#I HOPE THINGS BETWEEN US GET SETTLED GOOD BUT GOD I HOPE I COME ACROSS YOU NEVER EVER. I DONT TOLERATE RHAT SHIT A T A L L

[rabbittush]

WHAT THE FUCK!!!! HEY GREAT WEEK IN THE LIFE OF SOMEONE WHOSE LIFE IS SUCKING SO MUCH ASS RIGHT NOW WHAT TJE GENUINE FUCK LIKE WHAT RHE ACTUAL SHIT WHAT WHAT WHAT NO FUCK DIE

[lecsainz]

Hi! I love the way you write and you seem really sweet. No one really answers my requests so I’m not expecting you to😂. Why not try tho. Can I get a Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Half blood Reader. And the head cannons of our relationship and really go and do what you want with it. I love her sm and really want a good bit of head cannons of her.

I’m sorry if this sounds rude at all lol. I’m not trying to be.

HOLDING YOUR HAND

parings: clarisse la rue x fem!half-blood!reader

summary: that one where you date clarisse and what your relationship with her is like.

an: awww, thank you! you seem like an AMAZING person too, seriously! I loved your request, hope it turned out the way you wanted 😁 (note: I didn't specify which greek god the reader was because I didn't know if you wanted a specific one).

( my last work || my last work for riodanverse || main masterlist )

You and Clarisse have known each other since you first arrived at camp.

It took about two weeks for you to gather the courage to approach the daughter of Ares, which was odd for you because you were a social butterfly.

Clarisse wouldn't admit it, but she found it amusing when you came up to her and started to stutter, and to this day, whenever she remembers, she teases you about it.

After your first conversation, where you asked her to teach you sword fighting since you only knew how to use a bow and arrow until then, Clarisse gladly accepted. Her condition was that she'd only teach you if you joined her team in Capture the Flag, considering you were one of the best - if not the best, in Clarisse's words - at the camp.

Thanks to the training sessions, you and Clarisse began to bond as friends.

You talked about everything and nothing simultaneously. Clarisse felt she could be herself around you, knowing you wouldn't judge her.

Even if Clarisse was in the midst of a fight or giving orders alongside her half-siblings, she would stop as soon as she saw you, to come over for a conversation or to give you a hug.

She doesn't remember when she started feeling something for you, but she got scared that you might not feel the same and ended up distancing herself.

"Hey, Clarisse," you began tentatively, trying to keep your tone light yet concerned. "Mind if I join you?" She glanced up, surprise flickering across her features before settling into a guarded expression. Nodding silently, she gestured to the empty spot beside her. Sitting down, you couldn't ignore the tension radiating from her. "You've been a bit distant lately. Is everything alright?" Her gaze softened, a mix of emotions swirling in her eyes – a blend of vulnerability and the stubbornness that defined her. "It's nothing, just camp stuff," she shrugged, trying to brush it off. You tilted your head, offering a small smile. "You know, you can talk to me about anything. I'm here if you need someone to listen." Clarisse sighed, her guard starting to crack as she looked away, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her shirt. "I just... I thought maybe I was getting too close. Didn't want things to get... complicated." Her vulnerability caught you off guard, but you reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Complicated how?" She hesitated, eyes darting back to yours, her expression a mix of confusion and a touch of fear. "I... I started feeling something... and I was afraid you didn't feel the same." Your heart skipped a beat as her words sank in. "Clarisse, I..." You searched for the right words, hoping to convey what you hadn't said before. "I've enjoyed every moment we've spent together. You mean a lot to me." She met your gaze, her walls crumbling slightly, allowing a glimpse of vulnerability to shine through. "Really?" "Yeah," you nodded earnestly. "Really." A small, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I've missed hanging out with you." "I've missed it too," you admitted, relieved that you were finally talking about the unspoken tension between you. There was a brief pause, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging in the air before you broke the silence. "So, are we good?" Clarisse grinned, a hint of her usual spark returning. "Yeah, we're good."

It was no surprise to anyone at the camp when you two appeared together.

During the Capture the Flag game, Clarisse always kept an eye out for you. While she was engaged in a battle with a Hermes kid, she ended up falling, and you intervened just in time, nearly hitting the boy with an arrow.

"Need a hand?" You asked with a smile at your girlfriend. "I could've handled it myself," she grumbled, starting to get up. "A 'thank you' would be nice," you offered your hand to her. She accepted the help to stand. "I'm holding your hand," she murmurs, taking yours, and you lift her, shaking your head, amused by her. Clarisse stops and looks at your hands together with a huge smile. Before you could say anything, a noise from the forest interrupted, and Clarisse planted a kiss on your cheek before darting off, leaving you standing there, trying to process what just happened.

Clarisse definitely loves giving bear hugs.

She would wake up earlier just to spend extra time with you without anyone interrupting.

When Clarisse's siblings from the Ares cabin tease her about being a lovesick fool, she doesn't even bother defending herself anymore because it's true, and she's not ashamed to admit it.

Your love language is physical touch, so she wouldn't mind receiving hugs and holding your hand all day long.

"Good morning!" You'd hug her from behind at the Ares table, planting a kiss on her cheek, realizing she was annoyed, then darting off to your own table. When you glanced back at the brunette, you'd see her with a huge goofy smile amidst the cheers and teasing from her siblings.

While Clarisse trains, you would go just to watch her. She'd try to impress you, but if she made a mistake, she'd be extremely embarrassed, yet she wouldn't admit it, claiming that the slip was part of her plan for that move that made her fall to the ground.

"And that's how you catch your opponent off guard," she'd explain as she gets up from the ground. "Yeah, right," you start laughing at her. "Hey, I'm serious." Clarisse brushes off the dirt from her clothes, trying to save face.

She'd dislike everyone else but seeing you would instantly brighten her day by 100% .

[cherrychilli]

18+

Steddie x AFAB reader, exhibitionism, wet-t shirt contest(kinda), allusions to group sex(mmf), mentions of alcohol and weed but it's all consensual baby

a/n: what is this you may ask? good question. So there I was, three beers in, thinking about Steve's tits and well, I ended up typing this out real quick. Enjoy.

