#Hue is a riot I love him

[skyward-floored]

Febuwhump day 14 - captivity

THIS IS REALLY DUMB I don’t think it even counts as whump it’s just silly but my brain is just fried so anjfdfhddghjk

Spirit is spirit tracks Link, Windy is wind waker/phantom hourglass, and Hue is a link between worlds/Tri force heroes

Minor blood warning, but it’s really not much :)

Courage of ages explanation

————————————————————

“Sir?”

“Spirit for the love of Jabun quit calling me that.”

Spirit let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry si— um, Windy. Do you... know what they’re going to do to us?”

Windy sighed, and rested his head against the cold stone behind him, chain rattling where it was hooked around his wrist.

“No, I don’t know. Nothing good though I’m betting.”

Spirit frowned, and looked down at his own wrist, an identical chain locked around it. He tugged it a little, a thoughtful look on his face, and Windy looked down at his own, wishing he’d managed to hold onto the lock pick he kept in his sleeve.

The Yiga had been thorough though, stripping him and Spirit of all of their possessions before throwing them in the cold stone cell. Windy had heard them muttering something about “moving them to base”, but he hadn’t caught any more before they’d left, and he knew he and Spirit needed to get out before they were moved.

Or they likely wouldn’t be able to get out.

“Got any ideas?” he asked the younger boy next to him, and Spirit shrugged, shivering a little. The Yiga had taken his bandana, and he looked somewhat cold without it.

“Well... we need to get these off obviously,” Spirit said, jingling his manacle. “They don’t look too well made, but I don’t if we can break them without any tools. And there’s nothing here to pick the locks either,” he sighed, and Windy groaned.

“Tell me about it. They took my good lock pick too, that thing was hard to get my hands on,” he huffed. “And going to be a pain in the butt to replace.”

“Well then... how are we gonna get out, sir?” Spirit asked, and Windy gave him a flat look.

“What did I say about the sirs?”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, I don’t know how we’re gonna get out, but we’ll think of something,” Windy reassured, fiddling with his chain again. “Maybe some of the links are weaker than the others, and we can just break them?”

Spirit shrugged and began to mess with his chain, thumbing along the metal links before letting out a small snicker.

Windy raised an eyebrow, and Spirit cleared his throat.

“Uh, just um... Links.”

He snickered again, and Windy laughed along with him as they continued to fiddle with the chains, a somewhat comfortable silence falling between them.

Time crawled by, neither of them sure of how long it had been since they’d landed in here. Windy couldn’t help wishing Sprite was here; he didn’t want him captured obviously, but he’d at least be able to tell them how long it had been. The cell was windowless, and no natural light shone down the hall either, so they had no way of knowing.

The uncertainty of their situation was setting in again the longer they sat there, and Windy fidgeted endlessly with the manacle clamped around his wrist, worry gnawing at his stomach. He didn’t know what would happen to them, and though he was well aware Spirit could handle himself, he couldn’t help but worry how he was going to keep him safe.

He was mulling all of this over for the third time when Spirit’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up at the younger boy.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“Oh, I was wondering if... do you think the others’ll find us?” Spirit asked, his voice quiet.

Windy immediately nodded, nudging his side and giving him a reassuring grin.

“For sure. We’ve got like, three trackers in our group, they’ll find us. I mean, if we don’t get out of here first anyway,” he said with a wink. “I bet Gloam is already on our trail.”

“And worried out of his mind,” Spirit added with a little smile, looking better as he leaned against the wall.

Windy grinned back and was about to reply, but the door suddenly rattled, and they both froze and looked over at it.

The door rattled again, and opened to reveal two Yiga standing in the doorway, which Windy promptly glared at. They completely ignored him though, and instead threw something inside the cell without further ado.

Except it wasn’t a thing at all, it was Hue, and Windy lurched forward as his fellow hero hit the ground with a small grunt.

“Hue!” Spirit said in shock, but he didn’t seem to hear him, barely moving even when the yiga that had thrown him in laughed and slammed the door behind them.

Windy pulled himself as far forwards as he could to where Hue had landed, giving him a nudge with his toe. The green-haired hero groaned, then raised his head after a few more pokes from Windy, looking around in confusion for a couple moments.

“Hue are you okay?!” Spirit frantically asked, and Hue merely blinked at him.

“Hue, hey Link, are you okay?” Windy asked as well, worry tightening around his throat. Hue stared at him for a few seconds, blood trickling down his temple and confusion in his eyes.

Then he startled and sat up, wincing a bit at the abrupt movement.

“Windy! Spirit! I found you!” he exclaimed, and Spirit frowned.

“Well yeah, but now you’re stuck in here,” he pointed out, and Hue drooped a little.

“Oh. Yeah. Well, the others were close by, they’ll notice I’m gone soon I bet,” he said brightly, then winced and put a hand to his forehead. “Ow.”

“What did they do to you?” Windy asked, and Hue slid next to him when he motioned him over.

“Ah... they kinda snuck up on me while I was looking for you guys. Think they tried to knock me unconscious, but they sort of missed and just nicked me a little, enough that they were able to grab me,” he mumbled, sounding a little embarrassed. “It’s not that ba— ow!”

Windy had prodded the side of his head where the blood was thickest, and Hue lurched backwards, giving him an annoyed look.

“What was that for? I said it wasn’t that bad!”

“The blood all over the side of your head kinda makes me want to disagree with you on that,” Windy drawled, giving him a poke. “Plus the fact that you got thrown in here and didn’t move or recognize us for a solid thirty seconds.”

“Does he have a concussion?” Spirit said worriedly, and Hue let out a huff.

“Peu importe I’m fine,” he grumbled, and Windy ignored him, pulling his head down so it was resting on his lap.

“Well whether you’re fine or not, I think you should take it easy just in case,” he said amicably. “Even if it’s not a concussion, you were obviously bleeding a fair amount.”

Hue let out a long sigh. “Fiiiiine.”

Hue was obviously annoyed he’d been caught, so Windy simply began to braid a bit of his hair, the other boy slowly relaxing but as he worked. Spirit slid closer to the two of them, and they sat together in silence again for a bit, Windy worrying at the blood caked in Hue’s hair.

“How’s everyone else?” Spirit piped up eventually. “Are they coming?”

Hue waved his hand in a so-so manner. “I mean... yes? We’ve been looking for you guys all day, but I guess I’m the only one who went in the right direction since I’m the only one the Yiga grabbed. Unless... they’re about to toss someone else in here!”

They all turned to look at the door, and several moments of silence went by.

“...okay never mind.”

“All right, so we can’t necessarily count on the others,” Windy said thoughtfully, rubbing a hand on his chin. “They’re close though at least. We’ll just have to get out ourselves.”

“But we’ve tried everything, there’s no way out of here except the door,” Spirit frowned, then jingled the chain around his wrist. “And these aren’t coming loose so we can’t even get there to try and get it open.”

Windy sighed, resigning himself to another several uncertain hours stuck in here, but Hue abruptly sat up, startling him as he excitedly held out his wrists.

That didn’t have any chains clamped around them.

Windy stared, hope returning in his chest as a grin stretched across his face. If Hue wasn’t chained up, he might be able to get them out of their chains, and the next time the Yiga came in the cell...

“They forget to chain me up,” Hue said with no small amount of glee, and Spirit’s face lit up. Hue flashed the both of them a bright smile, and Windy returned it.

“We’re getting out of here guys.”

[tteokdoroki]

hello beloved aali, for your prompt game i am humbly asking for— ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜ —with best boi kirishima eijirou <3 whatever kink you think fits best :P i hope u are well ! kissing u ! 😽💞

☆༉ — EIJIROU KIRISHIMA: 0-800-HOT GUY-HOTLINE.

line. ❛ you're mine. you've always been mine. ❜

extension. marking kink + fem!reader + nsfw.

things to note. thank u sainty baby!! hope u enjoy hehe

when he faces the world, kirishima is kind and gentle. he’s a favoured amongst all for his bright ruby eyes and friendly smile. 

but when you’re alone in your bedroom, he transforms into a completely different person — he can be rough, and mean and everything you need to get off.

“that’s it baby, lift your leg for me,” kirishima coos down to you condescendingly, the pads of his fingers sinking so deep into your fleshy thigh that it might bruise. it’s one of his favourite things, seeing all the places he’s left his claim on you the morning after — just the sight of every scratch or bump and bruise sends blood rushing straight to his drippy cock and love hormones to his brain. 

when eijirou gets like this — you can barely even think about the flash of pain shooting through you as he hoists your leg up high on his shoulder, overwhelming you with the feeling of how much deeper he can get at this ankle. his head shifts to the left, condescending smirk spreading across his lips and revealing pretty rows of sharpened pearly whites. “you like it like that, don’t you baby?” 

he presses a kiss to your calf, nipping it with his teeth and smirking when your buck upwards in response. 

your brain literally lags, barely able to handle the size of kirishima has he hangs over you — pressing you into the sheets as his heavy cock stretches you open. he pushes on despite the resistance of your tiny, weeping little hole. the public wouldn’t believe you if you their beloved red riot got like this, panting like a dog in heat, a drooling mess over you whenever he got the chance to fuck you. the sight is a picture of scandal, your cream foaming a tight ring around the base of his shaft, smearing about the place every time the red head plunges into your welcoming heat. 

“oh, baby… listen to you, so fuckin’ soaked for me, oh god?” eijirou simpers lowly, a growl brewing within his broad chest at the feeling of you tightening around him. his dick slots perfectly against your squelching walls, and the crude and lewd sound of your sexes smacking together makes him so dizzy that his head drops to your neck weakly. 

“uhuh, all f’you,” you manage to gasp out from underneath him — trapped between kirishima’s bulking body as he pounds into you and the sweaty sheets that stick to your back, tainted with both of your arousals. 

the way you sound so breathless drives eijirou insane, you’ve got him losing his cool and losing himself in you — brutally swinging his hips into you without giving your swollen, salacious cunt a second thought. “god, fuck— c’mere baby, c’mere,” he seethes meanly as if you’re not already impossibly close. a weighty hand snakes around your neck, a thumb resting on your subtle Adam’s apple as kirishima pulls your throat up to his hungry mouth. “gonna mark this pretty fuckin’ throat up, needa— holy shit!”

he cuts himself off, your ribbed walls fluttering around his monstrous dick, suffocating him inside of you. instead of rambling on with slurred speech— kirishima pacifies himself by sucking on your neck, his teeth scraping your supple skin, sinking into it to leave his mark. his groans change to sweet, high pitched moans and pleasure smooths over his frenzied brain. 

he doesn’t care now, that his teeth are sharp and pointed — he only cares for the way you wail in surprise as he leaves dark hues up and down your shoulders and neck. it’s his mark of possession, that you’re his and only his. eijirou’s hot tongue soothes the blistering love bites that he leaves on you while his arm wraps around the back of your head to keep you caged in beneath him. 

“you're mine,” the red head growls between panting in pockets, lungs heaving in sync with yours — chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. “you've always been mine.” he reaffirms, sucking just under your ear too. mostly anywhere he can get access to. “love seeing you covered in me, no one else can have you like this. right, baby?”

you’d reply if you could, but you’re too busy choking on your pitiful groans that tell him you’re close to cumming. your nails scale their way down the muscles of his back — marking eijirou up in your own way too. letting him know he’s just as much yours, as you are his.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[hisui-dreamer]

hiii rinna!!! congratulations on 2k!!!!!! ˃ᴗ˂ 🫶🫶🫶🎉🎉🎉🎉agsgsh I hope I'm not too late ^^"

can I request silver with white rose? :D

foolish decisions in blossoming love

Pairing: Silver x gn!reader

Synopsis: in getting one bouquet for a friend, you ended up getting another bouquet for a stranger

Tags: meet cute, fluff, florist au, reader is just really flustered

Word count: 1.1k+

Notes: you're not late at all kei, im the one who's late ⊙⁠﹏⁠⊙ i hope silver fluff makes up for it!!

Masterlist

flower of choice: white roses

white roses represent pure love, indicating that you are willing to sacrifice your all for your love

The bell tinkled gently as you pushed open the door to the quaint flower shop. Stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped in a symphony of fragrances, the sweet aroma of fresh blooms mingling with the earthy scent of potted plants. The air was alive with vitality, as if each petal and leaf whispered secrets of beauty and renewal.

Your gaze swept over the charming interior, your eyes drinking in the riot of colours and shapes that adorned every corner of the shop. A kaleidoscope of blossoms greeted you, their vibrant hues dancing in the soft, golden light that filtered through the windows. It was a scene straight out of a painting, a sanctuary of serenity amidst the bustling city streets.

You caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye, and your attention was drawn to the silver-haired man, positioned behind the counter. His fingers expertly arranged a bouquet with effortless skill, moving with a fluidity that hinted at years of practice. The gentle sunlight bathed his face, creating a soft halo around his silhouette.

Your heart skipped a beat as you beheld him, and your breath momentarily caught in your throat. There was an ethereal quality to his presence, reminiscent of a fairy straight out of a storybook.

"Excuse me," you finally managed to murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood before him, spellbound by his presence.

He looked up, his purple-blue eyes meeting yours with a softness that sent shivers down your spine. "Hello there," he replied, a smile gracing his lips. "How may I help you?"

Your mind cleared momentarily, focusing on the reason you came here. "I’m looking to buy a bouquet," you said, your voice steadier now. “My friend hasn't been feeling well lately. I thought some flowers might brighten their day.”

He nodded sympathetically, understanding the sentiment.

“I see… Is there a particular type they like?”

"Not particularly. I just want something to lift their spirits," you answered earnestly.

With a gentle nod, he considered your words, his fingers tracing over the petals of various blooms thoughtfully. “Perhaps a bouquet of lilies," he suggested, his eyes alight with inspiration. "Lilies are often associated with purity and success, making them a perfect choice to wish for a successful recovery."

You hummed at his words, a sense of wonder dawning on your face. "I didn’t know flowers carried messages…" you mumbled curiously.

