” you whisper, sniffling. You can’t think of a better compliment with how overwhelmed you are, so you kiss him, instead, and he kisses back. Even with this, you can tell how gentle Joost is holding your cracked pieces back together. 

“I’m nice?” he asks, smiling. “Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” For a little, you both sit there in the silence together. “How about this—tomorrow, we can have a day to ourselves. You can lounge and study by the pool, and I’ll be your little butler or whoever and we can just relax for a bit, hm? Order food, drink, smoke, whatever.” Pausing, he grins. “We can even listen to the whole album, if you want.”

“You finished it?” you ask, sitting up more and incredulous. That’s complete news to you.

“This morning, right before I flew back here,” Joost says, nodding proudly. “I also texted you, but duty calls, no?” 

“You texted me?” He texted you? And you missed it?!?!? Again, the new information makes you cry, and he holds you tight as you do. “You should be mad that I didn’t see it,” you say in between dry heaves into his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“I could never be mad at you, lieverd, and I’m sorry I made you cry again,” he says, rubbing your back, petting your hair. “I just wanted to let you know when I did it—it was just a timestamp, that doesn’t mean you needed to know right that second.” 

“But I wanted to know.” 

“You know now, and I know how proud you are of me. That’s enough, that’s even more than what I wanted.” You trust him and his words so fully, every passing second with him is another way to help you feel better. “I love you,” Joost says your name so seriously, a punctuation to his love letter. “I mean it.” 

“I love you too.” You kiss him, deeply, moments passing that you use to thank everything you can that he’s so good with your worries, your anxieties. “I’ll take you up on that offer for tomorrow, Joost,” you say, finally calmed down enough. Your eyes are incredibly bleary—you didn’t know that was possible. But at least you aren’t actively crying anymore. “Thank you for everything.” 

“Thank you for giving me something more to look forward to, schat. Now—let’s go run a bath together and listen to my song for you.” 

[sapphire-to-the-rain]

frozen peaches on a black eye with Anarcia pls 🤞🏼🤞🏼

marcia in full scary protective gf mode (she’s worried sick)

[leiawritesstories]

queen's crown

rowaelin + kiddos // written for April microfics @throneofglassmicrofics using the prompt "Crown"

word count: 725

warnings: none :)

enjoy!!!

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

The Staghorn Crown of Terrasen sat atop its emerald-green velvet pillow, the gold spires that resembled antlers jutting proudly up into the still, silent air of the throne room. At its center, the kingsflame bloom encased in crystal seemed almost to glow, the scarlet and crimson and orange of its petals radiating warmth and light.

The princess rose onto her tiptoes and fixed her wide-eyed gaze upon the crown, the pedestal just barely taller than her head. At the sound of footsteps entering the throne room, she startled, and her elbow knocked into the pedestal as she wobbled, trying to keep her balance.

She stared, her wonder turning to horror, as the crown tipped off of its cushion and tumbled towards the floor.

But a swift, wintry wind brushed through the throne room, caught the crown, and deposited it neatly back on its cushion, its tendrils wrapping carefully around the princess as she wobbled on the steps.

"Are you alright, little love?" Her father's voice, her father's wind.

Six-year-old Alanna Whitethorn Galathynius felt her lower lip shiver as the tears slowly spilled out of her eyes, the same bright pine as her father's. In an instant, her father was there, scooping her up into his arms, soothing her.

"I--I almost broke Mama's crown," Lana half-sobbed, burying her face in her dada's warm shoulder.

"Shh, little love, it's alright." Rowan carried Lana back to her rooms, where her mother was waiting, concern on her face. He kissed the top of his daughter's blonde head. "You know Mama and I would never let anything happen to you, Lana."

She sniffled. "I sorry, Mama."

Aelin took her daughter from her mate's arms, giving him a brief, tender look. "Lana, lovey, you mean so much more to me than that silly old crown." She cupped the little girl's face, meeting Lana's teary gaze with her own steady one. "Were you trying to see Mama's crown?"

Lana nodded. "Auntie El said you used to try and see it all the time when you were my age."

A distant, yearning smile slipped across Aelin's face. "That was...a very long time ago. I'm surprised she remembers." When she was a child, Aelin had often slipped into the throne room to stare at the crown from a distance, a memory she'd almost forgotten until her daughter brought it up.

Calming, Lana touched the bracelet that curled around Aelin's wrist, a smaller version of the crown with golden prongs like antlers. An everyday crown. "It matches."

"Yes, it does." Aelin kissed Lana's forehead. "Do you want to go see the crown, lovey?"

Lana's big green eyes lit up. "Yes!"

"Alright, then." Aelin stood up and took Lana's hand, and with Rowan at her back, ever the hovering buzzard, she led her daughter down to the throne room. Together, they walked across the quiet, shadowed expanse of the room, its soft darkness broken by the sunlight that streamed in through the arched windows along the walls.

At the front of the throne room, she lifted the crown's cushion off the pedestal, slowly knelt down in front of her daughter with a flicker of a grimace of discomfort, and set the cushion on the ground. Lana's expression widened with wonder as she clung to her mother's hand and stared at the crown.

Rowan knelt next to Aelin, concern creasing his face. "Are you sure you should be--"

"I'm fine, you overbearing buzzard," she sighed, one hand drifting to her very rounded stomach.

A tiny mirror of her father, Lana pressed both of her small hands to Aelin's bump. "Mama, baby?"

"Baby is just fine, lovey," Aelin promised. Gently, reverently, she lifted the crown from its cushion and raised it into the shaft of sunlight, causing light to radiate off of the kingsflame bloom. As her daughter and her mate watched, she carefully lowered it onto her head, feeling its familiar weight settle over her.

Lana stared raptly. "Mama so pretty," she murmured.