"Steve, it really wouldn't be much of a contest", you tell him for the second time, rolling your eyes like it might help you get your point across better. It doesn't.

"I'm telling you I could beat you", he persists because Steve Harrington was never one to roll over so easily.

"And I'm telling you there's no way in hell"

"You're pretty sure of yourself, huh?"

"Yup. And I'll give you two good reasons why", you stick out your chest like it wasn't already obvious.

Steve scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you, showing no sign of backing down even when his knee bumps the side of the coffee table, nearly tipping what's left of both your beers over.

That's what had started this whole thing. A few too many drinks and a drunken crack about who had the most distracting tits out of the two of you. Who would have known it would have escalated into this.

"You guys know there's only one way to settle this right?", a third voice intervenes, at the end of which hangs a joint pinched between plush pink lips.

You both turn to Eddie then, noticing the way he's sprawled out on the couch, hands behind his head, looking all kinds of amused by the two of you bickering.

"He's right", Steve says, turning back to you, determination burning bright in his eyes. You challenge him with a fiery stare of your own, hands on your hips. "Outside. Now.", you grit out.

You both begin marching outside but not before you yell out to Eddie. "Eddie! get the hose!"

---

"Okay, so it's agreed. I'm the impartial judge and whoever wins uh...wins. We didn't really come up with a prize did we?", Eddie scratches at the day old stubble peppering his chin as he ponders.

"Just spray us man", Steve deadpans, pulling the other boy out of whatever fleeting thought he'd been occupied with.

Eddie does as he's told and he smirks while doing it, spraying the two of you down in Steve's back yard, your white t-shirt's turning translucent in seconds. You make a show of it as the water hits you, running your fingers through your dripping wet hair, your movements thick with allure, letting your tits jiggle and bounce in your skin tight t-shirt. You know how much both Eddie and Steve liked it when you made them bounce, their eyes always fixed on your chest even when you did something as ordinary as coming down the stairs or heading out for a jog.

This should be an easy win. Right?

You realize quickly though that perhaps you'd been a bit too cocky. You'd thought the win would be guaranteed yours until you got an eyeful of Steve, his glistening tanned skin and toned muscle showing through his wet t-shirt in that Grecian god kind of way. Typical.

The contours of his defined pecs and his ample chest hair showing through have you second guessing yourself, his nipples hard like yours and hair still stylish even when wet. Suddenly you weren't so sure you could clinch the win now and for a second, just a second, you didn't care. He was definitely a sight and you could tell that Eddie thought so too, his eyes darting between the two of you, managing to look both ecstatic and unsure.

"Well? who's it gonna be Munson?", Steve places a hand on his hips and you can't help but notice how his ass looks even better in wet jeans, the same way they think yours does in your wet shorts.

It's going to be a close call.

Two sets of eyes look expectantly at the dry metalhead for his verdict, a shiver running through you as the breeze starts to pick up.

"Gotta call a tie on this one", he answers in a way he hoped would be decisive, unable to pick between the two of you when truly you both looked as good as the other.

"What? no way!", you protest, folding your arms under your breasts, drawing the attention of both boys as they eye your chest.

"Yeah, you gotta pick one", Steve agrees, reluctantly tearing his gaze away and back to Eddie, clearly unsatisfied with the result.

Eddie looks thoughtful for a while, his eyes lighting up in a lightbulb moment. "If you're so hungry for a win how about you two wrestle in the mud for it?", he does a poor job of masking his obvious leering and you know too well that the suggestion has little to do with settling the score and everything to do with making one of his wet dreams come true.

Steve and you share a look then, equal parts knowing and mischievous. "You thinking what I'm thinking?", he asks you, prompting Eddie to quirk up an eyebrow as he watches your exchange curiously.

"Oh, definitely", you tell him, the both of you springing into action.

In a matter of seconds, Steve gets a hold of Eddie with ease, drawing his arms behind his back and holding them in place, the weed making the darker haired boy too slow to anticipate or counter Steve's movements.

"Hey what the hell-", Eddie's cut off when he gets a face full of water once you've grabbed a hold of the hose, mercilessly spraying him down until his black t-shirt and grey sweats turn drenched.

Surprised shouts turn to peals of belly aching laughter as each of you try to snatch the hose out of the other's grasp, chasing the remaining two down to spray them even more.

Sometime later the hose is abandoned altogether and wet clothes are discarded haphazardly throughout the yard and though there's no wrestling in the mud today, the three of you take your time engaging in a different kind of group activity on Steve's back patio -- one in which you all end up winners.

[janeyseymour]

Love Thy Neighbor

saw a prompt from @givethispromptatry

So... here we are... as usual, not edited in the slightest and hoping it's alright!

WC: ~3.45k

After your (not so amicable) split from your dirtbag of a husband, you packed your things and moved back to Philly. It was the city that held a special place in your heart, you knew the area like the back of your hand, and your parents still resided in the place that you grew up. It only made sense now that as a single mother to a six year old girl, you would move to be closer to your parents so they could help bear the load of being a working mom. Elizabeth, but you usually stuck with the nickname Ellie, was a rather easy child. But moving from across the country and leaving the life that she knew and loved behind was rather hard for her- and it was even harder knowing that Mom and Dad had split, and that Dad didn’t necessarily want anything to do with either of you anymore.

So, after about a month of living with your parents, making trips from Utah to Philly and back multiple times to gather all of your things from the house, show the house, sell the house, and deal with the divorce lawyers… the two of you have finally found a little apartment that should be an appropriate size for the two of you while still staying within your budget.

You had been granted full custody, not that your ex would fight you on that, but you also managed to get him to fork over a decent amount of child support- and you would need it. You still haven’t found a job in Philly, and while little jobs here and there were helpful (you mostly did DoorDash on your bike, Ellie’s bike trailer attached so you could bring her along and hold the food), you knew that you absolutely needed to find a job- and quick.