He smiled warmly, appreciating your interest. "Yes, the language of flowers has been used for centuries to convey sentiments and emotions. Each flower has its own unique symbolism, allowing us to express our feelings in a beautiful and meaningful way," he explained, his passion for flowers shining through in his words.

As you watched him speak, you found yourself drawn to the grace with which he moved, the way his fingers delicately caressed each petal as if coaxing out its hidden secrets. There was something about the warmth in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, that stirred your soul. You found yourself hanging onto his every word, entranced by the depth of his passion.

It was irrational of you to be so affected by a stranger. You wanted to stay in his presence, to bask in the light of his warmth and kindness for as long as you possibly could. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself inexplicably attached to him, drawn to him in a way that defied all logic and reason.

In an effort to hear him talk more, to hear his calming voice longer, you pointed to a delicate white rose, meekly asking, "What does this one mean?

His eyes crinkled as he smiled gently. "White roses symbolize pure love."

Your heart skipped a beat once again, the meaning of the flower resonating deeply within you. "Pure love," you murmured, lost in thought for a moment. 

“I’ll be right back,” Silver said, breaking you out of your thoughts as he disappeared into the back of the shop with some lilies, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your infatuation towards the gentle florist. You was barely gone for five minutes, but you already missed him, wanting to spend more time with him, to learn more about the stories that lay hidden behind his kind eyes and warm demeanour.

But how could you make it more natural? How could you bridge the gap between customer and florist? The answer eluded you, but you knew that you couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

"Here we are," Silver said, a sense of satisfaction in his voice as he walked back to your side. "I hope it brings comfort and cheer to your friend."

Your eyes shimmered with gratitude as you beheld the finished arrangement. "It’s beautiful…," you breathed, your voice filled with awe. "Thank you. I'm sure they’ll love it."

Silver’s smile brightened at your words, and you felt a surge of courage welling up inside you. With a timid yet determined voice, you finally voiced the words that had been lingering on your tongue. "If it’s alright, I'd like to request another too."

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features. "Another bouquet?"

You nodded, bashfulness colouring your cheeks. "Yes, one with white roses, please."

A flash of disappointment crossed his face before he quickly put on a polite smile. “Of course, please wait a moment,” before disappearing in the back again.

A pang of sadness tugged at his heart as he meticulously prepared the delicate white roses. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment knowing that you already had someone in your life whom you wanted to dedicate pure love to. Despite his efforts to hide it, a faint shadow crossed his features as he arranged the flowers with practised care, his thoughts momentarily clouded by a hint of longing.

But as he showed you the completed bouquet, his feelings of melancholy were quickly replaced by a surge of warmth, your genuine appreciation for his assistance washing away any lingering sadness.

You swiftly settled the payment for both bouquets, your heart pounding with anticipation as you gathered your courage. With a determined breath, you reached out and delicately handed Silver the bouquet of white roses. His eyes met yours, a confused expression flickering across his features as he awaited your next move.

"Silver," you began, your voice trembling slightly yet resolute, "these are for you." As the words slipped from your lips, a rush of uncertainty engulfed you, but you pushed through, driven by the intensity of your emotions. "They represent... what I feel for you."

Embarrassment flooded your senses as the rational side of you chastised the idiocy of giving flowers to a florist. Could you be any more embarrassing?

Hastily, you uttered, "Thank you for your help! I hope I’ll see you more often!" Leaving behind a note bearing your number, you made a swift exit with the lilies, the jingle of the bell marking your departure.

But had you lingered for just a moment longer, you would have witnessed a rosy blush blossoming across the florist's cheeks and spreading down his neck, a loving smile spreading across his face.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[ricciardosheart]

Starry Serenade on the Riviera

pairings: Charles Leclerc X female (gf! reader)

The French Riviera basked in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, casting its warm embrace over the luxurious city of Monaco. Yachts gently swayed in the harbor, their sleek forms mirroring the indulgent lifestyle that defined this opulent corner of the world. In a stylish apartment overlooking the azure waters, (Y/N) awaited the return of her boyfriend, Charles Leclerc, the acclaimed Formula 1 driver.

As the door swung open, revealing Charles with a mischievous smile, (Y/N)'s face lit up with surprise. She hadn't expected him so soon. Charles approached with a bouquet of her favorite flowers, the scent of lilies filling the air as he handed them to her.

"Surprise, mon amour," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "How about a spontaneous adventure this afternoon?"

Intrigued, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile. "An adventure? I'm in. What do you have in mind?"

Charles winked playfully. "It's a secret. Just trust me."

They ventured down to the harbor, where a sleek yacht named "La Belle Vie" awaited them. Charles had arranged a private cruise along the French Riviera—an intimate escape from the bustling world of Formula 1 and a celebration of their love.

As the yacht set sail, the gentle hum of the engine accompanied the laughter and chatter of the couple. They sat on the deck, sipping champagne and enjoying the panoramic views of the coastline. The Mediterranean breeze carried the promise of an unforgettable day.

"I thought we could have our favorite meal together," Charles revealed, unveiling a picnic basket filled with delicacies. The aroma of truffle-infused dishes mingled with the salted sea air, creating a sensory symphony.

(Y/N) couldn't hide her delight. "You think of everything, Charles."

He grinned. "Only the best for you."

Their lunch turned into a culinary journey, with each bite a testament to the pleasures of indulgence. They laughed, shared stories, and savored the flavors of their favorite dishes, creating memories against the backdrop of the azure sea.

As the yacht cruised along the coastline, Charles suggested watching a movie under the open sky. A cozy setup awaited them on the deck, complete with blankets and a projector. They nestled together, the gentle rocking of the yacht adding to the cinematic experience.

The movie played, but their attention often wandered to the stars above. Charles pointed out constellations, weaving tales of the cosmos. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the magic of the moment, wrapped in each other's company.

As the afternoon sun began its descent, casting a warm hue over the sea, Charles spread a blanket on the deck. They lay down, hand in hand, gazing at the sky as if trying to capture the essence of the French Riviera in their hearts.

"I wanted today to be about us, away from the pressures of the racing world," Charles confessed. "You're my anchor, (Y/N), and moments like these make everything worthwhile."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes reflecting the love she felt. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Charles. This is perfect."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a riot of colors, Charles and (Y/N) remained on the deck, the French Riviera embracing them in its timeless allure. The yacht continued its journey, carrying the couple through the twilight of the Mediterranean.

In the quiet of the evening, with the city lights of Monaco twinkling in the distance, Charles whispered promises of more adventures and shared dreams. (Y/N) nestled closer, feeling the heartbeat of their love resonating with the gentle rhythm of the sea.

The yacht sailed on, leaving behind a trail of shimmering reflections on the water—a testament to a love that found solace in the beauty of the French Riviera. Charles and (Y/N), wrapped in the serenity of the moment, sailed into the night, knowing that some memories are destined to linger like the stars in the Mediterranean sky.

As the night deepened, Charles and (Y/N) found themselves in the heart of the Mediterranean, far from the city lights. The yacht glided through the calm waters, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the waves against its hull. Above them, a canvas of stars stretched endlessly, creating a celestial spectacle that mirrored the depth of their connection.

Wrapped in a blanket on the deck, Charles and (Y/N) traced constellations with their fingers, lost in the vastness of the night sky. The quietude of the moment allowed the whispers of their hearts to become the only conversation that mattered.

"I never imagined Monaco could be so peaceful," (Y/N) mused, her eyes fixed on the stars. "It's a different world out here."

Charles nodded, his gaze reflecting the shimmering reflections of the stars. "Monaco is known for its glamour and excitement, but there's a serene beauty to it when you escape to the sea. Just like our love—thriving in the quiet moments."

They lay in silence, the yacht gently rocking them in a cradle of tranquility. The hum of the engine became a lullaby, and, in that cocoon of peace, they felt like the only two souls in the universe.

As the night progressed, Charles guided (Y/N) to the yacht's prow, where the vast expanse of the Mediterranean stretched before them. The moon, a radiant pearl in the velvet sky, cast a silver trail across the water, inviting them into its nocturnal dance.

"Shall we dance?" Charles extended his hand, a playful glint in his eyes.

(Y/N) laughed, taking his hand. "Why not? A moonlit dance under the stars—it sounds like a dream."

The yacht became their ballroom, and the soft music playing in the background set the rhythm for their dance. In the embrace of the night, with the stars as their witnesses, Charles and (Y/N) swayed to a melody that only they could hear.

Time lost its relevance as they danced under the cosmic chandelier, wrapped in the enchantment of the moment. Charles held (Y/N) close, their hearts beating in synchrony with the gentle ebb and flow of the sea.

As the dance came to an end, Charles whispered, "You're my favorite melody, (Y/N)."

They returned to their blanket, savoring the intimacy of the night. Charles reached into a small cooler and produced a box of chocolates—each piece a miniature work of art. Together, they indulged in the sweet symphony of flavors, savoring the richness of both the chocolates and the moment they shared.

With the yacht gently sailing back towards Monaco, Charles and (Y/N) found themselves on the deck once more. The city lights came into view, transforming the horizon into a glittering panorama. The French Riviera, with its blend of glamour and serenity, became the backdrop to a love story that unfolded like a cherished novel.

As the yacht docked, Charles and (Y/N) stepped onto the harbor, hand in hand. The night had woven a tapestry of memories that would forever be etched in their hearts. The adventure, initiated by a surprise visit, had transformed into a journey of love, intimacy, and shared dreams.

They walked along the moonlit promenade, the echoes of their laughter harmonizing with the gentle lull of the Mediterranean. Monaco, with its grandeur and sophistication, embraced them as they strolled through its enchanting streets.

On a secluded terrace overlooking the city, Charles and (Y/N) found a quiet corner to sit. The night unfolded before them—a canvas painted with the hues of their emotions. They spoke of dreams, of the future, and of the enduring love that had guided them through the labyrinth of life.

The city below seemed to hush in reverence as Charles took (Y/N)'s hand and looked into her eyes. "This night was about us, about the simplicity of love and the magic that happens when two hearts are in sync. Thank you for being my partner in this beautiful dance."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Thank you for a night that feels like a fairytale, Charles. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

As dawn approached, casting a gentle glow over the horizon, Charles and (Y/N) lingered on the terrace, watching the first light of morning paint the sky. The French Riviera, with its timeless allure, had witnessed a love story unfold—a story that began with a surprise visit and evolved into a symphony of shared moments, laughter, and the quiet magic of the night.

Monaco, with its yachts and city lights, stood as a testament to the grandeur of their love—a love that found beauty in simplicity, thrived in moments of serenity and danced under the stars of the French Riviera. As the sun rose over the Mediterranean, Charles and (Y/N) embraced the dawn of a new day, knowing that their love story would continue to unfold in the enchanting world they had created together.

[tawaifeddiediaz]

RWRB + moments in the hindi dub that made me scream (pt. 1)

(for @oneawkwardcookie)

[Image ID: 5 gifs of Red, White & Royal Blue. The subtitle is from the Hindi dub of the movie, with the translation of the Hindi underneath in a lighter color.

GIF 1: Alex sitting on his bed as the visage of Henry smiles and jokes with him. The subtitle reads, "Aadhi raat ko kisi beghairat ko turkey ke baare mein baat karni thi. Beghairat kya hota hai? Search karna." The translation reads, "Some impudent man wanted to talk about turkeys in the middle of the night. What’s an impudent man? Search it up."

GIF 2: Henry pensively nodding to Alex's quip of how long his name is, mischievously replying. The subtitle reads, "[Aur mujhe laga tha Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz kaafi lamba hai.] Lamba." The translation reads, "[And I thought Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz was quite long.] Long."

GIF 3: Henry looking sadly at Alex as they talk about him not having a choice. The subtitle reads, "Sab se pehle Henry Fox ko khud ka hona padega, warna woh...khatam ho jaayega." The translation reads, "First of all, Henry Fox has to belong to himself, or else he will...be ended."

GIF 4: Zahra reaching up with Henry's phone as she reads him the riot act to get him out of the hotel unseen. Henry is avoiding her gaze, and is looking slightly panicked. Behind them, Alex is gaping at Zahra. The subtitle reads, "Aur kisi ne agar aapko hotel se nikalte hue dekha na, toh Taaj pe Kohinoor ki jagah aapki gotiyan hongi." The translation reads, "And if anyone sees you leaving the hotel, then in place of the Kohinoor [diamond] on the Crown, it will be your balls."

GIF 5: Henry looking at Alex, his lips pressed together, eyes slightly teary. The subtitle has both of their dialogues and reads, "I love you. [I love you more.] Chaho toh azmaa lo." The translation reads, "I love you. I love you more. Test me if you want."

/end ID]

[rinsoap]

˚ ༘ ♡⋆｡˚ ﾐ the big seijoh four's favourite artists!

✿²˖ ࣪ ➣ includes : oikawa tooru, iwaizumi hajime, matsukawa issei + hanamaki takahiro

note : sorry ive been inactive as hell w actual hcs or like. real works LMAOO i have been #depressed and #unmotivated LoL! anyways pls tell me u can see suna's influence on iwaizumi i hc that they r friends <33

oikawa tooru :

!!? KALI UCHIS STAN NEVER SPEAK 2 ME AGAIN. he LOVESSS her he is completely convinced isolation was specifically made to cater to him and his exact music taste delusional king fr!! and he gatekeeps her SO HARD like babes as much as i would like to be her top listener too, the 21,158,866 monthly listeners seem like they might be hard to beat 🤔

his favourite songs by kali uchis are :

tyrant - ft. jorgia smith on the isolation album.

i wish you roses (single).

loner on the por vida album.

!!? this artist is not a guilty pleasure no matter how many times he says he's sooo embarrassed he likes carly rae jepson. "omg stop don't tell people i like her that's humiliating omg stop i don't want people to know!!!!!!" he is a LIAR. he will publicly scream every single lyric to every single song she makes, IN FACT he will shamefully make tiktoks on public buses and shit, lip syncing to her songs on full volume (or at least he would if literally all of seijoh didn't tell him to shut the fuck up LMAO)

his favourite songs by carly rae jepson are :

call me maybe on the kiss album.

boy problems on the E•MO•TION album.

felt this way on the dedicated side b album.