Aelin smiled as she lifted the crown off her head. "One day, my daughter, this will be yours." Lana held very still as Aelin placed the crown atop her small head, holding it in place so it didn't slip down the princess's face.

And the Queen of Terrasen looked at the future queen, her heart full to bursting at the sight of her family.

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed :)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

@renxzs

[much-obliged-timothy]

"Who did this to you? Where are they?" with Nero protecting Vergil, pretty please? Your dadgil stuff is so good!

(No proofreading we die like men)

“Nero!”

Kyrie’s squeal had him grinning. He flicked more water at the back of her neck and she spun around and threw a handful of blueberries at his face. One bounced off the tip of his nose, causing them both to laugh.

“You either help me with this pie, or you go bother someone else,” Kyrie said, grabbing the towel and wiping the water off her neck.

Nero knelt down to gather the scattered blueberries. “Yea, yea, I’ll take it seriously. But only if I get to have a slice.”

He stood and held his cupped hands out to her. She put her own hands over them, leaned forward, and kissed his nose where the blueberry had hit him.

“You can be my taste-tester,” she assured before taking the blueberries from him. 

She passed him pie crust and a tin, instructing him to prepare the base for her. He got busy with the task, enjoying how mundane it all was. No demons trying to kill him, just him and Kyrie baking together while the kids played over at a friend’s house for the day. Things were rarely so quiet and peaceful for them.

So, of course, there was a sudden, alarming thump on the door that led to the garage.

They both jumped and looked at each other. Nero put a hand on Kyrie’s shoulder before heading for the door.

“Nero-” she started.

“Stay here,” he said. “I left the garage door up to air it out. Might just be an animal or something.”

Kyrie looked worried, but stayed where she was. Nero grabbed his sword as he approached the door, tightening his hold on it as he reached for the handle. Animal, his ass. It was never that simple. 

He yanked the door open, sword pulled back to strike. It took him a long moment to follow the bloodstain from the door down to the crumpled heap on the ground. It took him an even longer moment to realize the crumpled heap had white hair, a blue coat, and the Yamato clutched weakly in one bloodstained hand.

“Vergil.” He dropped beside his father, grabbing lightly at his arm as his eyes scanned the garage for any sign of danger.

“Wasn’t followed.” Vergil’s voice was weak, strained. 

Nero rolled him carefully onto his back, and Vergil’s breath changed from a harsh wheeze to a strained gurgle. Nero rolled him back onto his side, grimacing at the deep gashes in Vergil’s chest and stomach. Blood soaked his clothing and caked his hair to his forehead. 

“Who did this to you? Where are they?” Nero demanded, his grip on his sword so tight that his knuckles were white with the force of it. 

Vergil didn’t answer, his eyes closed. Nero was about to snap at him before realizing that Vergil was trying to get his breathing under control.

“Vergil,” Nero said, barely clinging to his patience. “Talk to me.”

“Demon,” Vergil managed. “Outside the…city…” He coughed hard, blood splattering from his mouth and staining his lips and chin. He wiped it away impatiently with a trembling arm. 

Nero had never seen Vergil so injured before. Even after their fight, Vergil had been cut up, bruised, and winded, but still ready for another round. 

The sight of him so defeated lit a rage deep in Nero’s chest. Maybe Vergil was a lousy bastard, but he was family. He was Dante’s brother.

He was Nero’s father.

Nero realized he’d pulled Vergil into his arms. Vergil was barely clinging to consciousness, likely the only reason he wasn’t complaining; Nero doubted if he’d even noticed.

“Kyrie will help you,” Nero assured. 

“Don’t,” Vergil wheezed. “Dangerous.”

“It’ll be a walk in the park for me, old man,” Nero said, though he didn’t actually feel like joking. He doubted anything could beat him once the anger inside him fueled his attacks. “Stay here and rest, Vergil. Not that you have much choice.”

“Nero,” Vergil said, grabbing weakly at Nero’s arm. “Dangerous. Don’t…be…foolish.”

“Like father, like son.” Nero looked over his shoulder. “Kyrie, we need the med kit. Vergil’s hurt bad.”

Kyrie was there in a moment. She looked at Vergil in horror before composing her features and crouching beside Nero.

“Look after him,” Nero said seriously.

“Don’t let him…go,” Vergil practically growled, grabbing for Nero again.

Nero pried his hand off. Like hell was he going to sit around while the demon that did this to Vergil was still out there. 

“I’ll be fine,” he promised both of them, settling his sword on his back. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Nero!” Vergil said angrily.

Nero was already walking away, though. His whole body vibrated with fury the longer he looked at Vergil. 

He would not let anyone or anything hurt his family and get away with it.

[dewdropreader]

For the hug prompt! Only if you want 💛

🤕 panic hug / "I'm glad you're okay"

Or 😴 sleepy hug / falling asleep together

(Decided to do Panic Hug, but still may do a sleepy hug if the mood strikes!! Hope you enjoy!!)

🤕 panic hug / "I'm glad you're okay"

And/Or

😴 sleepy hug / falling asleep together

—

Loki really wants to know when he became such a nervous wreck.

Was it simply when he first was plucked from his timeline and brought to the TVA? Surely that would make anyone a bit more prone to being frazzled.

Maybe it was all of the world-altering chaos he’d been exposed to throughout this time. Realistically, this was probably it. He loved chaos, but found there was an amount even too much for him.

But really… he knows the true answer. None of that cataclysmic chaos would have mattered to him without stakes. Stakes brought by Mobius. Brought by being in love.

So now, even though the true catastrophes and world ending problems had been solved, he finds himself on edge where it pertains to Mobius.

And currently, Mobius is meant to be home from his mission— a simple stakeout to monitor for abnormalities on a timeline of interest— and he is nowhere to be found.