In between attempting to unpack all of your things, get Ellie settled, looking for a new job, and Doordashing, you haven’t been able to take a breath at all. You don’t even know who your neighbors are or what they look like. And you feel a little guilty at that, but none of them have stopped by to introduce themselves to you either. You remember though, that Philly folks aren’t nearly as kind as the people that you had surrounded yourself with in Utah… so them not introducing themselves to you isn’t the most unheard of thing in the world.

Today was brutal. You had signed Ellie up to start school next week, searched and applied for a few teaching jobs (one of which would be at your daughter’s school if you could land it), gone grocery shopping, and then done a nice load of Doordashing with your daughter in tow because your parents couldn’t watch her.

The little girl had missed out on the nap that she usually takes after a day at school, so she’s absolutely miserable the entire time that you bike around. You had tried to placate her by bringing along her iPad so she could watch videos while you navigated the city, but she wanted nothing to do with it. All she did the entire time was whine about the fact that she wanted to go home and cuddle.

After hours of delivering food, you’re satisfied with the amount of money that you made today.

“Okay, little love,” you turn and look at your daughter. “Are you ready for home?”

“I’ve been ready,” she grumbles, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

You give her a soft smile. “I know, sweet girl… but Momma has to make money so we can stay here.”

“Why can’t we just stay in Utah where I like it?”

You bite your lip. “I want to be closer to my parents, baby… and this way you get to see Gram and Pop more than you used to. I think if you give Philly a chance, you’ll learn to love it like I do.”

She huffs a little. 

Deciding that you probably aren’t going to get much more out of her, you turn and start biking in the direction of your apartment. As you’re doing so, you silently thank God that you’re in good shape. At least if anything comes out of this, your legs are going to look incredible.

You chain your bike to the bike stand in the garage of your apartment complex, only to remember that you had forgotten what you needed to make dinner tonight. With regret, you begin to unchain it- much to Ellie’s dismay.

“Momma!” she stomps her foot.

“I know,” you say softly, but you gesture for her to get back into her trailer.

“No!”

You take a shaky breath. You really don’t want to have to put up with a trademarked Ellie tantrum, but it seems that’s what is in store for you tonight. “Love bug, please. We just have to go to the store, and then we can come home, I’ll make dinner, and we can cuddle.”

“I want to cuddle now!”

“Well, we have to fill that belly of yours with food first,” you poke her stomach gently, trying to elicit a giggle out of the little girl. 

It absolutely does the opposite of that. She bats your hand away, and you raise an eyebrow before standing back up straight. “Ellie, you know we do not try to hit.”

“I don’t care,” she tells you defiantly.

A redhead that lives in the building comes into the garage, eyeing you and your child. You hope she isn’t judging you for the fit your child is currently in the middle of having. She climbs into her car and rolls down her windows, but she doesn’t quite pull out yet. She glances at her phone instead.

You blow out a breath, eyes closed and trying to ground yourself, before looking at her again. “Elizabeth, we need to get food for dinner. All you have to do is sit in your trailer while I bike us to the store.”

“Why can’t I stay home?!”

“Because you are six and too little to stay home by yourself.”

“This isn’t home!” you daughter stomps her foot and bursts into tears.

The woman that lives in your complex is still sitting in her car, and you know she can hear your daughter’s and your words. Why hasn’t she pulled out yet?

You soften immediately, crouching back down and opening your arms for her to hug you if she needs to. She does. She immediately curls into your arms and clings to you. “I know, love bug. I know it doesn’t feel like home right now… but no matter what, Momma can’t leave you in the apartment alone. So, I need you to get into your trailer so we can head to the store. The faster we get there, the faster we can come back and curl up on the couch together, okay?”

Your daughter clings to you a little tighter, but you feel her nod into your shoulder.

The woman pulls out of her spot and gives you and your daughter a small wave as she drives past. 

You hold your little girl until she begins to pull away, and then you wipe her tears with the pads of your thumbs. “I love you, Ellie.”

She climbs back into her seat before mumbling back the same sentiment.

You’re able to do your quick run to the grocery store, and Ellie refuses to walk but also refuses to sit in the cart like she usually does. So, you carry her on your hip the entirety of your walk through the aisles. As you’re strolling up and down, you see the redhead that you had seen in the garage earlier, and she gives you a questioning look at the sight of you carrying your daughter when she could be in the cart that you’re pushing along.

You just give her a little shrug and continue on your way. Ellie is getting heavier and heavier by the minute though, so you pick up the pace and are out of the store.

You make your way back to the complex, bags around your arms and in the trailer with your daughter. When you lock your bike to the rack, you look in, and the little girl is fast asleep. Shit.

“Ellie,” you crouch down and whisper. “Sweetheart, we’re back. You have to wake up and carry the bread and juice in for me.”

The little girl stirs slightly before repositioning herself and closing her eyes again.

“Baby girl,” you say softly. “Please wake up for Momma.”

You see headlights, and the car that has the redheaded woman in it pulls in. Great. You get to make a fool out of yourself in front of her yet again.

Not being able to hide your stress, you decide to grab a few of the lighter bags, put them on your arms, and then wiggle Ellie out of the trailer. She’s asleep on your shoulder as soon as she’s in your hold. You silently take a moment to pray that your produce won’t get stolen in the few minutes it will take you to get Ellie upstairs before making your way into the building.

The elevator is broken. Of course it is. So you’re forced to carry three bags of groceries and your six year old daughter up four flights of steps. By the end of it, you’re wheezing. You manage to unlock your door before gently setting her on the couch. With a sigh and a wipe of your now sweaty brow, you lock the door behind you and begin to head down to get the rest of your groceries.

There’s that woman again… and she lives in the apartment across the hall. You give her a friendly nod of the head and a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes before you continue your trek back down.

After your second trip up, your body is entirely exhausted. You hardly have it in you to cook dinner, but you dragged Ellie out, so you have to make the meal.