!!? —✩⌗ HONORABLE SONG MENTIONS : good days by SZA. heart to heart by mac de marco. oh no! by marina and the diamonds. conceited by flo milli.

iwaizumi hajime :

!!? UGH ANOTHER AMAZING PERFECT TYLER THE CREATOR STAN. OOH I WANNA KISS ALL TYLER FANS ON THE HEAD I FREQUENTLY MAKE OUT W EVERY TYLER FAN EVER!! he's a very loyal listener, he knew him on vine bro like i said in pt 1, he introduced him to suna (while suna takes all the credit lol) he might even have a slight... fixation.. one might call it a.... crush.... but he will never admit it his ego is too big!!

his favourite songs by tyler the creator are :

A BOY IS A GUN on the IGOR album.

garden shed - ft. estelle on the flower boy album.

SWEET / I THOUGHT YOU WANTED TO DANCE - ft. brent faiyaz and fana hues on the CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST album.

!!? is it controversial to say he fucks w ice spice.. almost a little too much... he knows all the lyrics to munch which is def something he has in common with oikawa's music taste!!! like at this point they're like pavlov's dog, they are absolutely salivating every single time they hear "stop playin with em riot!"

his favourite songs by ice spice are :

bikini bottom (single).

princess diana on the like..? EP.

in ha mood (single).

!!?—✩⌗ HONORABLE SONG MENTIONS : she likes another boy by oscar lang. attention by new jeans. just a stranger by kali uchis and steve lacy. NASA by ariana grande.

matsukawa issei :

!!? unlike iwaizumi, he will admit his huge crush on brent faiyaz with his ENTIRE CHEST. brent faiyaz his love, his one and only (i am projecting!) <3 most of the content he consumes is brent faiyaz related tbh the algorithm knows him too well and before you ask the burning question on your mind, YES he did almost start a stan twitter in year one!!! makki will never let him live it down as if he didn't ACTUALLY start one for bruno mars..

his favourite songs by brent faiyaz are :

ADDICTIONS on the WASTELAND album.

what you heard (single) by sonder - technically still brent faiyaz.

talk 2 u on the sonder son album.

!!? he really should be ashamed he likes drake tbh. he physically could not compell himself to show anybody his spotify wrapped because almost all drake songs were in his top played. please never ever speak to him about the time he genuinely ugly cried to one dance. he will never elaborate and will probably go and sob to god's plan next.

his favourite songs by drake are :

way 2 sexy - ft. future and young thug on the certified lover boy album.

9 on the views album.

circo loco on the her loss album.

!!?—✩⌗ HONORABLE SONG MENTIONS : love is only a feeling by joey bada$$. small worlds by mac miller. awkward by SZA. finesse (remix) by bruno mars and cardi b.

hanamaki takahiro :

!!? ACTIVELY PUSHING THE MAKKI BRUNO MARS AGENDA!! fuck an evening with silk sonic he wants an evening with bruno 😭 all he is doing every day all day is praying bruno gets his heart broken again so he can drop another DELECTIBLE album!!!!! also him and iwa like to say that since makki is puerto rican and iwa is filipino, together they make one bruno mars <333 (this is a hc dont take it too srsly lol)

his favourite songs by bruno mars are :

that's what i like on the 24k magic album.

treasure on the unorthodox jukebox album.

after last night (with thunder cats & bootsy collins) on the an evening with silk sonic album.

!!? he is a dork and i am a dork soooo i'm gonna have to say he is a the living tombstone stan.... oikawa will go on full rants about how cringey 2020 was and how weird that video game animatronic type music is and he'll look over at makki and see the single tear roll down his face as he says he has no idea the music genre he's talking about 😭

his favourite songs by the living tombstone are :

my ordinary life (single).

drunk on the zero_one album.

jump up, super star! (single).

!!?—✩⌗ HONORABLE SONG MENTIONS : new person, same old mistakes by tame impala. your teeth in my neck by kali uchis. join us for a bite by JT music. ORANGE SODA by baby keem.

[l0ngiland]

Bimarstan always offers a quiet atmosphere, one that soothes patients’ nerves and puts people in the hospital at ease. A subtle waft of incense invades Kaveh’s nostrils and for a while he forgets his worry in being there.

“He is just stressed, but I ask you to keep an eye on him from time to time” A nodding Alhaitham listens to all the indications the doctor gives him, for him to take the best care of the frowning blond sitting across the room. His ever shining eyes now suggesting a certain quandary as Alhaitham strides towards him; his steps decisive, yet heedful. The silver-haired man witnessed the architect overworking himself for three weeks straight, leading him to a painful burnout that had Alhaitham frowning with concern. Kaveh wouldn’t have put down the pencil he so loves to hold in his hand if it weren’t for Alhaitham’s reassuring arm around his body, as to chase the fatigue he was bearing away.

Their proximity as they walk home together brings the architect a warm feeling in his heart, comforted by Alhaitham’s security and presence. This is, as many others, one of those days where the two relishes in each other’s company: be it under the shining light of the sun or within the walls of a home they both belong to, neither of them withhold from acknowledging that spending time together brings them closer each passing day. They don’t talk about this, nor about how they both crave each other’s support; instead, they keep on dancing around unspoken confessions.

Their wooden door opens and Kaveh has already plunged himself onto the divan, slowly closing his weary eyes as he moves slightly, reveling in the softness of the riot of pillows now cocooning the blond man. Alhaitham follows after him, quietly, assuringly. He sits on the divan, hands reaching to position Kaveh’s head on his thigh, golden hues now sprawled all over him.

The gesture earns Kaveh a delighted giggle and with a hushed voice he asks “What are you doing?” Alhaitham, placing a hand on Kaveh’s golden mane, simply states “It was something my grandmother used to busy herself with when I was a child. Observing your countenance, and the conspicuous exhaustion you’re burdened with, you seem to need this special treatment, too.” The matter-of-factly nature of the sentence has Kaveh frowning for a tiny bit; the blond then positions himself, heart singing with joy at the prospect of a pampering session, a faint smile finding its way to his rosy lips.

Kaveh feels his hair swung by the movement of a hand, the architect lulls by Alhaitham’s ministrations as though it was the most natural thing in the world. For his part, Alhaitham has never done such actions with anyone before; he is learning, exploring his own gentleness with careful, tender strokes. Kaveh closes his eyes, absorbed in the endearment he never thought of experiencing; not in this house, not with Alhaitham.

A whisper leaves the architect’s mouth “Thank you.”

“For what, exactly?” Alhaitham’s movements do not cease, his palm slowly finding itself on Kaveh’s smooth cheek, adorned by faint tinges of pink.

“For being here, idiot. Busying yourself with whatever you're doing” Kaveh sighs “ I like it.”

“I’m always here” Alhaitham is a man who usually states facts, and this moment is no exception; he was always there for Kaveh. The Scribe would wake at night, roused by Kaveh’s hammering activities, to place a warm blanket on the blond’s back. He would make his presence known, after a wearing day filling up documents, standing by the wooden door with a bag of delicious fresh fruit in his hands, for Kaveh to savor. He would sharpen his beloved pencils, whenever their tip breaks. And he would accompany the blond man to the doctor, or to whatever place he wished to visit with him by his side.

Kaveh’s eyes remain closed, humming in delight as a grinning Alhaitham continues to caress his soft locks. Eventually, the architect slides into a deep slumber, with slender, nimble fingers lovingly twisted through his hair. 🌱🏛️

[lovepersevering13]

Can I request something Everlark?

I have this idea about them on victory tour, but it's a bit raw. The prompt is "Well, I can't read your damn mind, sweetheart!" And it's about them having a fight shortly before they arrive in D1, which was tough for Katniss because of Glimmer and Marvel. And she is really struggling and starts a fight with Peeta on the train, but they make up again 🥺🥺🥺 thank u ✨

Haunted - Everlark

Thank you so much for this request!!! It’s longer than I originally planned it to be but I just kept wanting to add more… :)

Summary: The stress of the victory tour causes some tension between Katniss and Peeta

Warnings: Survivors guilt, guilt, arguments, mention of character death, minimal editing so there are probably some issues here… (Please let me know if there are any more I should add)

Word Count: 2164

There wasn’t much to enjoy on the victory tour. The repetitive, tedious and depressing routine caused each miserable day to blur together into a whirl of torture. Katniss constantly tried to remind herself that she was doing absolutely everything she could but in all honesty everyone knew by then that no amount of kissing, hand holding or giddy smiling at Peeta was going to pacify the rioting districts.

On top of the helplessness she felt surrounding the threats from president Snow, she was hit each day with a violent and guilt ridden reminder of each tribute who should’ve been in her place.

It really did feel as if the one and only thing stopping her from going completely mad was the undeserved, dutifully loving and gentle presence of Peeta Mellark by her side through it all.

As the train sped along steadily he lay sleepily next to her. Peeta didn’t have to be in there with her, but he was every single night without fail.

Always.

Katniss was grateful for Peeta. She really, truly was, even though she didn’t have the strength to tell him as much.

Usually she could sleep perfectly fine with Peeta next to her but even though she was curled up in her bed with Peeta’s sleeping face mere inches from hers she couldn’t rest. Her stomach was too heavy with guilt to do anything but lay paralyzed and count the seconds between his breaths.

The train was steadily but surely approaching district 1, Katniss found herself unable to think of anything but their tributes from last year. Before the games started Glimmer and the boy from one had the odds stacked in their favor (As much as they could be in the games) but somehow… She killed them both.

What tormented her the most on this night was that tomorrow she would look into the eyes of their loved ones and know that she was the reason their children were not in her place.

It was the one thing she couldn’t talk about with Peeta. He understood so much of what she’d been through but he hadn’t a drop of blood on his hands. Some days Katniss was so covered in the blood of others that she was practically choking on it. Like tonight.

Peeta rose with the sun every morning, a habit from the bakery. So when the blurry orange hues began to paint the sky out of the train window Katniss was not at all surprised by Peeta stirring next to her.

In the mornings Peeta looked so peaceful that it brought a sense of ease to everyone around him. At least it did for Katniss.

“You’re awake early,” He murmured softly, staring at Katniss with hazy blue eyes,

“So are you,” She stated, Peeta smirked and rolled onto his back,

“I’m always awake early,”

“I know,” She rolled onto her back, mirroring his position. Despite how close they come in sleep, the morning always brought a painful amount of awkward distance.

“You didn’t have a nightmare last night?”

Katniss answers silently with a large yawn,

“You didn’t?” She questions,

Peeta smiled, masking his worry over Katniss’s lack of sleep, “Not with you here,” He answered, turning to face her. Peeta shamelessly admired her.

The way the light brought out the prettiest of shades in her hair, the way her flushed, sleepy cheeks contrasted her deeply tanned skin and the way she let him find solace in her presence.

Peeta’s admiring was cut short by a rampant knock on the door,

“Katniss, we have a big, big, big day ahead of us!”

Then the day started. Breakfast, makeup, hair, a beautiful dress lined with cascading golden jewels that only Cinna’s trustworthy hands could craft. Katniss glimmered (pun not intended) on every light she touched. The dress wasn’t too heavy, itchy or revealing as per usual, and of course it looked beautiful. She looked beautiful.

Carefully Cinna adjusted the complex braid which was wrapped in a majestic crown around Katniss’s head. He placed three palm sized cards on the vanity in front of her.

“Here are the cards from Effie,”

“Thank you,” Katniss sighed. She had long ago given up on trying to deviate from the cards - even Peeta who was much better with speeches stuck to the cards.

“Now, show me that smile,” Cinna urged, one hand comfortingly and firmly placed on each of Katniss’s jewel studded shoulders.

Katniss would never perfect the art of forced smiles.

She moved on autopilot as she made her way to the justice building. Peeta took her hand, Peacekeepers opened the doors and Katniss stepped out into the blaring sun. Marvel, she noted, was the name of the boy. She killed him and didn’t even know his name. Her next breath took more effort than her last. Katniss had learnt days ago not to look at the family no matter how much she wanted to. Instead, she stared at the shimmery photo of Glimmer, Glimmer stared back at her.

Katniss was going through the motions but her mind was miles away. Specifically, up the top of a tree in the middle of the arena, Tracker jackers buzzing irritatingly around her head. On her skin.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Sting. Sting. Sting.

Katniss gritted her teeth and tried desperately not to reveal herself by swatting at the Tracker jackers.

She kept going, reading the cards, kissing Peeta’s cheek.

Sting. Sting. Sting. Her skin was bloating and her throat was closing in. Katniss kept her face placid. They couldn’t see her pain.

They couldn’t see.

They couldn’t see.

They couldn’t see.

The door slammed shut behind them with a thud just in time for Katniss to suck in a violently loud breath.

Peeta was still linked to her side- suffocating.

In panic, Katniss shoved Peeta off her, simultaneously stumbling back against the wall.

Effie shrieked.

“Katniss,” Haymitch hissed in warning. Katniss glanced at Peeta, his face was almost blank but his eyes scanned the room for people who saw Katniss’s small outburst.

Katniss took slow breaths, averting her eyes from everyone in the room. She spread her palms against the wall behind her, slowly tracing her fingers over a golden jewels implanted in the wall.

She stayed like that for a moment, those around her sharing weary looks until Cinna placed a hand on her arm and led her away.

Once Katniss wa re-dressed and designed for dinner, another extravagant golden dress, skin tight and floor length, accompanied by flowing sheer sleeves, a white shawl made of fox skin and a light golden glitter on her cheeks and eyelids which served to feminize her like the most delicate jewel. She sat at the vanity, swallowing her nerves thickly.

There was a knock on her door, Effie, she suspected.

“Come in,” Katniss called sitting up straight, she really couldn’t handle a lecture from Effie right now.

Peeta creaked the door open slightly, just enough that Katniss got a glimpse of his shimmery outfit, seemingly cut from the same length of golden fabric as hers. And, if it wasn’t just a trick of the light, his blonde curls were dusted with gold. Peeta was also not exempt from the makeup, he wore dark heavy eyeliner and his prep team had accentuated his jawline and cheekbones to such an extent that he looked nothing like the gentle Peeta she’d woken up to that morning.