He was supposed to be home hours ago… or what passes for hours. It’s been too long, that’s all Loki knows. And Mobius hasn’t contacted him either, not since the day prior (time may be different in the TVA compared to a timeline but not enough to explain no contact for this long… unless something happened?)

Loki runs his hands through his hair for perhaps the hundredth time. He’s messaged Mobius multiple times with no response. What if there was an abnormality on the timeline? Something dangerous that shouldn’t have been there, something that hurt him?

He lets out a frustrated growl as he taps into his TemPad again, refreshing as if that will make a message suddenly appear.

If something hurt Mobius… he doesn’t know exactly what he’d do. He’s caused destruction and havoc at even the thought or threat of such, so if he were to find something happened to him after so many near misses and times he truly did lose him when trying to fix the loom and beyond… he’s not sure he could take it again.

He needs to go to the records bay, find out Mobius’ exact location and take himself there to check it out—

The door swings open, revealing a sweaty and slightly dirty but seemingly unharmed Mobius.

“Hey, Lokes, I’m sorry—”

Loki crashes into him, nearly bowling him over, only stopped by the door that Mobius just barely got to shut behind him. Mobius’ body is slightly pressed into the door with the pressure of Loki’s tight hug around him. Loki’s arms wind around Mobius’ form and squeeze, one hand coming up to cradle his head and pull it into his own shoulder.

“Oh, Loki. Missed you too,” Mobius huffs softly, a soft smile clear in his voice.

“What happened?” Loki murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft silver of Mobius’ hair.

“Sorry, love. My TemPad ran out of juice. You know I’m bad at charging those things.” Mobius pulls back just enough to meet Loki’s eyes, but keeps himself tucked into his hold, both hands resting on the small of Loki’s back. “We were split up for a time so I didn’t have a chance to get Verity or anyone else to message to let you know I’d be late either.”

Loki lets out a shaky sigh. “I'm glad you're home. I was so worried…”

Mobius frowns softly, but nods. “I get it. I’m sorry I scared you, darling. But I’m here, unharmed.” Mobius tilts up to press a kiss to Loki’s tense jaw. “And I’m all yours. Mission debrief isn’t until tomorrow.”

Loki smiles softly and tugs Mobius back into the tight hold. For a while, they just stand, firmly holding each other. After a moment though, Mobius feels Loki trembling slightly. Then, a soft tear lands on his head.

“Loki, are you okay?” Mobius whispers.

“I’m sorry. It’s stupid. I know you’re fine, I just…” Loki murmurs, avoiding Mobius’ gaze as he once again pulls back. “I’m so weak when it comes to you. I’ve lost you and nearly lost you so many times before, I just can’t have it happen again.”

Mobius swallows. He knows that Loki is a gentler soul than anyone ever gave him credit for, and that everything they’ve been through has only made him more intense in his already deep emotions. The fear of being alone, the desperate protectiveness over loved ones, it’s all been amplified with everything that’s happened.

“Hey,” Mobius says softly, gently tilting Loki’s face towards him with two fingers. The same fingers trace soft lines down his cheek and jaw and back again as he talks. “I know how worried you get. I’m sorry I let you panic for so long, I should have done more to check in.”

Loki shakes his head. “No. You were on a mission, it makes sense, that’s the focus. It’s not your fault. I’m just… I don’t know…”

“I get it. It’s okay. I know the feeling, we’ve both been through a thousand lifetimes, it’s made us extra cautious and on edge, especially for each other.”

Loki sniffs softly, blinking away the last of his panicked tears. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Better than okay.” Mobius gives a soft smile, warm enough that Loki can’t help but smile in response. He leans forward and presses a long kiss to Mobius’ forehead.

Mobius simply smiles and tucks himself back into Loki’s hold, certain it’s the safest place he could ever be.

[elw00woo]

Saw your prompt thing and 👉👈 how would you feel about Lithromantic!Sanji and Aromantic!Zoro QPR? I have ideas. Like. So many. I gnaw on this dynamic.

Just. Sanji who loves to love. He's romantic and passionate, but as soon as someone reciprocates it all starts tasting rotten in his mouth. That's why he expresses his love for women that he knows he'll never see again. There's no possibility of it going anywhere. Falling in love with Zoro was... Unprecedented. And maybe he's not sure how the guy would take his feelings, but not wanting to make him genuinely uncomfortable.

And Zoro who just kinda. Doesn't mind the attention. Sanji is not as slick as he thinks he is, he just loves so openly that trying to squash it when it's for Zoro is impossible. But Zoro worries one day it won't be enough to be loved at a distance and Sanji is going to ask for more than Zoro can give him. He's worried his lack of feelings will ruin the relationship they already have.

I could. go I for so long. I would love you forever if you wrote something with this that didn't end with them getting together or with unrequited love being a curse/sad thing.

I hope this is what you had in mind, @the-sprog ! This was double hard for me, as I have never written something relationship centric + didn’t know lithromanticism was a thing.

I do like the dynamic though and think that this label probably fits Sanji very well!

Zeff used to say he was a big bag of love, filled to the brim, overflowing. Sanji couldn’t say that was wrong, exactly. He fell in love all the time, one person at a time, and mostly people he knew would never love him back.

Loving women was easy. It was what everyone expected him to do and he was all too willing to give. It was well enough for him that Nami-swan and Robin-chan would never love him back. They were beautiful and brilliant and he wanted to give them all the love and adoration they deserved. So he gave them: his cooking, every meal and snack and drink that they could wish for; gifts of flowers and jewelry, clothes and books, anything they would ask for; his attention and gratitude and love and adoration.

And there was nothing he wanted in return.