You’re able to wake her with the scent of her favorite meal, but as soon as she’s finished, she’s curling up against you and falling asleep.

After your daughter lays on top of you for quite some time, you know you have to put her in her own room. So, you silently make your way into her bedroom and tuck her in. With a quick kiss to the forehead and a soft “I love you”, you make your way back out to the kitchen.

Ellie is out for the night- she was exhausted halfway through your DoorDash shift- so you grab a glass and fill it with wine. The sweet drink helps to melt away some of the stress as you clean the dishes and settle on the couch for some much needed adult time.

That time is interrupted though when you hear a few rough knocks rattling your apartment. Instinctively, you grab the baseball bat that you keep behind the couch and make your way to the door.

Who the hell could be at your door at this hour? You don’t know anyone here, it wouldn’t be your parents… Could it be your ex-husband? No. He’s out in California with the woman he was cheating on you with. So who the hell is it?

“Who is it?” you yell, gripping the bat so tightly your knuckles turn white.

“You the woman that just moved in?” a gruff voice calls back.

You move a bit closer as you call, “What’s it to you?!”

“Saw you have a kid. Was wondering if you needed help with anything. You look real stressed.”

At that, you move closer to the door and glance out the peephole. It’s the woman that you ran into in the garage and at the grocery store. You open the door just slightly, still unsure of her.

“I ain’t gonna bite,” she teases. “You looked really stressed, so I thought I’d come over, introduce myself, and see if you needed any help.”

You lessen the grip on your bat as you open the door a little further. You take in the woman’s full appearance now that you aren’t trying to calm your daughter and aren’t terrified of being mugged. She’s… she’s really pretty.

You don’t realize that you haven’t say anything back until she’s waving a hand in front of your face. “Hello?”

You shake your head to bring yourself back to the present. “Hi. Sorry… today’s just been… a lot.”

“I could gather that. Can I help?”

You shrug. “I think I’m good at the moment, but I appreciate it.”

“Well,” the redhead purses her lips. “You ever need anything, I’m just across the hall.” 

She turns to walk back to her apartment, but she stops when you call a gentle, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I uh, never got your name,” you say quietly.

“Schemmenti. Melissa.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile at her. “I’m Y/N, and the little girl you saw me with is my daughter, Ellie.”

She looks at you thoughtfully before nodding. She heads back to her apartment after that.

You run into her a lot in the following few days after that encounter. She sees you haul Ellie with you pretty much everywhere, and she has quite a few questions that she just can’t seem to work out on her own. So, one day after you’ve brought up Ellie and the groceries, she can’t help but knock on your door.

“Who is it?” you call, not bothering to move from your place on the couch with your daughter.

“Melissa,” the familiar voice calls back.

You sigh before making your way over to the door. “Hey. What’s up?”

“Just checkin’ in on you,” the redhead says. “I saw you hauling up Ellie and your groceries.”

“All good,” you chuckle. “Just about to make dinner for the two of us.”

“You haven’t had dinner yet?” She looks concerned.

“About to get the microwave pasta going now,” you admit sheepishly. “I was gonna have it made earlier, but El decided that she would die without Momma cuddles… and who am I to deny my sweet girl of such a request?”

“When’s her bedtime?”

“In about an hour,” you tell her. “Why?”

“Let me make youse two dinner,” she offers. “I’m a damn good cook, and I can make a pasta dish way better than the packaged sh-stuff.”

“Oh,” you say softly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“No, please,” she argues gently. “I insist.”

“O-oh,” you rub your collarbone nervously. “Are you sure?”

“I haven’t had dinner either,” she lies through her teeth. “So let me make us all a meal while you relax and hold your daughter.”

You finally manage to nod- she does not seem like the type of woman who would lose an argument.

“Just give me a couple minutes to gather some ingredients, and I’ll come back over?”

You smile in lieu of an answer. You close the door gently once she’s back in her apartment before making your way to Ellie.

“Sweet girl, our neighbor, Miss Melissa is coming over for dinner tonight. Can you be the polite little girl I raised?”

She nods, but she reaches for you. You pull her into your lap and hold her close until the redhead knocks on your door again. You pull yourself and your daughter off the couch to go open the door.

In her arms are a few different cans, some produce, and pasta that has clearly been homemade.

“Baby,” you tease the ends of you daughter’s locks gently. “This is Miss Melissa. Can you say hi to her for me?”

“H-hi,” Ellie manages to squeak out. “You’re really pretty.”

Melissa smiles at her, and when she speaks her voice has turned to butter. It’s much softer than when she’s speaking to you. “Thank you, hun. I’m Melissa. It’s so nice to meet you, Ellie.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been talking to your momma,” the woman chuckles gently.

The little girl’s lips form into an ‘O’ shape, and you can’t help the gentle kiss that you plant on her temple.

“Miss Melissa is going to make us dinner,” you tell your daughter softly. “Does that sound alright?”

She nods against your neck.

“I’m gonna make spaghetti,” the redhead tells Ellie. “That sound okay?”

“You might become her new favorite person,” you joke. “Little girl eats so many noodles, she’s gonna turn into one someday.”

You girl giggles against you. “Nah uh,” she scrunches her nose and makes a funny face at you. “That’s not possible, Momma.”

“I know, my love. I’m just teasing,” you chuckle before returning your attention to the woman in your doorway. “Well, come in, come in. Make yourself at home.”

She carries her things to the kitchen before starting her prep. The way that she gets everything done so efficiently is mind blowing to you, and you can’t help but watch in awe as you continue to hold Ellie.

“Sit down, hun,” Melissa instructs softly as she stirs her sauce. “Take a load off. I got this.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help? Maybe a glass of wine for your troubles?”

“I won’t say no to a glass, but you absolutely are not helping. I got it.”

You pour her a glass and offer it to her before quietly sitting down and continuing to watch as she makes her way through your kitchen effortlessly.

Dinner is placed in front of you before you know it, and Ellie is nearly wiggling with glee at the plate in front of her. She dives in, and her eyes light up.