“Cinna did a good job on your dress,”

“And Portia on your suit,” Katniss responded quietly. Peeta nodded and entered the room, he closed the door behind him, preventing passer-bys from overhearing whatever he wanted to discuss.

Peeta wanted to clear the tension before they had to spend the evening madly in love, it had proven much easier when they were at least friendly with each other. He also didn’t want to sleep alone that night.

“Can we talk about earlier?” He asked hesitantly,

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She stated,

“Look Katniss, this works better when we’re open with each other,”

“Agreed.”

Peeta waited momentarily, assuming her agreement would evoke further comment.

That was the thing with Katniss though, you could never assume anything.

Peeta grew impatient with every passing second,

“Well I can’t read your damn mind sweetheart,” Katniss recoiled at the term, Peeta knew that name got under her skin.“Look Katniss, I get that this is hard for you but we can’t get through this if we don’t work together.“

“You don’t understand Peeta,” She snapped dismissively,

“Help me understand, I want to understand Katniss!” He snapped back, running a hand through his hair, erasing what was probably hours of work.

Katniss pursed her lips, staring blankly at Peeta, how could she even begin to make him understand. She didn’t want him to ever have to understand the crushing weight that she carried constantly.

“You just wouldn’t get it.” She stated, with a sense of finality that Peeta couldn’t be bothered to argue with.

Peeta left, though he was cautious not to slam the door and immediately don a charming smile.

Katniss and Peeta made sure that they acted the same as usual all through dinner, though there wasn’t much of a difference: it was always an act anyway.

The main difference occurred after dinner, when Katniss sat on the edge of her bed waiting for Peeta. As more time passed she began to feel increasingly foolish. She had just expected him to apologize like he usually would, though she knew it wasn’t his fault. Katniss was so used to him doting upon her that it was easy to pretend she was always in the right.

Exhaustion and fear began to overtake her. The lack of sleep from the night before was beginning to catch up to her but she couldn’t handle the darkness of night alone. Without Peeta.

She did feel terrible for the things she’d said in the moment, she knew Peeta had been under similar pressures, she just felt jealous that he was able to handle it better than her.

The guilt of yelling at Peeta was the last unsteady brick needed to bring her crumbling down.

Katniss slipped on a deep green cardigan over her silky gray t-shirt and lounge pants before heading towards Peeta’s room. It was empty, bed made, shoes neatly lined by the door, bathroom door wide open- also, empty. Katniss had never really seen Peeta’s room before, he always came to her. It looked identical to hers, only she doubted it had ever been destroyed in a fit of rage.

Katniss continued her search, going to the next logical place- despite it being her least favorite room on the train. The door to Peeta’s studio was cracked slightly open and she could smell the paint fumes leaking out from it. She knocked on the door,

“Peeta?” She called weakly,

Peeta appeared at the door.

Peeta’s long sleeved cotton shirt and linen pants were speckled and splattered in paint- primarily, greens and reds. Katniss noticed Peeta’s leg was detached and perched against the wall. He clutched an elegant golden walking stick to support himself.

“Peeta-“ She started, “I’m sorry,”

“No, I am,”

The two clambered over each other to apologize.

“No Peeta. I’m sorry. I’ve been really stressed recently and I was just…” Katniss struggled to put words to her feelings.

“I get it Katniss, I’m not mad. I know you’ve been put under a lot of pressure recently,”

“I’m still sorry,”

“Thank you.” Peeta smiled, limping to the stool in the middle of the room.

Katniss lets herself in, keeping her eyes trained to the floor- a fear of nightmares written on every walk in this room. She sat cross legged on the floor in front of him.

“We should talk about it though, when you’re ready?” Peeta suggested,

“I know,” Katniss nodded, this time deciding she probably ought to continue.

“Glimmer and Marvel… I killed both of them. Their blood, it’s in my hands.”

Peeta’s brows furrowed thoughtfully. If he believed the train wasn’t bugged he’d assure Katniss that the only hands stained crimson were Snow’s. However, Peeta wasn’t stupid.

“I killed Foxface,” He murmured instead.

Katniss was shocked, her illusion of loneliness in guilt being shattered around her was enough to make her look up to meet Peeta’s eyes despite the horrors all around them.

“What? Peeta, no. She ate those berries, it wasn't your fault,” Katniss corrected him.

“If I hadn’t been gathering them…”

Katniss couldn’t help but reach forward and gently rest her hand against his one knee.

“It wasn’t your fault Peet,” she promised, horrified at how someone as perfect as Peeta could be plagued by the same guilt she’d carried for so many months.

“Then it wasn’t your fault either,” Peeta took Katniss’s hand off his knee and cradled it in his hand,

“Promise me you won’t blame yourself for their deaths Katniss,”

“I promise,” She sighed, unsure how she’d ever truly keep that promise, but for Peeta she was willing to try.

(Let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome)

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Those Worth Fighting For

Here it is—for anyone in the small but devoted crowd who loves Háma, captain of the king’s guard in Rohan, as much as I do. (If you’re curious about why I love him, see here)

Characters: Háma and his OC young daughter Hálwinë (“genuine friend”)

Genre: I don’t know what to call this, really. It’s just meant to be sweet and simple and maybe a little sad.

Summary: As the Rohirrim are just beginning to perceive the danger posed to them by Saruman, Háma strives to give his beloved daughter normalcy and happiness on a special morning together.

Inspiration: Again, I cannot overstate to you how much I love the Rohirrim, and Háma is one of the absolute greatest. In my mind, he’s a Wife Guy in the best possible sense (she’s only alluded to here, but she works as the midwife in Edoras and Háma is INTO her) and a fundamentally gentle person who isn’t afraid to show his emotions.

Special thanks to @konartiste and @eomerofrohan for the encouragement based on a random idea from earlier in the week!

**********

“Let's be very quiet.” Háma held up a finger to his lips. “Mama was out late helping a new baby to be born, and now she needs her sleep.”

Hálwinë immediately stopped running and switched to careful tip toes as she passed the closed bedroom door. She looked up at her father and mimicked his hushing gesture with her own finger. “Quiet like a mouse,” she whispered to him.

He smiled and handed her a cloak before leading her out of the house and into the streets of Edoras. She skipped alongside him, occasionally stopping to stomp joyfully in a puddle or to greet a dog laying by its master’s gate.

“Come take my hand,” he called to her. “The street is busy, and we have to be mindful of others.”

She ran a few steps to catch up and held out her little fingers to him. He wrapped his strong, rough hand around her small, soft one, and together they walked down the hill. He kept watch for passing horses or wagons, and she sang him little songs that she made up about the things she saw around her.

When they neared the main gate, she looked up at him with wide eyes. “All the way outside, Papa?” In her short life, she had only been through the gate twice before.

“All the way,” he confirmed. “I’m taking you to my favorite place in all of Rohan, and that means leaving the city.”

He led her through the gate, nodding to the guards, and they began to cross the adjoining fields and hills. When her legs tired, he lifted her onto his broad shoulders, and she wove thick, clumsy braids into his long hair as he carried her.

At last, they crested a small rise and reached their destination, a wide, gently rolling meadow that was carpeted with wildflowers in every shape and hue imaginable. Halwinë squeaked in excitement, and he chuckled to himself at her renewed energy as she began to race around the field, her cloak and fine, wispy hair streaming behind her.

“Look at me run, Papa!” she called to him.

“You are so fast, my little foal!” he answered. “Soon you will outrun Shadowfax himself!”

She beamed with pride and ran even faster through the riot of colors, checking every so often to be sure he was still watching, which he always was.

Eventually she tired again and came to flop down at his side. “Let’s pick flowers,” she said, and he helped her to gather a small pile of blossoms from around where they sat. She tucked two behind her ear and one in his beard, which made her giggle, and he pretended not to know what she was laughing at, which made her laugh even harder. He showed her how to twist the flower stems to form a chain, and she sat for many minutes happily stringing together bloom after bloom.

As she worked, he looked over her shoulder at the dark veil of smoke that had increasingly begun to cloud the skies over Isengard these last few weeks. Hálwinë had not said anything about it, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice, not today and not for as long as possible. Whatever ill fate the smoke portended, he did not want her to know about it. He looked back down at her, brow furrowed in deep concentration on her task, and gently smoothed a hand over her hair.

“Shall we turn your flower chain into a crown?”

Her eyes lit up, and she watched with rapt attention as he looped the chain into a circlet and tied the loose ends together.

“Who should wear the crown?” she asked when he was done.

“Well, a ruler should be someone who is very wise and brave. And very kind. Do you know anyone like that?”

She thought hard for a moment and then looked up at him again. “Mama?” she ventured.

If he had been standing he might have fallen to his knees, overcome by the intensity of his love for her, so innocent and small and perfect. He cupped a large hand to her face and smiled at her. “You are right. She is the smartest and kindest and bravest person I know. Let’s go bring the crown to Mama.”

They joined hands again and walked back in the direction of Edoras together, leaving the ominous skies in the distance behind them.

[astudyincontrasts]

Fall Fires

A Here Be Dragons/Hic Sunt Dracones Gift Fic

Dragon!Silco x Fem!Reader NSFW

Rocking up to the party again a month late with starbucks for @sherwood-forests birthday! This is just a sweet little drabble for our beloved Sher to celebrate what a joyous light she is in this fandom. There is no one who is more ready to spread love and kindness than Sher, no one sweeter or more thoughtful or enthusiastic to celebrate the talents and creations of everyone she meets. Most beloved Sher, I hope for all good things in life for you always🖤

In the theme of Sher’s absolutely epic dragon!Silco fic HBD, this is just a little additional treat following Silco and his Feral Consort through the autumn traditions of dragonkind. Sweet and occasionally a little smutty, no real warnings apply unless you’re allergic to fluff, love, or dragon dicks.

It was the final night of the conclave, the bonfires bigger than you’d ever seen them as evening crept in across the sky in bruising plums and a lapping sea of infinite black, stealing the hue from a twilight painted a violent riot of brilliant oranges and sculpted pink clouds. Some of the main fires were bigger than houses in your village had been, heat rolling off them in licking waves that sent the chill of the autumn air scuttling back into the shadows under the massive pine trees that ringed the sacred hilltops like silent sentinels.

The summer months had stretched long and warm at the dragon’s keep in the Northern Pass. Time spent alone with your dragon in the blissful newness of each other, in his near fawning devotion and eager appetite for you, all of you. But as the nights began to lengthen and the heat of the days replaced with the promise of cool, crisp air off the mountains, Silco had grown distant.

At first you’d only noticed it when he took a little longer to join you in the gathered pile of furs that made the bedding nest of the massive bedchamber each evening. But more and more you’d caught him standing alone upon the parapets, staring westward toward the horizon and the sky as if it were speaking, holding silent counsel that only he could discern.

He’d break from the reverie with a touch of your hand, smiling down at you as he came back to himself, even once wrapping arms around you and tumbling backward off the wall into the waiting maw of oblivion, only to delight in your shrieks as he transformed and lifted you high up into the sky, letting you ride until your face was wet from the soft buffeting through the clouds and your teeth chattered as the night set in. It had allayed your concern, if only for a few hours.

Later that night you’d lain awake on his chest, cheek riding the rise and fall of his deep purring, wondering what call it was that your dragon stood heeding, yet would not share with you.

When you caught him at it once more the following evening this time you stopped him trying to distract you with a peppering of kisses, fingers coming to rest gently over his scarred mouth.

“Why won’t my dragon tell me what is weighing on him?” You asked, as he grumbled, submitting in a deep lean to your reach for one of his curling horns, teal eye slanting to a shining turquoise slice as your fingertips went playing along sensitive ridges and griped, tugging at the crest of it, nearly lifting you off your feet by your grasp with a slight roll of his head.

“I will tell you, mousling, but it is a conversation to be had over supper… and perhaps some of that accursed wine you so enjoy.”

With the promise of an explanation at last, you allowed him the delay of roasting dinner, and enjoyed the cups of wine from the pilfered barrels in his hoard that he had no taste or use for. It was a delicious vintage, and while he seemed to enjoy the loosening of your restraints whenever you indulged, could not stomach the taste of it himself. It felt very much a ploy to either distract you or else ease the sting of whatever news he had to share, the way he kept your goblet filled as the evening’s quarry turned on the spit before the great fire within the hall while you both sat listening to the hiss and spit of fat sizzle and crisp.

Silco was long silent before he finally released a rumbling quiet groan of resignation and began.

“You know what season comes?” He asked, the mismatch of eyes sliding your way at last, away from the intent study of his own clawed hands.

“Autumn, yes.”

“Tell me mousling, what the fall brought with it where you come from?”

No need to think too hard on that, the memories were pleasant enough and the question simply answered.

“Harvest, gatherings. Moon celebrations and feasts before the dark of winter came if the summer season was a plentiful one.”

Silco nodded and reached over the flames to pull a hunk of meat from the roasting haunch of venison to lay it upon your trencher before tearing himself a massive handful as well, as mindless of the licking flames and searing heat as if it were but a show of light instead of scalding.

“And the wild things?”

You thought on the question for a moment, sipping at the wine as your meat cooled.

“The squirrels prepared for winter with their own harvest, the deer grew fat, some animals made nests for winter sleep, and many of the birds flew away.”

Silco hummed quietly.

“Autumn is a time for gathering. For migration. And it is also the small death throes of the world, a thinning between the fabric that lies between us and beyond. Magic lies heavy, and there are dead to be honored.” He explained, picking at his dinner to spare you the weight of his glance until he could no longer avoid it, and dragged eyes to your curious gaze once more.

“The dragons gather soon. The conclave will meet. I have not been to a conclave since I was introduced there after my first flight. We dragon are solitary, territorial, but we keep the oldest ways and honor the magic that birthed us. We gather only this once each year, and only if we have need to. I have never had cause to return to a conclave… save now.”

He dropped his unwanted meal upon your trencher and dug claws into the flagstones as he leant forward, demanding your full attention, clearly at odds with the demands of his kind and the insistent pull of nature herself toward what he knew he must do.

“We are joined, mousling. We must present ourselves.”