He had a friendship once with the daughter of one of Zeff’s cooks. She had the most brilliant red hair and big brown doe eyes and Sanji’s heart had been lost on her the moment they met. She had been kind to him as they played. And he had treated her the same as he treats women now. He had given her compliments and enjoyed her company, he felt himself fall head over heels. And then she had told him she liked him, asked him to be girlfriend-boyfriend. And he… stopped. Suddenly his heart wasn’t in it, he no longer felt as he had before, felt dread at the idea of what she expected him to give her now. He felt angry somehow, betrayed by his body and her with no chance of understanding why.

She and her parents had left the baratie soon after and he never got to apologize. Zeff still called her his little girlfriend, leaving him a flustered mess unable to put words to his emotions.

He had it figured out by now, accepting that he wasn't able or willing to give others what they expected of romantic relationships and completely satisfied with simply the pre-stages of the whole affair. The wooing and seducing and flirting. He loved it, loved the hints of romance, the vent to his overflowing abundance of love.

And then came Zoro.

The brute, Zoro. The angry masochistic and self-sacrificing idiot of a man. Zoro, who showered once a week and smelled accordingly. Who never complimented his food and took everything for granted.

Zoro, who protected his crew with all he had and never backed down from a fight. Zoro, who was one of the strongest people he’d ever known and who didn’t think of him as weak. Who respected him as an equal. The man who cared so much about Chopper and was good with kids. Luffy’s first mate, who saw him for what he was (the future goddamn pirate king) before anyone else did. And who always cleaned his plate, simply because he knows that it means a lot to Sanji.

How could he not fall for him?

He tried to play it down, keep it a secret. He knew the man had about as much romance in his bones as a dead fish, so Sanji wasn’t going to lie to himself about this.

He caught himself making three snacks instead of two and unwillingly brought the third plate up to the crow’s nest, where Zoro was working out. Sweaty, smelly, and glistening in the late afternoon sun.

“What’s that?” He grunted between reps, putting the weights down with a heavy clunk.

“Just a snack. You’ve been up here a while and your body needs nutrition with all the energy you’re using.” He put the plate and a bottle of water down. “You also need to stay hydrated.”

“Whatever.”

Yeah, Sanji supposed, whatever.

“Don’t get used to it.” And with that, he left.

Sanji wished it had stayed at this one slip-up, but instead, he found himself with three extra treats instead of two more often than not and the others have started to notice.

“You’ve been buying more Sake, Sanji-kun.”

Sanji felt himself freeze, knew his face was bright red, and knew he had to react quickly. “Well, you see-“

“Zoro has been getting a lot of free passes, lately.”

“Uhm-“

Mellorine, lovely mellorine PLEASE shut the fuck up. He wanted to bury his head in the sand, or better yet, explode it in the oven.

“Please don’t say more…”

She stayed quiet and came up beside him, where he tried very hard to keep his hands busy at the stove, unwilling to see the look on her perfect little face.

“Sanji… do you you like him?” What does he even say to that? Of course, he liked him, he adored him. He wanted to bury himself beneath his skin and never leave. “He’s okay.” She just smiled.

“You’re not being sly. Give him some credit, he isn’t always as dumb as he looks, okay?”

And with that, she left, but not before stopping in the doorway to the galley and turning around again. Sanji readied himself for her words of wisdom, advice that would surely help him cope.

“Oh, and Sanji-kun… stop wasting money on things we don’t need.”

Perhaps Dinner was mostly Zoro’s favorite food. Maybe it was accidentally, maybe it was deliberate. Sanji wouldn’t tell.

He watched him closely as he ate. He never said outright whether he liked something or gave an indication when he disliked something, but there were small things that Sanji had noticed.

He talked less when he really enjoyed his food. Sometimes he would stop and take a sip of his sake and when the different tastes of his food and drink mixed, he would close his eyes and hum quietly, gently, enjoying the luxurious tastes as Sanji had intended. Sanji kept a mental note of every time this happened.

Zoro stayed after dinner and stared him down.

“What is it, marimo? Can’t find the way out?”

But Zoro just shrugged and reached for the dish towel and started drying the plates he cleaned. It made his heart clench in his chest.

They stayed like this for twenty minutes, in companionable quiet, Sanji basking in his attention.

And then Zoro broke it. “You’re courting me.”

It took all his willpower not to break the plate he was holding. “No!” He heard the high pitch in his voice and decided to deny it vehemently if it should ever come up again. “Calm down, cook. You’re not making it a secret.” Sanji should really work on this.

“Never mind. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t mind? Don’t get me wrong if you start calling me stupid stuff like marimo-swan I will cut you, but…” It was his turn to blush and Sanji had to hold himself back.

“You like being pampered?”

“Don’t call it that!”

But the blush remained and neither looked away.

“I don’t like relationships. I’m not planning on spending all my time with you or doing your romantic shit… I like my freedom and I want to concentrate on becoming the world’s greatest swordsman. I don’t want love and relationships, but I do like…”

He likes me.

Sanji felt his own excitement at the thing Zoro seemed to be proposing and it fit him just right.

“In return, I’ll have your back.”

You already do, you dumb oaf. He wanted to say but kept his mouth shut because he understood that this was the best he had to offer - his blades, his protection.

Shit, it was really easy to love that man.

[iobartach]

" Can you recommend a book that will make me cry? " - Broly

"General Mathematics, 8th Grade Edition."

[sparrowsage]

Sparrow being offered to be drugged for a showing, which Damon promises will be the worst yet.

He can either be awake and feel it all, all the pain and humiliation, but still have the opportunity to fight. Or he could be blissfully unaware and 'sleep' through it. Wake up hours later, none the wiser and just a little sore.

Thank you so much for this! I was all giddy at the idea, it's so fucking beautiful! And I have to give an amazing thanks to @darkthingshappen for the use of her Whumper Volkov, who is mentioned in this piece! Her and I have some things planned with Volkov and Sparrow that was mentioned in this drabble that we're excited to share with you once it's done!