“This is so yummy!” your little girl cheers as she takes another forkful to her mouth.

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart,” Melissa smiles. She gestures for you to take a bite as well, and when you do, you can’t help the small sigh that comes out of your mouth.

“Wow,” you say softly. “This is… incredible.”

“Thanks,” she chuckles as she take a bite of her own creation. “It’s a family recipe.”

Dinner is pleasant. The woman does her best to ask Ellie all about herself, to which your little girl answers delightfully. She’s even able to ask Melissa a few questions of her own. But once her plate is cleared, Ellie climbs into your lap and lets out a yawn as she fiddles with the chain around your neck.

“Is my little girl tired?” you coo softly.

She nods against you.

“Why don’t you start getting ready for bed, sweetness? Momma will be in in a few minutes to say goodnight,” you tell her. She nods again. “Well, off you go. But first, what do you say to Miss Melissa?”

“Thank you,” your daughter smiles brightly before climbing off your lap. Surprisingly, she makes her way over to the redhead’s side of the table and hugs her. Melissa wraps her arms around the little girl gently.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Get some good sleep tonight, yeah?”

Ellie nods before wandering down the hall to get to her bedroom, leaving you with Melissa.

“Thank you for dinner tonight,” you say softly.

“Any time.”

“No, seriously. I usually cook, but I was not feeling it tonight. So, thank you.”

“I’m sure. I saw you biking all around today, starting with this morning when I was heading to work and ending with you coming back from the store.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I’m a busy woman.”

“Where are you always biking anyway?”

“I’m in between jobs at the moment, so I’ve just been DoorDashing with El until she starts school next week,” you sigh. “Hopefully I get a job soon… I need all the money I can get to keep this place and give El everything she needs or wants.”

“You’re doing great,” Melissa tells you honestly. “She adores you.”

“She likes you too,” you say quietly. “You’re really good with her.”

“Well, I have some experience with children,” she chuckles quietly. “I guess I should head out so you can get the little one to bed and get some sleep yourself, but I’ll see you around?”

“Next time, dinner’s on me,” you tell her.

“We’ll see about that one,” she laughs as she heads for the door. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler.”

“Thank you, Melissa. Goodnight.”

You see her out, and as you close the door behind her, you sigh. You lean against it for a second, a little confused with the way you’re feeling after this diiner. 

Maybe this new neighbor will become a close friend of yours… maybe something else. Only time will tell. But for now, you have to get back to your daughter. 

Next

[thewulf]

Good News Part 2 || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Original Request - So i saw somewhere where a woman got into trouble for "destruction of government property" but it's just her giving her military husband hickies, and i think this would be so hilarious with Jake Seresin.

A/N: Whew! Bless a lazy weekend, I've been able to crank these out. Please enjoy this tooth rotting fluff!

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 3.9k +

Part 1

“You’re seriously going to do it?” Bradley’s voice dropped an octave as he asked his roommate on board the carrier a very serious question. They were few and far between, but he had to know. Jake hadn’t shut the hell up about you for the last six months. Bradley knew the two of you were serious when you moved across the country for him a year ago. He was transferred to Virginia, and you didn’t want to let him go, couldn’t let him go. So, you moved with him. Somehow you had Jake whipped beyond anything Bradley could’ve ever of dreamed from the man.

Jake smiled looking at the picture of the ring his dad had sent him on his phone. They were finally back in United States waters, and he had reception for the first time in weeks.

 He had ordered you engagement ring before he left and had his dad pick it up once it was ready. He only knew one thing, he wanted to marry the hell out of you. He was only reassured when he saw that beautiful face turn into a gigantic smile once you spotted him coming off the carrier. God, he loved you more than life itself.

“Tonight.” Jake nodded at his enemy turned good friend. After the dagger squad had dissolved they were both shipped off to Virginia while the rest of the squad was sent throughout the country. They made a truce in hopes of embarrassing everybody else out here. They were smart in doing so. Quickly, they became fast friends after their tumultuous beginning. But as Maverick said, near death brings everybody a bit closer.

“Tonight?” Bradley sat up from the bed he was lounging on surprise laced in his voice, “You didn’t mention that when you said you were going to propose a few weeks ago.” His eyes were nearly bugging from his head. Hell, he knew they were nearing their mid 30’s and it wasn’t weird to get married… it just surprised him. Especially coming from Jake. The one who used to flirt with anything that moved. But that was years ago. Years before you came around, “You sure?” Bradley asked wanting to make sure it was his best decision.

Jake nodded with a bright smile, “Never been so damn sure of anything in my life Rooster.” He clapped his friends back as he threw the bookbag over his shoulder, “Now, let’s get off this carrier.”

Bradley smile and nodded, “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He was proud of his friend for taking that next step. It was never easy. But you made it so for him.

The two of them chatted and waited and chatted some more. They’d been docked for what felt like hours. It always took forever to disembark. No matter how well they prepped it always took what felt like decades to finally make it off. Everybody was terribly anxious to see their loved ones.

Finally, finally they were dismissed, and he was able to hold you. It was everything he needed and more. You were there. He was here. It was home. He was healed.

You would have sat in his lap on the ride back to your shared home had his parents not been driving in the front seat. So, you settled on snuggling up to him in the middle seat leaning your head on his shoulder. His parents were chatting away with their son as he mindlessly ran his fingers through your wavy hair. You were listening but you weren’t actually listening to the conversation. You were listening to his every heartbeat. His every breath. Smelling his Old Spice body wash and your favorite Tom Ford cologne that accented him perfectly. You were lost in taking him in. He was here. Finally, home. Finally.

His father let him know where he hid the ring in the house when he got some alone time with his son. His parents were throwing a welcome home party at your place, you’d always hosted. Jake just wanted to be home and his parents always insisted. Family was everything for them. The entirety of the Seresin clan flew out to Virginia Beach to welcome him home. Even some of your family made it over to welcome him back. As tired as he always was he was so grateful for the love his family gave him. He knew it was rare, so he never dreamed of pushing the love away. He was ever so thankful that you always understood and welcomed everybody with open arms. You always made them a priority.