The scrape of the long, clawed nail of one forefinger etched a line across the stone before it and then a second, parallel line alongside.

“I must present you.”

His trepidation on your behalf warmed your heart nearly as well as the wine had warmed your stomach, and you set goblet aside to come crawling into his lap, much to Silco’s surprise, as he sat back, hands closing upon your hips as you settled arms round his neck and pressed forehead hard to his, so that nothing but the hot coal and cool blue of his eyes filled your vision.

“Does my dragon fret for me? Is that why you’ve been so distant? I’m not afraid of a little harvest gathering.” Not afraid of anything, not with him.

Silco rumbled, groused. Displeased to be humbled before you only to have you flick his concerns aside as easily as flies.

“It has been centuries since I’ve seen another of my kind,” he admitted lowly, “And I do not know if a human mate has ever been welcomed at conclave.”

The admission hung heavy in the air before his grip tightened upon you and he spun you to the floor, pinning you beneath his weight as he gazed down at you fiercely.

“No h-”

“No harm will come to me at your side.” You finished and he nodded slowly before stopping any further interruptions or questions with the hunger of a kiss.

You had anticipated a desperate lovemaking that evening, with him eager to drown his fears and sate your wants, but instead he’d just curled tightly around you and held you in his sleep as if something might come and snatch you from his arms should his grip loosen but a moment. It sparked a small lick of apprehension in you, that a creature you knew to be so fearless should be so stricken. Yet, there was the glow of curiosity, of that adventure you so longed for, and the spice of the unknown that all kept that spark from catching conflagration and consuming you.

A half a week later you’d set off together to join the conclave.

It had been a long flight there, into the west, a journey of several days even with the ground slipping away beneath you as you rode among the clouds. Very glad indeed that Silco had insisted on your dressing warmly, insisted on the fur-lined cloak he’d draped over your shoulders and the warm, sturdy boots laced well up to mid-thigh. He’d grinned when you’d tucked your dagger into your belt but did not argue.

The wind whipped cold around you as you watched the countryside go by beneath, more of the land than you’d ever seen in your brief lifetime, and so beautiful from up above. Everything smaller, simpler looking, and the gorgeous palette of fall colors painting everything as far as the eye could see in lush reds, deep burgundys, brilliant yellows and crisp browns. The fields of wheat moved like great seas of gold, blowing wave after billowing wave against the winds, and the scent of hearthfires from farms and towns wafted enticingly on the breeze.

Silco had allowed that you both stay the evening in a town one night, not sleeping rough in the fields, but rather at an inn and tavern in one of the small villages. He garnered many looks; tall, cowled form nearly brushing his head against the rafters as he towered silently behind you, glowering at all the befuddled locals and their curious stares as you negotiated dinner and a bed.

None dared bother you though, and the warm food was delicious, the simple pleasure of buttered hot bread one you’d forgotten how much you longed for, and welcome indeed alongside the salty brine of hard cheese and the sweet crisp bite of ripe, rosy apples. The meat came in deep trenchers, dripping in a rich, glossy brown sauce alongside roasted whole onions, pale turnips and sweet, thick slices of carrots. Silco devoured it, save for the turnips, and you grinned over a mug of spiced ale as the bar wench jumped at the sound of his voice when he requested seconds be brought.

Well fed and tired from the long flight, Silco was nearly out cold the second he stretched on the straw-stuffed pallet in the small room you’d been given. He barely fit on the bed, legs hanging a good portion off the end, but it hardly seemed to bother him, nearly snoring by the time you climbed atop him, only to roll that flaming red eye down himself to watch you trail a lazy pattern of licking kisses along his chest and stomach as you pushed his shirt up.

“Mousling…”

“Shhhh. You may have eaten your fill, but I still hunger.” You hushed him, only to be rewarded with a low rumbling as your tongue traced teasing little licks above his navel and you buried your face in the soft divot of muscle that ran from hip down into the waist of his pants. Fingers made short work of his stays as one large clawed hand came to rest atop your head, nails fitfully, gently raking at hair, and tail curling up around your thigh to rub lazy soft enticement between your legs as you pulled the twisting mass of his cocks free and set to exploring the texture and taste of them.

“Ahn! M-mousling…!” He huffed breathlessly, the backward toss of his head rending twin tears in the pillow beneath him as you traced little licking passes over the crested pointed heads of his cocks and then up over and over again at the fused corkscrew twist of them until he was stiff and hot to the touch as if you’d pulled him from the fire like a branding iron.

Hands and mouth, wet tongue and hot, slow friction, you worked him as he arched under you, purring, snarling, gasping your name and growling out bliss until he came for you, a hot spill you lapped from his skin before settling over him, warmly exhausted and he already dropped back to sleeping, his trepidation of the coming meeting and distrust of the town around you forgotten for the evening. Your jaw ached and tongue felt raw and new as if it had been scrubbed in sand, but it was a small price for both the satisfaction of his release and the peaceful slumber that welcomed you both.

The next dawn saw you both back in the air before the town had awoken, payment left richly upon the bedside, that they might continue to welcome strangers as peacefully as they had done for you.

The following dawn after that brought the conclave.

The hills you’d flown over were rising steadily, the mountain range they lay at the foot of growing upward into the sky with each passing minute, a massive and long scar of jagged dark rocks and peaks that dwarfed the range of the Northern Pass where Silco had made his home. These were ancient lands, the very roots of the earth disemboweled sometime long ago and thrust as black pillars to the sky. A land shaped by fire deep and hot as any that ever poured from the mouths of dragons, now full of life, and wild as the beasts who gathered there this season to unite for three days and nights.

The clearing spanned several hilltops pressed together, and in the shallow basin of their meeting a stone circle of standing rocks shimmering and black as obsidian. You could see shapes moving below, large shapes, and in the clouds with you were others, circling.

The cries were already lifting as you descended, hands a tightening grip upon the ridges of Silco’s back against the way the wind buffeted and tugged at you as the ground rushed up to meet you both. Silco landed heavily, tossing you bodily forward upon his back. Quickly, you regained your seat, though, the ground trembling under you both as heavy bodies landed all around or came thundering up. Not that you could see much, with how Silco kept his wings lifted, kept you shielded from sight and so blocked off much of your view as well, the length of his neck effectively limiting your vision directly before you too.

Hands slapped to your ears as the deafening chorus rose around you, earsplitting shrieks and piercing, rumbling bellows all around until you too were screaming, shouting loud and long as you could. It was not fear, though it may have begun as some kind of primal noise akin to that. No, this came bubbling up from somewhere deep, just another voice longing for that chorus.

So lost in it, and so determined to dampen the cacophony surrounding you that you failed to notice when all voices had ceased save your own, left alone screaming to the sun and the mountains… until you opened eyes and found Silco’s wings lowering and every gathered dragon staring straight at you.

Voice died in your throat as hands slipped from where you’d pressed them to the sides of your head as you stared back at more dragons than you could have expected in as many and more variety and color as you could have possibly imagined, like a gathering of dark jewels upon the crown of the hilltops. How silly it seemed now, that you had suggested once to Silco that dragons were extinct.

All eyes rested upon you as you slid from Silco’s back with a dip of his wing, only to find him transformed beside you once feet hit the ground, cowl of his cloak pushed back and the curve of his horns jutting proudly to the sky.

Many dragons remained as they were, but many more also took that mind-bending path into human form. Three of the tallest approached, the eldest among them in their center, a proud and wizened creature, no less fiercely strong looking for his long hair shot through with pale whites and silvers and the deep furrowed crinkling at the outer edges of brilliantly pale blue eyes the color of glacial ice.

Beside you Silco shifted tensely, edging closer to you possessively, protectively.

“...Silco?” The tallest dragon asked, squinting, before recognition and Silco’s own dip of a nod confirmed suspicions. A broad, sharp smile broke over the old dragon’s stern face, “It has been many, many years. We welcome you back.”

The tall creature spread open arms and Silco stepped forward, away from you as you stood watching the exchange curiously, feeling very self conscious indeed with so many eyes upon the pair of you. He approached the trio of elders and canted head in a stiff bow that probably ought to have been lower and more deferential, but your proud dragon only offered what he could stomach. The elders accepted and inclined heads back to him in unison, the tallest reaching forth to place a hand upon Silco’s shoulder that you could see him stiffen at, but permit.

“What brings you to conclave at last?” The elder asked, glancing past Silco toward you meaningfully. Silco turned to cast a look over his shoulder with the softness of that teal eye at you.

“I have a mate. We’ve come to have the binding blessed.”

Murmurs kicked up from the gathering, and while you could hear surprise and even delight in their tone, Silco could not, or did not, and you watched him bristle, casting hot glances to and fro around his gathered kin.

Beside you a woman had crept up, and you startled as she slid a hand under your own, glancing up into her face to find a sweet, sharp smile and hair flowing down over shoulders to her waist in strawberry-golden waves, eyes like amber with sun streaming through them.

Silco lurched toward you both with a snarl, only to be stopped by the grip the elder tightened upon his shoulder.

“Welcome, dragon-bound.” The woman purred, stroking a glittering greenish claw of a hand atop your fingers that she held.

“T-Thank you.” You managed, eyes flicking from her to Silco to the elders and back again to the radiant creature that stroked your knuckles so gently. You dipped a curtsey, unsure of what tradition or circumstance demanded, yet it seemed the right thing to do. The elder smiled gently and the woman drew you to herself. Though you could see Silco straining at the grip upon him, struggling to contain his anxious tension, you felt no fear.

“Silco.” The elder murmured, tone not scolding, merely gently walking the line toward reproachful. “I know it has been many years since you joined conclave, but no harm will come to your chosen here. Nor you. Your binding shall be honored.”

The elder turned, letting his hand slide from Silco’s shoulder as he opened the hematite glitter of clawed hands and addressed the gathering in a booming voice.

“We have much to celebrate, and some to mourn. We gather to honor all, to offer gratitude and pay homage in the old ways. THE CONCLAVE IS GATHERED!”

Around you the hilltops rang with dragon song, the towering mountains echoing back the sound like the old roots of the earth recognized the children it had birthed of fire and stone and sang to their return.

Each night passed in ceremony and celebration, in feast and dance and song and fire. Fires built big and burning brightly through the night to dawn and through each day, never extinguished, only heaped higher and brighter until the final night when they burned big as houses, flames leaping and dancing.

The first night had been for mourning the passing of those who had gone before or recently passed, solemn and so beautifully poignant in story and song, in offering and recollection that you could not help but weep for times and creatures passed that you had never known. The second night welcomed the younglings from their first flights, a warm and joyous thankfulness for new life to carry forth the flame of the past, fun and light hearted with the frolickings of the little ones brought to be introduced to all and welcomed to the fold. The third and final night was your own; the blessing of unions, fruit of the future and vine of the past joined together.

Silco had kept you close, regardless of the assurances of the elders, though his wariness seemed to have ebbed as the nights went on and you remained unaccosted and well cared for, even if he seemed to dislike how the pair of you were a novelty, a curiosity among the ranks, and how others flocked in cautious droves to meet the feral consort of their lonesome brethren.

You were enchanted, however, as one beautiful, terrible beast after another came to share your fire, share food or gift you trinkets, as the younglings stole you away to play games in the daylight, and delighted in your gifts of autumn wildflowers as you crowned their little horns with yarrow and goldenrod, thistle and ironweed, and as they squealed at your ghost stories around the feasts at night. All the while your dragon, dark and silent and determinedly protective by your side, gathering you to him each night to kiss your face and tuck you to himself, as hoarded and treasured as gold.

The final night, however, you were separated.

Silco looked distraught as you were led away, folded into a group of dragon mates that surrounded you like tall, kind sentinels. Each eager to meet the human dragon-bound, to welcome you. They descended upon you like a gentle flock of enormous beautiful birds. Passing you hand to hand as you were gently disrobed, bathed and dried, as your hair was brushed out and dried to a lustrous sheen. They spoke in hushed voices, that enchanting golden woman who had greeted you first chief among them as you were prepared.

“We paint you for the blessing, little one.” She explained as your hands and arms were taken and they began the slow process of drawing beautiful patterns and shapes from your wrists up past your elbows. “Tales of your mate’s kin and his past upon your skin. That your story becomes one.”

Fingertips were dipped in the same dark red henna paint and palms, fingers and knuckles carefully traced with your own exquisite pattern of scales. Across your bare back the cool paint was drawn as well.

“Wings for you, consort, may you touch the heavens in love.” The golden-green woman explained the painting upon your back as she wrapped your waist in a fold of a deep plum-colored rich silk that was long enough to trail behind you as you walked, shot through here and there with golden threads that caught the firelight with each movement and gave the slithering, soft fabric a life of its own.

Your eyes were darkened with kohl, lips stained with berries as the lines of the paints dried and hardened and then were wiped away to reveal the beautiful art left behind to saturate skin for many weeks to come in a rich red-brown hue that sang against the color of your complexion.

Your bare chest was adorned with a jingling treasure of gold coins fashioned almost to a loose and light chainmail breastplate, split in twain from sternum down, fastened round your neck and down behind the small of your back with thin gold chains. Every motion sang softly and the loose hanging scales of coins tickled at your skin and stiffened nipples.

“A dowry for your love, from the gathered.” The golden woman explained, as you were fitted with other little trinkets until you shone wrist to ankle, “In welcome and blessing.”

When at last you were adorned to their satisfaction, the coterie drew you forth from where they had sequestered you beneath the pines and followed you in retinue back up the sloping hill toward the largest fire and the stone circle it burned and danced within. Silco waited before the flames, bare to his waist, tail flicking nervously, crowned gloriously with an autumn wreath of leaves and pale birch among the curling reach of his horns He had been painted in licks of gold, traced outline to the shape of each scale running up his arms and whorls of it etched like shining epaulets across shoulders and collarbone. The elder stood beside him, both of them watching your ascent as the other dragons gathered and drew near with your approach, a keening, haunting cry going up, a beautiful low bellowing beneath, as voices raised around you.