TW: Very vague implications of future noncon, mentions of past abuse/torture, drug mentions, implied future drugging, the term "boy" used for an adult male (if I missed any, let me know!)

Fighting the Decision (A Warehouse Drabble)

“Get the fuck away from me,” Sparrow growled, doing his best to back up from Damon as he approached him. 

He had only been back at the Warehouse for a few days after his two week stay at the island, and while he was regrettably glad to be back in a familiar place, all Sparrow wanted was more than a few days rest before things returned to normal. Some peace before the oncoming storm he was sure to endure. 

Damon clicked his tongue a couple times, looking down at the pet on the floor of his office, crossing his arms over his chest. “The whole point of that trip was to see what you’ve learned so far, but all it seems to have done is bring you back to where you started.” 

“It was a sick and twisted joke and you know it,” Sparrow snarled back. “Why even send me there if I were to end up back here?” 

Damon quirked an eyebrow, seeming to be slightly amused by the words despite it being back talk. “I was curious to see how you’d do under a different hand, and while you’ve resorted back to how I first got you two months ago, there have been noticeable changes in how you behave. You seem more…how should I put it? Afraid.” 

Sparrow clenched his fists behind his back, his wrists straining against the metal cuffs that kept them locked behind him. “I’m not afraid of you,” Sparrow said, though his tone was more quiet than before. 

“Oh, I think you are,” Damon said in return, crouching down so he was more level with the pet. “I have a proposition for you then.” 

Sparrow did his best to scoot back even more when Damon crouched down, trying to hold himself to appear bigger, but all he really wanted to do was hide in the shadows of the office and disappear. 

“What the fuck is a proposition?” Sparrow asked harshly, earning an amused chuckle from the Keeper. 

“You’re so naive it’s funny, Songbird. An idea, I have an idea. I have quite the audience waiting for your next Showing since you’ve been absent for two weeks, so I have one scheduled for you in an hour. Since you’ve been fighting me at every turn ever since you returned, I thought I’d give you an option on how this Showing would go.” 

“I don’t want to do a fucking Showing, cancel it.” 

Damon shook his head softly, looking over the pet’s body. “You know that’s not an option. The choices are you go through this welcome home Showing lucid. Wide awake, able to feel and endure everything like you normally do. Or,” Damon paused, letting the first option sink in before he continued, “You can go through it drugged, to the point where you don’t remember a thing.” 

This has to be a trick, Sparrow thought. Damon has never had him drugged for a Showing, preferring him to be awake and lucid to elicit more of a reaction. 

“Why give me the stupid options when you’ll just end up choosing the first one?” Sparrow asked, his body rigid and tense at the thought of the whole thing. 

“Because I’m genuinely asking. I know Volkov does things differently than I do, so I’m giving you an out to ease you back into the system. If you go with the first option, you can still fight against everything I do. Granted, it’ll do nothing in the end, but you’ll still be able to try. If you go with the second option, you get a break from it all, but it’ll leave you entirely at my mercy. This may be the only time I grant you this out, Songbird, so choose wisely.” 

“Either way, I end up in a world of fucking pain and end up humiliated,” the pet mumbled, but his gaze shifted to the floor as he thought it over. 

A break. When has he ever gotten a break from all of this? To have a choice in not remembering any of the things done to him? The Keeper hardly ever went back on his word, so the fact that Sparrow would never be given this chance again weighed down on him heavily. 

But drugged to the point of not remembering anything that’s going on? Damon would probably give him something so he’d still be somewhat awake. The fucker loved hearing him moan and scream. He wouldn’t be able to do anything against what the Keeper had planned. It seemed like a lose-lose situation. Stay awake and endure it all and remember it but still stick to fighting back or not remember a thing and be as compliant as they come and embarrass himself due to the lack of thought. 

As Sparrow thought over the options, Damon merely cocked his head to the side slightly, content to watch his Songbird think. It almost seemed like he could see the gears in Sparrow’s head turn, trying to figure out the best option. Regardless of his choice, the boy would go through the Showing and it would be a sight to behold. 

After several minutes, Sparrow let out a sigh, his gaze not moving up from the floor, his head hanging in defeat. “The second one,” he mumbled, his body slowly going lax in his seated position on the floor. “Just get it over with.” 

Damon’s eyes widened at the choice, the Keeper pushing himself up to his feet as he smiled down at the other. “Second option it is.” 

Sparrow clenched his jaw as he heard Damon leave the office, flinching as he heard the door shut. 

It felt like he was giving up on everything he had fought for up to this point, but all he truly wanted was a break. A true break from everything he was going through. Once it was all over, he’d be back to his normal, fighting self and things would resume as normal. 

Sparrow couldn’t help a tiny part of himself hoping that Damon would keep him in that state forever so he’d never have to remember any of this again. But that was wishful thinking. The Keeper would never be that merciful. Might as well take the small mercy while he could. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whumpcereal, (If you want to be added, let me know!)

[ogdoadfates]

Sitting on the sink while the other checks out their scratches with vaxleth? :D

Heya!!! Ya got it!!! I originally wasn’t going to do an AU for this but I just couldn’t think of anything so I went with ‘A town to nowhere’ au! one sitting on the sink while the other checks out the scratches on their s/o’s face.

Vax sits on Keyleth’s bathroom sink as he watches her dig through her first aid supplies, the sound of her rummaging the only noise between them. The two of them had been on one of their nightly adventures, this time Keyleth had texted first meaning that they’d gone to walk and run around the woods to get their minds off things. Until he tripped and ate shit that is, causing the two of them to change their plans.

Weirdly enough Vax hasn’t been to Keyleth’s home more than a handful of times. It’s small, perfect for a person living alone and utterly filled with plants. There are a few other personal touches, a few pictures hang upon the walls, a variety of fairy lights dance about the ceilings of all of the rooms, save for the bathroom and kitchen, and a sheer white tiger tapestry that covers her bedroom window. It’s cozy, comforting, and yet it just feels slightly lonely, like a well loved house that’s been missing it’s person for sometime.