Jake had decided to wait to ask you to marry him. Wait until everybody left for the night. Even until his parents left. He just wanted it to be you and him. He’d always dreamed of doing something big and grand, that was his style. But that wasn’t your style at all. A grand gesture would mortify you. You wanted something simple. He’d do anything for you. A simple gesture it was.

It was harder than he imagined waiting to propose to you. You didn’t seem to have a clue it was coming even though he pretty much told you earlier with the ‘even bigger news’ incoming. As smart and observant as you were this was something he absolutely adored about you. You’d miss the simplest things in front of you. Or you’d take something and overanalyze it into oblivion until it didn’t even make sense anymore. But he loved it. He loved the little blush that danced across your cheeks when the realization hit you. He loved the expressions your face always went through. Through and through, he loved you. There was nothing he had ever been so sure of. You. You were his end game.

He watched as you talked with almost every family member of his. How effortlessly you were able to hold a conversation when you needed to. He watched as all his brothers and sisters kids clung to you throughout the night. How easily you were able to play with them and shoo them off when needed. He was damn sure his heart nearly melted every time you made eye contact with him. You’d always look away quickly knowing you got caught. But he got caught as well and he didn’t give a damn. He loved watching you. Seeing you.

“Hey handsome,” You squeezed Jake’s side later on in the night after the cookout, “How are you holding up?”

He leaned into your touch. Shameless really. All he wanted to do is hold you. Touch you. Breathe you in. But his family made that really fucking hard to do that. He tried not to complain about it. He loved them dearly. They were always sure to try. How lucky was he? An incredible family and an even better person standing beside him.

“I’m just a bit tired.” He admitted to you. He never lied to you. Nor did you to him. Without much thought you gently ran your hands through his sculpted hair. You knew he didn’t care that you were messing up his hairstyle. Not when it was you. You felt the sigh escape his lips as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment. He allowed himself to really be in the moment with you.

“I’m sorry honey.” You cooed in his ear. If you could you’d shoo them all away. But you knew better. They’d come all in from across the country for him. Both of you knew it was just another few hours and then you’d get your alone time. Your hour of bliss before the sleep inevitably took over.

His eyes opened seeing your soft eyes giving him a concerned look, “It’s alright Y/N.” He kissed your lips quicky to reassure you, “Just a few more hours then you’re all mine.” He whispered into your ear nibbling at its base just enough to tease you. He already had you squirming in his arms.

You would’ve whispered something obscene had his own mother not called out to you then, “Y/N! Dear! Do you mind helping me serve the desserts?” She asked in her thicker than molasses southern accent with a big white toothy grin on her face. You’d never dreamed of saying no to her.

You grinned, “Of course Alice, I’ll be right there.” You waved to her before turning to your boyfriend.

“Let me go help your momma.” You kissed his cheek before turning. He caught your arm before you could get too far away from him.

“Thank you. It means a lot to her.” He pulled you in for quick kiss on the forehead, “Which means a whole lot to me.”

“You know I like helping her.” You smiled feeling all the love from him in that moment. You felt so damn lucky that he was yours. All yours. Little did you know he was going to make that permanent in just a few hours. Oh, how he wished time would just skip forward.

“Thank you.” He grinned running a gentle hand down your arm. He needed to touch you. To feel you. Six months was far too long without his favorite person. His rock. The one he trusted the most. The one he needed the most. You.

“Course honey.” Your smile couldn’t fall. It felt surreal that he was actually home. You’d willed this day to be here ever since he stepped onto the carrier six months ago. Finally.

“I love you.” He kissed you one more before dropping your arm.

“Love ya handsome.” You waved before wandering off into the kitchen. Jake watched as your hair bounced and your dress swayed side to side. He was so damn happy he found you.

“We’ll pick you both up at eleven tomorrow for brunch with the family?” Alice asked as you and Jake walked his parents to the door. Your parents hadn’t made it much past ten before they left. Jake’s managed to be the last ones to stay. She insisted on helping you clean up. You yawned feeling the time hit you. It was nearing one in the morning. Far past your usual bedtime. Jake must’ve been a damn zombie by now. He normally slept for days after getting off a deployment.

“Sounds good mom. We’ll be ready.” He kissed her on the cheek. After he shook his dads hand. You didn’t catch the wink he tossed his son. He knew what Jake was planning. You were still as clueless as ever standing behind him admiring the cute little family interact.

“Sleep well Y/N.”

“You too Alice, Dave.” You couldn’t stop the second yawn that overcame you as you waved to them. Jake shut the door behind them quickly. Not waiting a second before turning towards you.

A devilish smile took over his features, “Finally.” He grinned before making a bee line towards you and scooping you up into his arms, “I missed you my love.”

“Jake.” You giggled in his arms. You weren’t complaining but this was new. He was always touchy, but this was different. It was needy. You loved it. He was all yours. Yours and yours only, “What’s gotten into you honey.” You looked up to him breath catching in your throat as you caught his eye. He was giving you that look. The one that told you everything. He was bearing his soul to you.

He shrugged after shifting his gaze to the unassuming box he left on the counter. The one that housed your ring. The one he got custom made with his grandma’s and your grandma’s diamond rings. Both of your mothers went with him to help him out. He knew you were going to love it, but damn was he suddenly nervous. He knew he hadn’t a thing to worry about. You were going to yes. He couldn’t help but to be nervous though. This was it. This was him committing to you. To taking those next steps. He wanted those things with you. To buy a home and make it yours together. To have children that look like the both of you. To raise them to be even better versions of both of you. To do this life together. He was nervous. But damn was he ready.

“I missed you. I missed you so much. I missed that beautiful face. That smart ass mouth. This gentle soul. I love you my darlin’.” He leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. A much gentler and more relaxed one. So much slower and thoughtful. One that showed you just how much he loved you. His heart and soul were yours for the taking.