Silco was gazing at you as you drew near as if he could not find air to fill his lungs, an ecstatic joy close to pain upon his face, unspeakable in its infatuation. He reached out as you neared, and your hand fitted to the folding grasp of his long clawed hand, always so terribly gentle. The elder took your other hand and both drew you to the edge of the fire, where heat rolled off in heavy waves, brushing back the strands of your hair and gently singeing darkened lashes.

“We join this eve to bless the unions made this year.” Began the elder, “To celebrate the binding of souls. In this we persist. In this our kind is made stronger. You have danced, you have become one, you have shared a flame and food. Tonight, we share blood, and bring you not only to the blessing of your binding, but also to ourselves.”

From around the fire, the two other elders came, one bearing a cup, and the other a glittering blade. The elder dropped your hand as he accepted the blade, and for a heartstopping moment you shied close to Silco as he raised the knife, only to watch him slice open his own arm and hold it over the cup. The blade passed to the other two elders, who did the same, as the tallest of them took the cup in exchange, each bleeding a little into the chalice. Around the gathering it went, until at least ten of the dragons had given their blood, ending with your own. Silco, releasing his gentle grip on you, to bleed himself into the cup before the elder took the knife and gave the chalice to him.

Silco held it out in offering, brows knit and upturned at their center, like he held his heart in his hands for you to devour.

“Drink, dragon-bound, and join our fire.” Intoned the elder, behind you.

Fingers trembled as they closed over Silco’s grasp of the proffered cup, and let him tilt it gently. The fiery liquid lapped at your lips before it filled your mouth, searing and copper as stone, thick and cloying as dripping honey, hot as any pepper spice you’d ever known and indescribable in taste as it flowed down your throat with each thick swallow. It burned like whiskey and lit through your veins the second it hit the pit of your stomach.

Rocking on your feet, your arm was caught by the elder as Silco withdrew the cup. Distantly, you were aware you were being drawn away from him, closer to the flames, watching his face as the heat grew and grew… until you turned to find that the elder held your hand out into the very fire itself, that you had your fingers splayed to the searing soft lick of the brilliant light and yet you did not burn. He released your hand as you reached to toy with the kiss of the flames, fascinated and bewitched.

Among you, that cry went up again, filling the hills and mountains.

“Go to your beloved.” The elder murmured, breaking the reverie as you stared at skin unburnt and felt no fear of the searing heat. No need to be told twice as you glanced up at him and then to Silco waiting, looking for all the world like his heart might burst as you spun from the flames and launched yourself into his arms. He caught you up; his feral, wild, unburnt adored, and devoured the kiss you offered. If the elder had more words of blessing to say they were lost to you as you pressed your forehead to Silco’s, arms wound round his neck and the song of dragons ringing in your ears.

The moon hung full and heavy above, nearly as richly orange as if it had been plucked from one of the fields of ripe pumpkins you’d flown over in your journey here. Beneath you the bed of soft moss and leaves cradled you under the spill of the silk that had been gathered round your waist, now spread bedroll to your joined bodies under the shadows of the dark pines and golden birch, tucked in a private nook of the hills. The scent of bonfires joined the distant joyous ruckus of the gathering, of dancing and song and laughter by the firesides, a chorus mingling with the crickets and the hymn of the late evening forest that lay down beyond the hills. Here you made your own music, soft urgent moans to his deep rumbling, sweet laughter at a tickle and sweeter still a whine of pleasure.

Silco took you slow, though he’d been in a terrible hurry when you’d left the blessing fire together to come here, to finally be alone at last again.

You stood, breathing hard as he circled you with deliberate steps, as if he’d memorize every inch of the beauty the other dragons had wrought you in for him, as if he’d finally quarried the prize he wished and now would take his time at the feast. Heart hammered eager anticipation as he circled, pausing to trace a painted line here or toy with a tendril of coiled hair there, sparking soft little arcs of excitement rushing along skin with each small, teasing touch. Breath leaving you in little sighs as he closed in to brush a kiss to your shoulder, heat of his mouth a welcome reprieve from the goosebumps rising against the chill night air. You held perfectly still, save for the occasional delicious little shiver as he bent to scrape a tender bite to your jaw, to whuffle breath warmly in your hair, sharp blade of his nose crushed to you, drinking in the scent of you.

“Is my dragon pleased?” You asked slyly, the words hitching in your throat as his hips pressed to the back of you, heat of him inviting as large hands splayed along your hips.

Silco hummed approval, agreement, rumbling against you in a way that had you melting back against him.

Clawed hands pulled the silk at your hips loose, let it spread out upon the ground, before running nails lightly over the loose draped shirt of coins you wore. Shirt was a generous term for it, truly it was but a necklace that draped tapering in twin sheets of glittering gold to your waist, two waterfalls of gleaming metal that shone like burnished scales when you moved, concealing breasts alone. It tickled and warmed against the skin, had you gasping as he toyed with it and blushing hot pleasure to hear him purr another deep noise of satisfaction as a clawed hand dipped beneath the golden shimmer to cradle up the soft of one breast.

“They dower you as a princess, my little beauty.” Breath washed a ticklish hot sheet over cheek and chest as he lowered his head to drag his tongue a slow lick along the rise of your cheekbone.

“Mmn, am I glittering enough to add to your hoard?” You teased back with a smile, fingertips running along his gold painted forearms lightly.

“You are the treasure of my heart, mousling.” He murmured low, “If all I had were you, I would still be rich beyond dreams.”

It had your heart clench with pleasant pain within, had you spinning slow to face him, the gentle drag of claws teasing the rise of a nipple as they slid out from under the coined mail.

Mouth pressed tenderly to the heat of his chest, head dipping to press a kiss to the silvery grey scar the spear you had wrenched from him had left behind. Fingers tugged at the stays of his pants, impatient hands slipping over lean hips, progress only halted when he came to his knees before you, putting you nearly face to face with his height, the cool of his touch sliding down to take a possessive, delighted grasp of the curve of your of your bottom, the mismatched sheen of ruby and teal sapphire watching you suck a gasp as he got a cheek in each hand and the prickled points of claws sunk harmlessly into giving flesh.

“You do look beautiful, beloved. Though I like you best in nothing at all.”

It had you raise hands back behind your neck to unfasten the delicate clasp of the necklace and let it slide, tinkling softly, to the forest floor, only to cradle fingers around the sharp angles of his face as the heat of his mouth nuzzled against your collarbone. He drew back just enough to regard the small array of scars he’d left upon your chest; little pale pink weals where his claws had sunk in over your heart, months and months ago. They were not the only scars you’d been left with in your adventure across the Northern Pass with him. Across your upper lip, your cheekbone and through one brow, along with a smattering of others, your early days were written across your skin. Perhaps not as prominently as the grey, deep furrows that marked his left side, but there nonetheless.

“Do you know,” you asked softly, one hand coming to rest upon the broad span of his bare shoulders, as you slid fingertips of the other under his chin to tilt it to you, “If you had torn the heart from me that day, I would still have been happy?”

“What? Why?” He rumbled, dark brows furrowing tightly.

“Because it would have been with you, where it belonged.”

The distant sounds of revelry echoed across the hills behind you as Silco stared up at you in stunned awe, a pained look of exquisite adoration twisting the sharp, darkly handsome marred features of his, so unused to such deep gluts of emotion.

He brushed a kiss featherlight to each of the five little scars he’d left over your heart, eyes turned upward to hold your own. The warmth of your hands had just lifted to cradle his face when he slipped lower, the impossible heat of his tongue coiled round a nipple. Neck arched hard as your face turned to the open heavens above as he sucked slow before the tender pinch of fanged teeth came down and had you rocking into him.

Inch by inch, he took his time, tasting, laving at the softness of you, between breasts and over the gentle slope of stomach, kissing ribs one by one where ragged breath brought them to the surface, tongue dipping, dragging through the indent of your navel before his face pushed hard to the crux of your thighs and the delicious wet heat of his licks slicked along the part of your sex in teasing slow laps.

Clawed hand released it grasp of one soft cheek of your behind to drag the promise of claws along the back of your thigh before he caught your knee and hooked it up over his shoulder, tongue redoubling its efforts as he licked through the soft cleft of your sex, delving between sweet folds, leaving you no choice but to take desperate grasp of his horns and hang on for dear life itself as he devoured you.

Braced on one foot, back arched hard to offer him what was his, you sucked a sharp breath as large hands raked over the soft curves of your backside, as the melting silken heat of his tongue spread you and delved into your wetness, sweet heat slicking through soft folds, teasing every so often at the eager little ache of your clit as he drank you in, rumbling chuckles at the stifled little moaning gasp you made each time he’d let his tongue slide out of you and up, as his hands parted the cleft of your cheeks until you were writhing, fisting the hard, knobbled curl of his horns beneath your fingers and nearly begging he take you already as his tail caressed up the length of your stomach and between the weight of breasts to coil round your throat. Not happy until you were mewling, pressing into him and dripping down your thighs with the teasing.

Each renewed grasp of his horns or trembling stroke of fingers had him grumbling and groaning his own delighted satisfaction. Paying no mind at all to the crown of leaves you were dislodging one by one with your caress, golden and red bits of them falling to flutter across his shoulders to the ground.

“Silco! Please…” You were panting, rocking, standing leg ready to give out before he lifted his head to watch you with a devious, sharp glinting smile. And thank whatever gods held sway over the dark mountains and their dragon gathering that he took pity on you at last and laid you down, gently.

So far gone you barely registered it when he lifted you, laid you on your back against the silk, save for the dizzy change in the pull of gravity. You watched through heavy lids as he shed pants and settled between the welcome splay of your thighs upon his knees, hands coming to brace over you as he bent to nuzzle the warm wash of nipping kisses up your throat.

For all his teasing, he took you so slowly. The smoke and ash taste of him mingled with your own salt-sweet on his mouth as it closed over yours as he spread you, worked you gently with thrusts so tenderly careful you could feel his hips shivering, feel the stringing tension coursing through each line of him as he held himself in check while you rocked up against him, inviting him into the welcoming heat, savoring each ridged rise and thick, pressing texture as he sank within you.

It was Silco this time who was gasping for air once he lay fully seated, hips rocking as if he could not stop the mind numbing, overwhelming urge to move against you. The blade of his nose pressed to your cheek, fanged mouth open over yours, stealing breath and air as you whispered and moaned soft encouragement and adoration up at him. Until he was gazing down at you, laying in his arms, the backs of his dark knuckles caressing your jaw.

When the pair of you moved again, you moved as one.

Entwined, you arched under him to each slow roll of his hips. Etched against the night sky above you he was a glorious, terrible beauty, the searing glow of that burning ruby eye and the crowning glory of his dark horns singing to something wild within you. Had you biting tenderly at his lower lip, tugging, licking at his sharp teeth and hot slide of his tongue. Yours, your dragon, your heart, like he had actually torn it from you that day and ate it all up and now went walking the earth and flying through the clouds with it still caught, stuck a tender beating thing behind his fiery maw, still aching for him within the furnace of his own chest.

Your fingers could not drink enough of him, could not seek enough of his heat and the texture of his skin, from face to throat, shoulders to ribs to the slow roll of his hips. He sighed into your touch and shoved his face hard into the crux of your neck and shoulder, sucking shivering, deep gulps of breath as if he’d imprint the very scent of you this night into an indelible stain of perfection on his memory.

“Silco… Silco…” Thick and sweet as the rich butter you’d had on hot bread back at the tavern days ago, his name slid from your throat, filling your mouth, more heady than any wine or ale, tasing better than any luscious fruit. You made a song of your desire for him, pitch lifting as he moved all the faster within you. Always fit to break for him, always a wonder at how deep, how full, how perfect he took you. Dragon-bound, his, made together on some strange forge.

He was snarling, groaning, the deep rumblings of his chest crushed to yours only heightening each exquisite sensation. He stopped your voice with a slow, deep kiss, followed by a thrust just as agonizingly deep and gradual. Breaking the sweet, suckling languor of his devotion to your mouth to gaze down at you.

And for a moment, just for a breath, he was that broken, lonesome boy on the side of the mountain pass again; touched by a terrified tenderness and longing and fear that had seasoned over centuries to a knife’s blade of emotion.

“I love you.” The whisper of it caught in his throat, hitched and broke.

And in that tidal pull of his breaking dam you rushed up to meet him, to tug him under into your waves, to show him, tell him, let him eat the love, the heart right out of you again. His; beating to the rhythm of dark wings across a harvest moon, where the lifting sparks of fire and the brilliant glow of stars all became one drifting constellation.

[amournoir]

hi :)

may I request a fluff scenario, #3 for Elijah Mikaelson? thank you sm<33

Fluff Prompt | E.M {request}

℘ prompt — #3, listening to s.o rant/vent

℘ warning — none, only fluff

℘ pairing — elijah mikaelson x f!reader

℘ count — 0.6k

Autumn’s Embrace

The crisp scent of autumn hung in the air, teasing my senses as I stepped inside our home after a long day at work. I'd been eagerly waiting for the fall season, with visions of cozy evenings, warm sweaters, and pumpkin-spiced everything dancing in my mind. But reality had a different plan for me - a busy work schedule that left me with no time to embrace the season as I'd hoped.

Elijah, my ever-patient partner, listened to my passionate rant about the injustice of not being able to decorate our home for fall. "I mean, it's my favorite time of the year, Eli! The leaves turning into a riot of colors, the smell of cinnamon and cloves in the air, and don't even get me started on the joy of carving pumpkins. But here I am, drowning in work, unable to enjoy any of it!"

He smiled, his eyes filled with understanding, and he reached out to gently cup my face. "I know how much fall means to you, my love. How about you go take a relaxing bath? I'll handle dinner tonight."

I sighed, feeling the weight of my exhaustion. "Thank you, Eli. You always know how to make things better."

Little did I know, while I was soaking away the stress of the day, Elijah was hatching a plan. As I emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a cozy towel, I noticed a flickering glow coming from the living room. Curiosity piqued, I ventured forward and gasped at the sight that greeted me.

Our home had been transformed into a fall wonderland. Warm, golden lights adorned the walls, casting a soft, inviting glow across the room. The air was scented with cinnamon and apples, and everywhere I looked, there were pumpkins, leaves, and the rich hues of autumn. My heart swelled with emotion.