Keyleth’s hand lightly cupping his cheek brings him out of his musing with a slight jolt, causing a silent chuckle to escape the now slightly blushing redhead as she gently starts to clean the wounds on his face. She’s diligent, focused, but also relaxed. A combination that Vax finds absolutely beautiful on her.

Maybe it’s the late hour or maybe it’s just the serene calm her presence brings him but he doesn’t want to go anywhere. Usually, the two of them would spend the night together in one of their out of home hideouts but with them now being at her house he doesn’t know what they’ll do. Will she send him home once she’s done patching him up? Will she let him stay?

After a while Keyleth finishes bandaging his face, yet she keeps her one hand on his cheek just letting him rest against her. The two retain eye contact and Vax swears he could get lost in the forests that reside in her eyes, he loses himself to the point he almost doesn’t hear her next words. The first either of them have said anything since they arrived here.

“Do you want to stay for the night?” Her words are hesitant, like she fears his response but he just smiles cupping the hand she has left on his cheek before giving her a nod. She maneuvers their hands taking his and leading him through her home. It slightly shocks him that she leads him to her bedroom but at the same time do they not constantly sleep next to each other when in their hideouts? Yet it’s different, it’s more intimate, more personal but as they find their way under the covers, warmth seeping into their bones and soft goodnights from each other caressing their ears it feels natural to him. As if he belongs here.

[tomtenadia]

Take away my pain

Anonymous asked:

Rowan taking care of Aelin on her cycle

Yes, I am on a roll... I blame the days off. Anyway, despite the title which is taken from a song by Dream Theatre, this fic I sure fluff. Also, I think every woman deserves a Rowan... really.

I hope you’ll love it.

PS: those heat belt really exist and are amazing btw... 

@rowaelinprompts

---

TAKE AWAY MY PAIN

It was eleven in the morning when Rowan’s night shift in the A&E finally finished. He closed his locker with a sigh of relief and waltzed out of the changing room with a spring in his step and a grin. He was looking forward to go home and crash in bed. Their bed. He and Aelin, his wife had finally moved in a new house and were still adjusting to the new place which was feeling like home with each passing day. Finding the perfect house had taken a while but the wait had been worth it. Thy had managed to snatch the house of their dreams out in the outskirts and away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. It was a lovely neighbourhood and the house had a garden too and was perfect for when they were going to have kids. They could be outside and enjoy the fresh air. Quickly he got to his car and started his drive home ready to collapse on the bed and sleep until Aelin was back.

The drive took a good twenty minutes. Outside the house Aelin’s car was parked up but he was not worried. He knew that sometimes Aelin enjoyed taking the metro into the centre just to avoid the crazy traffic. The good thing of the hospital being away from the centre was a blessing. Orynth’s traffic could get quite crazy during rush hours.

Rowan grabbed his backpack and got inside. He stopped when he noticed Aelin’s shoes and her jacket. He abandoned his stuff on the floor, toed off the shoes and entered the living room.

“Ae? Are you at home?” He walked around the house, until he decided to go upstairs and found his wife in bed.

“Hey…” he moved to her and sat on the bed at her side “hey you…” his hand brushing her head very gently.

She looked up at him “Ro.”

“I am here. What’s wrong, are you ill?”

Aelin shook her head “just my period.”

All of a sudden everything was clear. Aelin always suffered during her cycle. Some months were better than others but the really bad ones made it impossible for her to get out of bed.

“How bad?”

“I was sick, this morning.”

He kissed her head “what if we take a warm bath? It usually helps.”

She nodded weakly and Rowan jumped into action getting the bathtub ready for both. When they got the house they had splurged and got a nice larger and comfortable tub. They also had a shower for the morning, but the tub had been a guilty pleasure they had both agreed on.

 He dumped a few of her favourite salts and went back in the bedroom.

“It’s almost ready.”

Aelin curled on her herself once more and Rowan worried. As a doctor he had pushed her to get checked but she was fine, she just suffered badly, something he knew was part of the package.

“Come,” he lifted her in his arms and went back in the bathroom.

Aelin undressed and he did the same. Once the clothes were on the floor he climbed in the tub and offered a hand to Aelin who then sat in-between his legs.

“Lean against me.”

Aelin did just that and Rowan pulled her long hair aside while his arms went on her back and started massaging it gently. He knew that Aelin would suffer from really bad back pain and he had searched all possible remedies. He had also bought her a belt that would heat up and would cover back and stomach. Aelin had loved the present and wearing it at night had helped to sleep a bit more. “Better?”

“Yes,” she added quietly. “Did you came home early from work?”

“Yes, Lys is covering.”

Aelin and Lysandra had created from scratch and editorial house. They had started small but with time they had started to attract authors and slowly had managed to publish some successful books. They were an indie company and that was a fierce world but the two of them had managed to make a name for themselves.

“Good, I can have you all to myself for longer than planned.”

Aelin lifted her hand and caressed his face “how was the shift?”

The breath that left him was long and ragged.

“That bad?”

“A care pile up in the middle of the night. Some people should not be allowed to drive in the snow.”

She snuggled against him and allowed her husband to wash her hair.

Soon Rowan started to protest that the water was getting cold so he pushed her outside. He grabbed a towel and walked outside to giver privacy to get herself ready. Not because he was disgusted by the act, as a doctor he had an idea of how a woman would use certain products. He just believed that she could do with a bit of personal space. 

In the meantime he changed in comfortable clothes and went to get Aelin’s stuff. 

“Do you think you will manage soup?” He said while walking back to the bathroom where she was drying her hair.

“Yes, can I have carrot and coriander?”