“I love you too.” You answered him when he broke the longing kiss. He walked you over to the kitchen island sitting you down on the barstool. Your eyes were glazed over with the love that shone out of you. Even then you still hadn’t a clue. This was one of the many reasons you had come to love him so deeply.

He brushed a stray hair out of your face, “Anybody ever told you how pretty you are? Most beautiful woman in the world?” That compliment and the look he was giving you could make any woman swoon. You’d be amiss if you didn’t blush violently at that.

“You have. All the time.” It came out as a whisper. He had the ability to do that to you. Make you nervous beyond belief. Make you feel like the most special human in the world. He makes sure to treat you as his world and so much more.

His grin widened as his eyes scanned your face. Beautiful. So utterly beautiful. He found you ethereal even. Without a flaw. See, the two of you hardly even fought. If you did it was because somebody was tired or failed to communicate. Both of you learned to worth through issues with words. Something you’d never found in a partner before him. He tried. And succeeded. And then blew your expectations out of the water. People prayed for a love like yours. God were you thankful.

“It’s true sweetheart.” He pulled the box over without you knowing. Still clueless as ever. His favorite human. He palmed the small ring box underneath snaking it behind his back. His mouth began to dry up as he realized what he was actually doing. God he wanted you more than ever. His girl.

Your cheeks warmed even more if they possibly could, “You’re too sweet on me Mr. Seresin.”

He shook his head, “I’d disagree with you sweetheart.” He kissed your cheek as he took a step in closer, “I’d argue that I’m not sweet enough. Being away for so long was awful. It made me realize how much you really truly meant and mean to me. You’re everything. It’s that simple. You’re my reason to get up. You my love. My dear. My sweets. My sweetheart. My everything.” He kissed your other cheek taking a second to get the next line straight.

It felt like your heart was going to drop out of your ass. He was always so sweet to you, but this was something more. Could he possibly be doing what you’d dreamed of for far too long? You quickly shook that thought out of your head as he continued. Leaving you utterly speechless.

“I love you so much sweetheart. And I know I’m ready to take the next step with you. I want to do this life with you. Build a home with you. Start a family with you.” He kissed your forehead now.

Oh. Shit. Maybe he really was? You slid forward in the barstool now fully awake. God you’d probably pass out he if really was proposing, “You do?” Your smile about made him pass out. The most genuine look. The happiest he’s probably ever seen you. And he did that. He made you smile like that.

“I do, if that’s what you want?” He paused waiting for some confirmation.

You took that as a chance to kiss him on the lips. He was inevitably going to move there next. You felt him smile into the kiss wrapping his arms around you lightly, “You’re my best girl. My favorite human. The best thing that’s ever happened to me Y/N. Will you marry me?” He asked taking a slight step back and kneeling down holding the most beautiful right in his hand.

You could only nod due to your complete lack of being able to form any words. You pulled him up for another long kiss trying to think of anything to say, something.

“One thousand times yes.” You whispered to him once you pulled away, only because you needed oxygen.

He pulled you so you were standing on his toes. Holding you tightly to his chest knowing you were most likely weak at the knees, “Mrs. Seresin has a nice ring to it.” He gleamed cupping your chin in one hand. Gently this time he pressed his lips to yours while sliding the ring on your finger with his other hand.

Looking down at the ring you were sure your cheeks were about to rip from the smile that came across your face, “Y/N Seresin.” You giggled admiring the most stunning engagement ring. He’d done more than you could’ve ever dreamed. Your man. Your forever man now.

He sucked in a breath admiring you, “That’s the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

You giggled hugging him close to you, “I love you so much Jake.”

He hugged you back, never wanting to let you go, “You have no idea darlin’. I love you too.”

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom

Request Taglist: @stuffingbuttsandshit @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @chloeforde @rosiahills22 @dempy @the-romanian-is-bae @sarahjoestewy-blog

[avocado-writing]

Hey 👋🏻 i just finished rewatching both seasons of good omens 🥲 can i request an ineffable husbands x r with an established relationship? after a night out they go back to the bookshop and r is pissed drunk so aziraphale and crowley tries to help them get comfortable and get settled but r keeps saying “back off i have partners.” and things like that because they’re too drunk to recognize the two which amuses them both. i read something similar online and thought it would be funny with the husbands. thank you so much ❤️

notes: put this once again in tltdatsib, hope that's ok! also yall: anyway nightingale is drunk / me: YES lmfao

pairing: crowley x reader x aziraphale

rating: T

notes: excessive alcohol consumption; gn reader but one reference to them being a primadonna; tltdatsib-verse

You’re all quite drunk.

The three of you are all impartial to a glass of wine or six after a nice day. Usually you can hold your liquor quite well, but you underestimated the vintage, and now you’re absolutely off your face. Crowley and Aziraphale are happy to sober up the miraculous way, the alcohol returning to its bottle, but you absolutely despise it happening to you and they’d never do it without your permission. So there you are, head-lollingly, body-flailingly drunk on the sofa in the back of the bookshop.

“Come on love, let’s get you to bed,” Crowley says, attempting to heave you into his arms. You push him away and make a low noise in the back of his throat. 

“Did… did you just growl at me?” he asks, both delighted and bemused; torn between actually trying to help you or recording this on his phone so that he can tease you mercilessly tomorrow. 

"My love - " begins Aziraphale, but you glare at him the best you can while barely being able to hold your head up.

“Oi! Back ‘ff sunshine,” you say, holding your hand up and wiggling your fingers, “‘m married! My husbands—spousesssss—won’t be too happy ‘f you chat me up!”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look. You’ve not been this drunk since the three of you were invited to the Diamond Dogs release party in the seventies. Your hangover had lasted a week. 

“Darling,” says Aziraphale with a patient sigh, “we’re your husbands… spouses… oh, look, it’s us!”

"No-oo-oo! Lies! Won't be taken in by handsome strangerssss!" you cry, a primadonna of a show only you can see. You try to launch yourself across the couch for safety but get your foot stuck between two seat cushions.