Elijah appeared from the shadows, a triumphant smile on his lips. "Surprise," he said, his voice a gentle caress.

I felt tears well up in my eyes as I rushed into his arms, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "This is amazing, Eli! How did you manage all of this?"

He chuckled, his arms encircling me in a comforting embrace. "I have my ways," he replied mysteriously. "But most importantly, I wanted to see you smile and enjoy the fall season, even if you're busy with work."

Hurriedly, I pecked his cheek and rushed back up the stairs to our shared room where I busied myself with getting dressed. I was doing everything in a rushed manner that was unlike me but I couldn’t help myself, I just wanted to be back down there with him. After cleaning up the bathroom and our bedroom, I skipped down the stairs like a giddy child excited for the night.

Together, we spent the evening basking in the warm ambiance of our fall-themed haven. We put on our favorite autumn playlist, the soothing melodies filling the air as we ventured into the kitchen. Armed with ingredients, we began to bake cinnamon cookies, the scent of spices mingling with our laughter and banter.

As the cookies baked to perfection, we prepared a pot of steaming tea, its aroma adding to the symphony of fall fragrances that enveloped us. I watched Elijah, flour dusting his cheek as he concentrated on rolling out the dough, and my heart swelled with love.

When the cookies were done, we carefully arranged them on a plate, the golden-brown treats a testament to our shared effort. We settled on the couch, a warm blanket draped over us, and indulged in our freshly baked creations and a cup of tea.

"This," I said between bites of a warm, cinnamon-infused cookie, "is perfection. Thank you, Eli, for making this day so incredibly special."

He smiled, his eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight. "Anything for you, my love. Fall might be fleeting, but the memories we create together are forever."

And in that moment, surrounded by the essence of fall and the love of a partner who knew my heart intimately, I realized that sometimes, the most beautiful moments are the ones we least expect, crafted from the purest intentions and the deepest love.

🏷️ taglist:

⤷ @mrs-maximoff-kenner @thatfanficstuff @elijahmikaelsontrash @mxacegrey @thatfictionalwh0re @catmikaelson20 @loverswillowed @panic-at-the-fiction @iiskittles16ii @original-siphon @onlyfreds @onlyfredslibrary @imgoingtofreakoutnow @slinthoex @i-love-nora @multiversediaries @decoffinated-vamps @hopester08 @aloneatpeace @hopes-wife @voidcameron @klaustopia @dreamingwithrafe @sweetestdesire @cottontears @cottonreads @buckyysdoll @spnandtvdudeservedbetter @impossibleheartflower @spike-and-angels-gf

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[tteokdoroki]

sucking and marking kiri’s neck for your own pleasure not his and leaving purply marks all over him.

૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, established relationship, suggestive, dry humping, jealousy, possession, excessive marking, hickies, hair pulling, pro hero!kirishima, gn!reader - not beta read !

walk with me nonnie, can you imagine like marking the shit out of kiri’s chest and neck after watching one of his post-rescue interviews— the damsel in distress having thrown themselves all over him on national TV.

he’ll come home tired after his patrol and the agency work— flopping down on the couch to curl into you and while you flick through channels, giving eijirou the unknown silent treatment. the news will flash with the report of his brave work, the girl clinging to him for dear life and looking up at your boyfriend with bright, twinkling eyes as she purposefully drags her words so kiri will pay extra attention to her.

you thought that by the time eijirou came home you’d be completely calm, over it but then just the sight of him getting all flustered rewatching the clip — asking if his arms look to big or if he should have been a little more humble. you can’t even fault kirishima because he’s just too nice to realise when other people are crossing an invisible line. even sitting next to him, you feel like you can smell her all over him and see exactly where she put her hands on him.

so after a few more moments of ignoring the big guy, you haul yourself into his lap — not kissing the way surprise spreads over eijirou’s handsome features before his large hands settle on the dips in your waist. his red eyes darkening with amusement.

“well, hello there, gorgeous.”

“shut up.” the way you latch onto his thick neck could be compared to that of a vampire — sinking your teeth into the golden hue of his skin, nibbling on the flesh until a purple-like bruise rises to the surface. “‘m mad at you,” you whisper, voice basking in a huskiness that empties eijirou’s brain. he’s too slow, too sweet to catch onto what’s happening.

instead he twitches and rumbles and whines underneath you as you use his chest and neck like a canvas. you aggressively paint shades of blue, burgundy and purple across eijirou’s skin, slowly but surely turning him into a needy mess. he chases a friction that you don’t give to him even while perched pretty in his lap. he whines like an angel’s song as you tongue the marks you’ve given him, lapping at the sensitive areas on your boyfriend’s collar bones while you debate on covering them up with more.

having this amount of control and possession over such a big and strong pro hero sends loved up and hormones shooting across your brain and right around your body. it makes you feel good knowing that red riot lets you have him like this, let’s you do these things to him. even though you both know he could very well turn this situation around.

“please, honey. i just wanna…god let me feel you. please?” kirishima pleads and begs as you litter him with enough love bites to last a life time. you know it feels good for him, but for you it’s better. like taking a shot of whatever alcohol you desire — it gives you a buzz. makes you hyperaware that everyone will see your claim in eijirou peeking out of his hero costume.

“baby,” he tries again, breathless and bucking his hips up into yours, anything to soothe the aching, leaking hard-on he sports. “god, i know i’ve got some teeth on me…but you’re really tearin’ a guy up here. please give me more… s’frustrating.” kirishima mewls weakly but lets you grab the black roots of his hair, tugging his head back so you can expose more of his unmarred flesh to your ravenous mouth.

you have an appetite for ruining him, blessing every inch of his sensitive skin with your bite marks. “you know what’s really frustrating, eijirou?” you mumble after sucking on a spot just under his ear — one of those spots that makes his huge body convulse under a simple touch. “watching your boyfriend let some girl put her hands all over him. watching him do nothing about it too.” he groans low and sexy at what you say, hiccuping between the open mouthed kisses you trail down to his plush chest. “it’s like you wanted to make me mad on purpose, red.”

“maybe…fuck… maybe i did.” kirishima sighs, back arching from the couch when you wrap your wet mouth around his juicy peck — biting down on his pebbled nipples before you move to leave teeth marks all across them. “if it gets you like this.”

you lick, you suck, you bite and teeth and bring red riot crumbling down to the ground. by the time you’re done, his chest, neck and tits are sore with midnight purple marks you’ve left all over them and kirishima lets you kiss every single one to soothe him.

it’s safe to say that the headlines reporting in red riot change over the next few days — most of them highly focused on the aftermath of your jealousy he wears proudly on his exposed chest.

[tristayranambrosio]

Notorious/Altruistic Day 5 - February 22 DWC

(Keeping it going as I desperately try to keep up with @daily writing challenge seems I'm gonna be a day behind though) “You’re scowling again.” Nestor sings at me playfully. I growl at the middle aged Elf dressed in the finery of a noble with an affinity for hues bright enough to make one’s eyes hurt. He was a riot of violet and sunset with waist long hair that was cuffed and beaded in artful chaos with a whole ear cuff and what he thought was a -scandalous- eyebrow hoop that he had clearly gotten when rebelling against his ‘upper city’ parents in his long ago youth. The Director of the Crimson Curtain Nestor, having forsaken a surname but kept the fortune to ‘slum’ with the true life blood of the city. He was graying at the temples and I think after too many years being someone he wasn’t Nestor the Notorious Cabaret Lord of The Crimson was now unabashedly who he was. I almost hate him for that freedom, the way he could be himself without a care for what the world saw, love as he loved… His Partner the Tauren Florist cast the Aging elf a warning glance for tripping my fuse while I was behind the bar given my tendency to break bottles when I gripped them too hard. I had taken a part time gig that I didn’t need to stop my clan from asking inconvenient questions, they wouldn’t accept that I just wanted to play in our band, that I felt at home somewhere at last… With Estibahn the cockiest Goblin bastard bassist… And my beautiful Rose.  I grunt and turn my back because I am scowling… because my Rose… who I remind myself is -not- mine is crooning a love song to one of the women in the crowd. Nestor turns to what I’m -decidedly- not looking at as I wipe down the bar, “Our little star, It’s beautiful don’t you think Jezz? How the boy is so altruistic with his romance… his affections. That he still makes them all feel so desired, wanted but never crosses lines. Its a delicate little dance.” “Isn’t that his -job-” I toss over my shoulder and I hate myself for it, my jealous stupid self pretending that I’m not wishing I was that bitch in the audience, with his hand cupping my chin singing into my lips while dressed in glittering costumes and jewels of teal, contrasting his perfect form against the overwhelming hues of sunset. “Oh come on now Jezzy!” Nestor swats my arm and I whirl to look at where this elf had the nerve to -touch- me like it’s some sour fruit stuck to me even long after the playful swat had gone, “He’s not employed as a Gigolo though gods above I’m certain we’d make a fortune if he was. No this is charity. And it almost brings a tear to the eye.” “Charity?” I scoff gripping tight to my bitterness as my turn forced me to see Trist lean to slip from the stage to straddle that woman’s chair with her in it, still singing like a siren as she gazes up at him with naked desire. Ancestors help me… He’s so different when they look at him like that… unashamed of their appreciation. I make myself finish hating myself… hating that I lash out and say the words I want to turn inward about the person who makes me feel alive, “You mean telling them pretty lies, being some fantasy for tips… its all a smoke show like everything here.”

Then Nestor’s words turned dark, hard, and cold, “But if you hurt him, Jezza. If you break my boy, You will always regret it. So stop -growling- and tell him how you feel before you let him slip away. Especially with Archstone -skulking- around again.” The horror in my face and form has me locked in place, did this- did he know what that would mean!? He knows?! How!? Nestor hopped off his stool and reopened his fan with a thwap and purred to his mate, “Now lets go get a closer look, shall me my beautiful bull?” I watch them in abject awe and Palehoof dips an understanding nod my way, hand always lightly brushing Nestor’s lower back with the gentlest hands I’d ever seen. I’m too stunned to rage… how did they know?! I- Have fallen in way too deep.

[junosartsthetic]

I saw your "love confession starters". Can I have Kakyoin x reader for "i don't want just any company. i want you."? Really fluff please!

I will most likely make a part two of this because it ends suddenly and I don't think I got to convey all I wanted to but also it got long and I don't want to go to bed without posting anything. Also this hasn't been reread or formatted properly or anything and it's currently 1 am so sorry in advance. also i kind of twisted the quote but like I said ill probably make a second part that gets to the point better. Anyway, have this.

__

You’d never get over how beautifully vibrant the night sky in the middle east was. In Japan, it always just looked black, but now, in the unpolluted desert, it sparkled brilliantly with constellations. Not only could you see bright white stars, but hues of purple, blue, and green whisked across the sky, painting it with color. Distant galaxies shone so brightly you could’ve sworn they were just an arms-reach away. You had to stop yourself from reaching out above the balcony railing in a useless attempt to grasp at them. You must’ve looked like a child, the way your feet stuck between the railing bars as you gasped in awe at the scene. It was not your first night under such a bright sky, but you could look at the scene above you forever and not get tired.

In fact, the others always knew where to find you once the sun went down. It didn’t matter how tired you were from the day’s fights or travels, you always took the time to star-gaze, even if just for a few minutes. Sometimes the group would join you, though most all of them seemed to quickly get bored, or had better things to do. You didn’t mind standing alone, though there was always a certain someone who always made it better.

You were half-tempted to go ask him to join you, though that seemed a little too childish even for you in your current state. 

You finally managed to tear your eyes away from the dazzling sight and looked back towards the balcony door. Inside revealed a grand suite of a room. It was always a riot when you all had to share a room, but at the moment it was dark and quiet inside. You assumed everyone was still down at the bar eating. You decided to return to the room early for no particular reason, you just didn’t feel like eating that much, which of course led to your eventual place on the balcony.

Stepping back from the railing, you tiptoed towards the door, opening the glass pane with a soft click. You stepped inside, closing it behind you, before letting out a sigh.

You looked down at your dirty school uniform you’d been wearing that day. You hadn’t even bothered changing before doing your nightly star-gazing ritual.

You moved to grab your pajamas from your small luggage when the door opening stopped you. You looked to see Kakyoin enter the room. You gave him a wave. “Hey,” you said, continuing your search through your bag. “Going to bed?” You winced at your own stupid question. You always seem to lose your ability to function around him. 

He nodded. “The others aren’t far behind, I just wanted to—” he stopped himself. “Nevermind. Are you about to go to bed? I know you usually stay on the balcony for a little bit first.” 

You hummed in response. “I just got back inside. I always like to look at the stars but today also kicked my ass so I cut it a little short.”

You finally found your nightgown, pulling it from your bag and heading towards the bathroom. “Anyway, I’m gonna go ahead and get ready for bed before everyone else shows up. The bed I got stuck with at the last hotel sucked so I want first choice tonight.” 

“About that,” Kakyoin said. “There’s only three beds in this suite, and I doubt three of us guys can fit in a queen.”

You paused. “Hmm. . . so that means I have to share a bed with one of you guys, huh? That’s a first.” 

“If you really don’t want to, I’m sure one of us can make up a bed on the floor—”

You shook your head. “No, no. I’m not gonna do that to you guys. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I need my own space or whatever, especially when we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Just talk between yourselves and figure it out—I really don’t care.” You paused. “Actually wait, just make sure it’s not Pol. I can hear him snore from across the room. I’m not dealing with that right next to me. Oh. Not Jotaro either. He sleep-punches. I’ve seen it. Also mark Avdol off the list. That man is like a radiator and I’m not sweating to death in my sleep. Not Mr. Joestar either. He sleep-talks. . . wow, all of them have their issues, huh?” you let out a laugh as you concluded your rant.

“So. . . I guess you’re stuck with me?” He prompted. 

Blood rushed to your cheeks. “I guess that is the logical conclusion. . . if that’s alright with you?”

“Of course,” he said. “If you change your mind let me know and I can just set up a place on the floor.”

You waved him off as you entered the bathroom and shut the door behind you.