Rowan moved closer and kissed her “Good, dry up and go to bed. Your belt is out and ready and there are painkillers too.”

“You spoil me.”

His arms slithered around her “it comes in the job description of husband.” A flick of her nose and he left. 

Aelin smiled. She had been so lucky with him. Her ex Chaol would disappear for the entire time she had her period as if she was afflicted by a contagious disease and had almost lost it when once she had forgotten feminine products in his bathroom. Rowan was never bothered and claimed that it was natural, maybe his medical training helped. He would do all he could to look after her when she was not well, cook for her and was even patient enough when she was in full PMS and her hormones made her cranky. He would also shop for her supplies when he went grocery shopping.  The first time he did he admitted he knew it was getting closer to the time and she ran out.

He was perfect.

In silence she padded to the bed and saw it was all ready for her while in the distance she could hear the sounds of her husband tinkering in the kitchen. She felt bad. Rowan had just come off shift and was tired too but he had ignored it and looked after her.

It was over an hour later when he brought a tray with two steaming cups of the wonderful soup “M’lady your lunch is ready. The bread is from yesterday, but if you dunk it in the soup it will be fine.”

Aelin grabbed his hand and pulled him closer for a kiss “you are an amazing man.”

He sat at her side “Eat, it will get cold,” he kissed her nose “I love you too, menace.”

Aelin sat up at his side, the blanket tucked nicely around her and her body close to his. 

They spent the rest of the day in bed and in her husband’s arms the pain was all of a sudden more bearable.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart

[evilevolved]

HAPPY BDAY USA!!!!!🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 AMERICA HAS BEEN A NAUGHTY GIRL THIS YEAR ❌😩 BUT IT’S TIME 🕙 TO POP 💥THEM FIRE CRACKERS 🎊 & THAT PATRIOTIC PUSSY 🐱 DON'T BE INDEPENDENT TODAY, FIND YOURSELF A FOUNDING DADDY🥵🔥OR AN UNCLE SAM 🇺🇸🎩🪖TO SHOOT HIS FIREWORKS INTO YOU 😩🎆 PLEDGE ALLIANCE TODAY TO SHAKE DAT ASS 🍑💦 BUT LET’S HOPE THE CARPET MATCHES THE POWDERED WIG 💈🪮‼️‼️‼️GOD BLESS THE LAND OF THE FREE 🖕🤙HOME OF THE HOES💅💅 ‼️‼️‼️SEND THIS TO AT LEAST 4️⃣ OTHER FREEDOM LOVIN' SLUTS 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 IF YOU GET 1️⃣BACK YOU’LL BE RED, WHITE, & SMOOTH 😎 ALL DAY♥️🤍💙 IF YOU GET 2️⃣BACK YOUR CRUSH WILL BE A BRITISH LOYALIST AND RETHINK THEIR “INDEPENDENCE” THING ☕️🇬🇧 IF YOU GET 3️⃣BACK USA FLAG CODE ™️ COMES INTO EFFECT AND ALL VIOLATING CLOTHES COME OFF 😶🙈🇺🇸AND IF YOU GET 4️⃣ BACK YOUR CRUSH WILL BE IN YOUR BED BY THE DAWNS EARLY LIGHT 🦅🌄🌅 HBD USA 🇺🇸🎂

"I can think of... no better way to celebrate such a day...

...by ripping out... your SHOCKIN' THROAT!!!"

[nathanrelnor]

@animusphere-goddess-of-chaldea

The Chief Director was working hard, exhausted.

She had a special someone here, too. A twin sister, Anya. Yes, they looked alike, but Anya possessed yellow ribbons braided in her hair and was easily motivated by music.

It would be time to do the orientation. Get masters ready for the mission.

Nathan Relnor was rarely unsupervised in the halls of Chaldea. After all he was only 11 years old and letting an actual child run around your secret facility was a recipe for disaster. He'd been brought to Chaldea due to his frankly absurd Master capability but there was no way they were willing to deploy someone so young. He was an asset to be grown and used in Chaldea's future according to Marisbury. Thankfully Fou was riding on his shoulder so he technically wasn't totally alone. While running around he happened to cross paths with a familiar face. Romani had introduced them once before. Olga Marie? She was the acting director now that Marisbury had "Left to oversee Seraphix" as he'd been told. No use in burdening the boy with knowledge of the man's passing, he was already struggling to adapt to Chaldea as it was. "Hi Olga! Hi Anya! Hey! Have you seen where Daybit and Pepe went? I had an idea for a super cool catchphrase for them!"

[sapphire-to-the-rain]

Slept in braids for Anarcia !!!!! :)

marcia loves her protective hairstyles!!!

[leiawritesstories]

Sweater

for @throneofglassmicrofics prompt: "sweater," Elide x Lorcan

word count: 623

warnings: minor swearing

oopsies, it definitely isn't March yet, but this basically wrote itself while i was TRYING to read stuff for my capstone. so...enjoy!!

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

"Li, where's my socks?" Lorcan's yell echoed down the hallway.

Elide rolled her eyes as she pulled on her short boots. "In the dryer where your laundry still is, babe!"

"Dammit!" With a bout of muffled cursing and a series of thumps and grunts--her boyfriend was many things, but graceful was not one of them--Lorcan jogged down the hall and through the living room, stopping to openly admire his girlfriend's outfit before he ducked into the laundry room.

"You look amazing, shortcake."

"Don't call me that, you giraffe," she laughed, but the complaint was teasing. "Hurry up and get a shirt on, and we can go."

He nodded and went into the laundry room. The dryer door clanged open, he ruffled around for a moment, and there was a moment of quiet before he cracked open the door, scowling.

"Babe?" Elide went over to the laundry room. "Everything okay?"

"Fuck no," Lorcan grumbled.

She raised a brow. "You gonna tell me what's wrong, or are you gonna keep sulking like a kid?"

Slowly--very slowly--he pushed open the door. The scowl etched into his face would have made anyone else pee themself, but Elide knew her grumpy boyfriend too well to be dissuaded. She glanced over at him.

Then she looked for a good long minute, using all of her self-control not to burst out cackling.

"That's 100% wool, isn't it?" she managed to ask.

"Yeah." Lorcan's dark-gray sweater, which Elide loved to steal, clung to his wide shoulders and muscled arms, the fabric stretched nearly to its limit, and stopped just barely past his ribs, exposing the tattoos inked onto his side. "It is."

"Babe...you know you can ask me if you're not sure what to do with your clothes..."

"I didn't want to sound like an idiot," he admitted, his words muffled from him hiding his face in his hands. "And you can laugh, Li. I know you want to."

Elide wrapped her arms around Lorcan's firm, bare stomach and dissolved into laughter, her petite frame shaking against his much larger one. "I was trying not to, but oh my god."

He let loose a dry chuckle. "I know."

"If I had my phone on me, you'd never hear the end of this." She flashed him a wicked little smirk.

"God, no," he groaned. "Aelin is not fuckin' allowed to know about this."

"Don't worry, babe." Elide ran her fingers up her boyfriend's chest. "She won't." She grabbed the hem of Lorcan's horribly shrunken sweater. "C'mon, you still have to change."

Lorcan pulled off the sweater, tossing it to the floor, and pulled a thankfully still normal-sized shirt over his head. "You might as well take it," he said, "it's your size now, shortcake."

"Don't call me that," Elide retorted, her nose crinkling.

"Why not? You're tiny and cute, like a shortcake."

"And you're a big old softie." She winked at him as she reached down, picked up his sweater, and changed into it right in front of him. "It fits perfectly!" she exclaimed, doing a little spin.

"On second thought..." Lorcan's appreciative gaze lingered on the sight of Elide in his clothes.

"Oh no." She shook her finger in his face, trying to be as menacing as possible while pushing aside the way she wanted to climb into that look in his eyes. "We are not putting off this lunch; we haven't seen our whole friend group in months."

"Fine," he grumbled. "Just don't say anything about my sweater, Li."

"I would never," she promised, rising onto her tiptoes and tugging his head down to steal a kiss. "Love you, grouchy."

"Love you too, shortcake." He linked his fingers through hers as they walked out the door. "Especially in my clothes."

~~~ TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added or removed!

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

[thekingofthieves]

If you don't have tattoos, and had to get one, what would you get tattooed on you? Is getting tattooed a big deal to you? If you are tattooed, do you regret any?

Personally a tattoo wouldn't be a big deal for me at all, but considering the stigma around them in Japan, it'd be simpler to do without getting one for now. I already can't go to public onsens and beaches with Hiei due to the dragon's mark- unless he uses his jagan to keep nearby people from noticing it, which defeats the purpose of me taking him to such places to relax if he has to constantly be on alert and influencing the minds of those nearby. :(

Then again, since I can't bring Hiei to public places like that and I don't have any desire to go on my own, I suppose I could get a tattoo somewhere that's easy to cover up. My family is already aware of Hiei's "tattoo," so it's not another thing I'd have to hide from them, at least.

Actually... getting a tattoo on my Youko form is another possibility. There'd be no need to hide anything as it's not like the ink could transfer between my forms, and the Makai certainly has no issues with tattoos. I've always found it as a nice art form, though I had never gotten one before. I held no alliance that'd require one, nor had a particular attachment to any sort of symbolism. Some groups of demons use tattoos to mark their status amongst their ranks- the larger and more elaborate, the higher their placing in the hierarchy. I figured it'd be redundant to have anything like that when I led my own groups of thieves, though. Many could already recognize me simply from the shine of my silver hair, and instantly know what sort of trouble they were in.

If I were to get any tattoos though, it'd absolutely be something related to my loved ones. There'd be no way that I'd get a tattoo without having at least one to represent my relationship with Hiei. As for what exactly it would be... hm, perhaps something with our motifs, like my rose whip and his dragon in the shape of a heart~ ♡ Oh, a rose whip design that wraps around my arm akin to the dragon's mark would be fun too. I'd absolutely get one for my mother as well... I think sakura imagery would be rather fitting, though bittersweet, considering they represent not only rebirth, but the fleeting nature of human lives... Having something permanent upon my own body to remember her by for centuries to come would be lovely.

Though I had no interest before to get tattoos representing my alliances, I think now that I have such close companions, it'd be quite nice to have some representing my best friends. Hm, matching tattoos would be fun, though I'm unsure if my friends would be up for that idea. I doubt Kuwabara would want one since it could affect his ability to get a job once he's out of college. Yusuke on the other hand I don't think would care, but I have a feeling Keiko would have something else to say on the matter. 😅 I can't quite say for certain about the rest of my friends, but it doesn’t really matter if it's not a viable option for some of us already.

...Honestly, I never thought much about getting tattoos before, but after considering what I'd get if I were to get any... I must say I'm kind of tempted now. 😂 Just the idea of having art on my body to represent those I love forever... It makes me feel warm inside to think about. 😊 Perhaps I should give this some serious thought...

[hot-head-birb]

Prompt - Damien w/ Angel

He finally asked her out on a date, WHOO! Wine, dinner, a movie, the whole nine yards. He did get advice from the others, of course, as they offered their help.

He also got some frankly terrible advice from Duke to fuck Angel during the movie, but he wouldn't listen to him, right?

Right?

It was a rare treat for Angel to be treated to dinner and a movie. She was more used to being a notch above a living sex doll. As long as Damien didn’t mind the soft bunny tids hugging him arm as her dainty feet bounced along their way.

As for the movie, well a lot of things can happen in the dimly lit lobby. Some of them involving a bunny hand moving slowly along something long and hard…