When you exited you noticed everyone had come back up and gave them a wave. “Hey,” you said. “I don’t know about you guys but I’m exhausted so I’m gonna go ahead and lay down. Feel free to watch TV or whatever. I don’t care.”

You promptly plopped down on the bed closest to the balcony. 

“I think we’re all just calling it a night,” Joseph said, setting his hat down on one of the bedside tables. 

Polnareff nodded in agreement. “I almost passed out in my dinner.”

You snorted. “Alright, works for me. You guys can figure out who to share a bed with. Kakyoin and I are gonna sleep together.”

“Uhh. . .” Avdol started, “Congratulations? Please just. . . keep it down.”

You about had a heart attack. “Nonononono, that’s not what—I meant to—”

“Good grief,” Jotaro spoke up. “Does it have to be when we’re all in the same room?”

You grit your teeth, embarrassment swarming your body. “Oh, my God, if you all would let me finish—”

Your fellow crusaders broke out in laughter. “We know what you meant,” Joseph said, “we’re just givin’ ya a hard time. Get some sleep, (Y/N).”

You let out a huff, cheeks puffed as you nestled yourself under the covers angrily. “You guys are insufferable. Good night.”

Your actions only led to more scattered laughter. You rolled your eyes before closing them. Within moments, you were out like a light, already snoring softly by the time the others figured out their sleeping arrangements.

Carefully, Kakyoin slipped under the covers, trying his hardest to keep on his side. Eventually, he too fell asleep.

When you awoke to use the restroom, the clock read 3:27 am. You let out a yawn, feet slipping out from the covers as you sat up. It was quiet, save for Polnareff’s snores and the occasional meaningless mumble from Joseph. You turned to look beside you, noting Kakyoin fast asleep, half hanging off the bed. You smiled softly. What a dork. You told him you didn’t care if you shared a bed, but obviously he was doing everything in his power to make himself unnoticeable.

Snorting, you got up quietly before doing your business. After exiting, you walked towards the bed before halting, eyes caught staring out the window. The night sky seemed even brighter than earlier, if that was even possible.

As if hypnotized, you opened the balcony door, stepping out as you placed your hands on the railing. Your neck craned up as you took in the beautiful sight above you. 

You weren’t sure how long you were standing there, entranced, before a hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality. You stifled a loud gasp of surprise as you whipped your head to look at the culprit. It was Kakyoin, standing in his pajamas with a tired look on his face. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. . . I got up and ended up getting distracted. Did I wake you up?”

He gestured to the still open door. “It got cold.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I’ll shut the door if you want to go back to bed.”

He shrugged. “I thought I’d stay out and look at the stars a little. Might as well.”

“They’re really beautiful tonight,” you mumbled. “Well. . . they’re always really beautiful here. It’s such a difference from Japan. I just can’t stop looking at them.” 

“Do you not get. . . bored, I guess, looking at the sky for so long?”

You shook your head. “You would think, but I don’t know, I just always seem to find something new in the sky, like making up constellations, and stuff, ya know? It’s peaceful, too. Don’t get me wrong, I would die for all of you guys, but sometimes everyone is a little. . . much.” 

He chuckled. “I get that. . . do you want me to go in so you can have your peace?”

“No, I don’t mind company,” you replied. “Especially if it’s you.” You didn’t even process what you just said, mind drifting as your eyes traced a new shape within a star cluster. “Hey,” you said, pointing a finger upwards . “Do you see that group of stars? If you draw lines between them it sort of looks like Avdol’s stand.”

“I don’t see it,” Kakyoin replied, though he was too busy overanalyzing your words to really pay attention.

You rolled your eyes, pointing more aggressively. “See, look. Those five stars create the beak, then that large one is the eye, then it sort of drifts off with that galaxy to create the torso.”

“Where?”

Letting out a huff, you reached out and grabbed his chin, turning his head to your newly found constellation. “Right there!”

Did he see what you were talking about? No. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at the sky anymore. His eyes traced from where your hand gripped his face to your head still facing the stars. He’d never seen you this direct before. You were usually a pretty reserved person, especially when it came to physical contact. You didn’t even let Joseph carry you to the car when you suffered a pretty bad leg wound. You ended up passing out as you tried to hobble there yourself.

He brought himself back to the moment in front of him. Your hand loosened on his chin, sliding down to take hold of his hand. You brought it up, manipulating his pointer finger so it traced out the stars you insisted looked like Magician’s Red. “Do you see it now? I swear I’m not crazy.”

“I’m going to be honest,” he said, moving to take your hands in his. You faced him fully, back to the sky as you locked eyes with him. “I am not paying attention to your constellation in the slightest.”

You huffed. 

He continued on. “I can only focus on you right now. Your voice, your hands, your eyes, your lips, the way you’re so passionate about this, it’s all. . .”

Your heart began to race, mind returning from the stars to take in what was currently happening. “It’s all. . .?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or make anything weird, but. . . I think I’m in love with you.”

You almost choked on your own spit.

[kylo-wrecked]

She's still cleaning up after herself when Ben lets himself in. It is his apartment after all. And of course he works on his birthday. She knows he loves his mother but the exasperation of a dinner performance cannot be high on his list of priorities. Maybe there's a reason she had to discreetly investigate the particular date. Despite years now there are still secrets he keeps. It only seems fair. She offers him a smile. Apologetic at the edges but bright and alive in her gaze as she looks up at him. "Hey." The cake on the counter is clearly homemade. By someone who can't really cook to save their life. Beside it, a brightly coloured box, and a gift bag leaking lavender coloured tissue paper. The immaculate box is a throw back to one of their earliest conversations, a glimpse of the people they are beneath and only he will understand why. The other is a riot of autumn colours. Hours and days and weeks of measuring and knitting, a signature piece no one else will have. She imagines it will languish in his closet until it gets eaten by entropy moths. She imagines her own arms around his neck all the same. "Made reservation f' suppah. Half-Nine. Pleny time for you to unwind, yeah?" By that she means she rented out the restaurant. His birthday, but her right to be selfish.

Friday night is like any other until he gets home. Then, it becomes his birthday again. Friday, the carriage that turns back into the pumpkin. He can kind of smell it as it creeps under the front door; sugar, butter, batter.

He stands in the vestibule, watching the bare oaks sway their freshly appendaged branches over the Prospect Park wall. Bony and violet against the plush grey sky. Just to catch his breath. To hold it for a moment like a dove in his hands. 

Ben doesn't turn on the outdoor lantern or the wall lights. Over several years of exhausted coats and long johns, he's never outgrown the fear of being watched. So, his key for Beth, rather than his window—a key no one else owns. So Ben knows it's her before he even walks in. 

"Hey," he says, sniffing. If his cheeks and nose aren't stung from New York's accostment by Toronto's cold front, Ben doesn't know his mother's city or his own face. And, after shedding peacoat, hat, scarf (*not knit, but Hermés; a fact that repeatedly makes him wince*), in quick succession on the floor, crossing his own threshold, and finding, in addition to Beth, the frill of lavender tissue, lurid in his realm of study greens, rich woods, and proper, ethically-sourced roasts, Ben finds, no, he doesn't know his face. It's articulating some muted, if exotic, expression of surprise. 

"Oh... oh, no." A sound one could reasonably describe as a chuckle stutters his words. Foreign and nervous on his lips. "You didn't."

But he—he, if anyone—would understand why Beth leads with Monster High.  

Ben goes for Lagoona Blue first. She's a good lure, non-threatening. The doll would be little more than a gag gift if it didn't make him think of Beth. (Lagoona Blue, or this variation of her anyway, even comes in platform slippahs.) Her bright Hollywood lights look tiny in his hands. 

Ben gives Beth a genuine smile in thanks. Certain words go unsaid.

"She can judge me when I watch Sopranos re-runs," he adds and wanders off, presumably to place Lagoona Blue on a high and heavy shelf in range of his flatscreen. He returns in a lighter mood to bury his nose in Beth's shoulder and all bantam physical maneuvers required of him to plant it there. 

Ben sees the cake from that vantage. The cake, which is the best part. Never mind that it's too dense or that the frosting is so LED, brain-tapping vibrant, Ben can tell exactly what hue it is. He doesn't mean to make Beth blush; it's just that baking someone an * ugly * cake "is a love language unlike any other." (And he'll still eat the whole thing.)

Ben says this with gravitas and kisses her while he's down there, nudging his cold edges into Beth's warm contours. And he's, in turn, flustered by their arrival at an empty restaurant, although it wouldn't take an empath to tell that he's pleased; it's no secret. He even wears the scarf Beth knit for him, keeps burrowed in it until she ushers him out from his overcoat and into a booth.  

So there. So, Ben alludes to wearing her around his neck later. 

[lilyswrittenworks]

Something Meaningful

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Moments are always shared with the ones you are closest to.

     The autumn season stretches forth with fingers of every hue, from the serenity of browns to fireside reds and the gold of sunny days. Leaves were scattered throughout the ground and the trees were clad in a riot of gold and red. It’s a time where the air is cooler and a soft mist coats the earth during the early morning and late evenings.

Making your way through the foliage with each step the leaves crunched beneath your shoes. Autumn has always been your favorite season and one that you’re looking forward to every year. It’s not that you dislike the other three seasons— you love them in fact! But there’s just something about fall that makes you feel at ease as the seasons are slowly changing.

Perhaps it was the temperature cooling considerably and all you want to do is to be bundled in the warmth of the many blankets along with a cup of coffee and a book to read, or the candles you would purchase for the occasion— a pumpkin scented candle maybe a vanilla one too.

Fall filled you with this sense of unbridled joy and you wanted to share that with Piccolo.

It made you wonder if he enjoys things outside of the martial arts. What other things does he find enjoyable?

Despite knowing him for almost a year, you don’t exactly know him, know him. You could know his every advance, from his body language to his eyes and from the way he talks but you wouldn’t even know what his hobbies were. Piccolo rarely shared anything about himself to you and when he did, you were ecstatic to find out he came from another planet and his race. After that he hadn’t shared much about himself with you.

You didn’t want to prod too much in fear of scaring him away.  So, the only way of pulling the answers out of him was with some small talk.

The lake came into view where its surface reflected the red and golden hues of the surrounding trees. Just off to your right was the person you were looking for as you made your way towards him. As he came into view you could see that he was sitting crossed legged underneath an oak tree, his arms were on his side where his hands were interlinked. The moment you were standing in front of him, his eyes opened to meet you.

Immediately Piccolo took notice of the wicker basket you were holding on your left. “What’s with the basket?”

“I thought it would be nice to share with you some sweets that I made.” You took a seat on the side of the tree trunk that was closest to Piccolo where you set aside the basket. “Luckily I had some leftovers after sharing them with my students back at the dojo. They deserved it after training so hard.”

Opening the lid of the basket and proceeded to pull out two cranberry muffins, offering one to Piccolo. However, he just stared down at the muffin and you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking either, whatever he was thinking he’s masking it pretty well. Maybe he’s not a fan of muffins?

“What’s up? If you’re not a fan of muffins I have some pumpkin pudding instead.”

“It’s not that.” Piccolo moves his eyes away from the muffin in your hand to stare at you. “I don’t consume solids like you humans do.”

You lowered your arm with the muffin still in your palm, staring at him in disbelief. “Huh… that— I didn’t know that. But, what exactly do you need then?”

“Water is the only source I need since the enzymes in my body transform the water into nutrients.” Piccolo explained.

You vividly remembered seeing Piccolo drinking from the crystal clear waterfalls multiple times especially when you and him would train together. This certainly explains a lot and you wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t offered him the muffin in the first place.

“Could you still eat solids if you wanted to?”

“Yes, if not for the enjoyment of it.”

A hum escapes through your lips, staring down at the second muffin. Then you began to silently munch on your own muffin. When you were almost finished Piccolo spoke which caught your attention turning your head to meet with his back facing you.

“What made you get into martial arts?” From the tone of his voice, Piccolo showed a genuine curiosity of which left you speechless for a moment.

It’s so unlike him to ask such a specific question, and this question in particular really hit home, maybe a little too much. You swallowed down the remaining muffin along with a heavy feeling that was forming in your chest. It took a moment to collect your thoughts until you were ready to respond.

“My master is the reason why I teach today. I was young— homeless, I had nowhere else to go and she took me in when things were turning for the worse for me.” You kept your head up, eyes closed as you resumed meanwhile Piccolo had shifted to face you with eyes wide open and mouth hanging open. “I was seven when she took me in and I’m utterly grateful for what she did. If she hadn’t found me in time I wouldn’t even be here to begin with.”  

Piccolo didn’t know what else to say after your unprecedented confession. He couldn’t begin to imagine what other hellish things you had to go through and for that he was sympathetic toward you.

“I never would’ve known that your life was rough with the way you are now.” Piccolo felt responsible for inadvertently causing you discomfort from having to relive those moments of your life. There was a deep frown across his face which showed off how ashamed he is.

“I apologize. That was careless of me for asking such a question.”

Your eyes fluttered open and turned to look at Piccolo, seeing the frown across his normally stern features made your chest ache.

“You weren’t aware about that part of my life to begin with, it's as simple as that, so don’t start apologizing for something you had no control over, Piccolo.” You stated, craning your neck to look him dead in the eyes not caring of the strain that it was causing to your neck.

Piccolo remained silent, keeping his gaze fixated on you. With his frown gone, you caught a glimpse of something across those dark eyes; uncertainty.

“It’s alright, you know? I don’t mind you asking more questions like this in the future.” Your face softens, a small smile forming. “What about you, what’s the reason that got you into the martial arts, Piccolo?’

A singular drop of sweat appeared on the side of his cheek and he averted his gaze. “It’s… a long story.”

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting. Oh, here,”

Piccolo glances over to you and there in your hand was the muffin you offered to him earlier to which you were doing so again. He gave you a confusing look to which you smiled.

“You should have it. Maybe later you’ll want to eat for the enjoyment of it.”

He pondered for a moment before ultimately reaching out to take the muffin from your hand. You scooted over closer to him where he began to tell you the history of where it all started.

(1,236 words in total)

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