"'Handsome', eh?" Crowely asks, grinning very wide indeed.

"Yessss, handsome! Very! But 'm TAKEN."

Aziraphale sighs, both wanting this charade to be over and charmed that even when you're too blotto to recognise them, you still find your husbands attractive.

"Look, let me show you proof, darling."

You squint, suspiciously. 

“Eh?”

Aziraphale reaches into his coat pocket to bring out his wallet. It has no cards or cash, nothing that one would actually need a wallet for - but he keeps it for one very particular reason. 

He flips open the leather and holds it out for you to inspect. It has a photo in it: a polaroid, taken for you by a kind passerby on the day of your wedding. It’s of the three of you, arms around each other, all smiling the widest in any photo where you are the subjects. You take it from his hands, scrutinise it, then cringe.

“Oh god, ‘m ‘n idiot…”

You collapse back into the sofa, letting your arm remain in its place so Aziraphale can take the precious wallet back safely. 

"It's alright nightingale. You're just a bit tipsy is all, my love."

"You're so kind to me even when 'm bein' silly..."

"For better for worse. For drunker, for sober...er," Crowley reasons.

“Should go t’ sleep…” you mutter, and before they can help you up, you turn over to face the pile of pillows and immediately make good on that threat. They cover you with a blanket, and Crowley does tease you the next morning.

-

@angiestopit @foolishprincipalitee @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie @willyoubethepookietomypookster @lxsm2 @clarina04 @wtfhasmy-lifecometo @mrgatotortuga @wereallbrokenangels @night-affiliate @silcosmoke @kimqueenofhell @chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t @am-i-obsessed---maybe @bakerstreethound

[atinylittlepain]

hello bestie im back here again with a joel idea <33

ur smut is so fucking good but im in need of some nice fluff rn because I love the last of us but god that show is hard to watch i get so emotional its hard to keep watching sometimes

but for a fluff idea where the reader, joel, and ellie settle down in jackson and Joel begins to realize that he's happy again and he becomes unsure because he feels guilty about sarah but it ends happily bc its what all of them deserve

my darling, my comrade, thank you for bringing this idea to me. i hope i did it justice <3

gif by @maygrant

Good

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

Stuck between the despair of the past and fear for the future, Joel struggles to accept the goodness he's found in the present.

warnings | 18+ angst, living with grief, lovely sweetness

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

“I still can’t believe that. All that time in FEDRA school and they never taught you how to swim?” Ellie huffs at that, stomping a little further ahead of Joel as she mutters.

“It’s not like we had a fucking pool to do laps in, old man. Give me a break.” He breathes out a laugh, glancing away from the kid and toward his woman as she falls into step beside him.

“No time like the present, kid. Gonna have you swimming like a pro by the end of the day.” He can’t help but smile at her words, and in anticipation of the spectacle that watching her teach Ellie how to swim is going to be. They had lucked out, all three of them having this perfect summer day off from class and shifts in town, and had packed up their day in rucksacks to hike out to the nearby lake with the promise that Ellie would finally learn how to swim.

Life has been– he won’t think the word good, not wanting to jinx anything– but maybe normal? They’ve been living in Jackson for a few months now, and he never thought he’d get used to things like running water and home cooked food ever again, but it seems like he has. Ellie goes to classes while they pick up shifts wherever they’re needed, and at the end of the day, they all come… home. He supposes it is home now, and that makes him nervous as hell. He knows better than most that the minute you get used to something in this world, it tends to disappear on you, and maybe that’s what has been making him hold his woman -  the same woman he crawled across the country with - a little closer when they go to sleep each night in their nice, comfortable bed. 

His thoughts have been swirling between these fears for the future, and a deep despair for the past. If he stays surface level, he usually concludes that he doesn’t deserve any of this, any of the smiles, the easing laughs with Ellie, the sweet press of his woman’s palm along his shoulders letting him know she’s still there. Not after everything he did to get by before. But if he needles past the last twenty years, he hits something that stings even more when he remembers that any happiness he gets, Sarah will always be gone. 

He’s starting to be pulled under by his mind as they continue hiking, but she keeps him buoyed with the way she tangles her fingers with his, offering him a smile as they near the lake. They all shrug off their packs in the grass, she and Ellie already toeing off their shoes. When he sits down with a groan, leaning back on his hands, she gives him a questioning look.

“You’re not coming in?” He squints up at her, the mid-day sun a halo around her head.

“Someone oughta keep lookout. You two go on.” Her mouth twists up, but she drops it with a shrug, pulling off her t-shirt to reveal the faded swimsuit she had managed to trade for along with Ellie’s. The kid is standing with her hands on her hips, looking out at the lake like she’s surveying a new planet. She sidles up alongside Ellie, slinging her arm over the girl’s shoulder and murmuring something about “proving the old man wrong” that makes her laugh, the worry scrunching up her face quick to relieve itself. Joel doesn’t even have time to be annoyed at what she called him, times like these making him quick to thaw, when the kid actually gets to be a kid. 

As she is in most things, Ellie is a quick learner, after some initial trepidation, and soon Joel’s watching the two of them dip and swerve through the water, the picture of grace in the clear summer heat. He smiles to himself, remembering how Sarah learned how to swim. Tommy bribed her into the rec center pool with the promise of a strawberry milkshake, and by the end of the day, Joel had to bribe her out of the pool with the promise of fries to go with said milkshake. The pain is quick to settle in at the memory. He finds himself bringing a palm to his chest, trying to rub out the ache even though he knows it won’t ever go away.

His attention is pulled away by Ellie hauling herself out of the lake, bending over and shaking her dripping hair out before plopping down next to him to rummage through her pack. He glances down at his jeans, now darkened by spots of water from her aggressive shake-off, before turning and quirking his brow at her. Already scarfing down her sandwich, she shrugs, mumbling through a mouthful.

“What? I’m fucking starving, man.” He shakes his head, trying to look annoyed, but failing miserably with the smile he can’t fight off.

“Language, kid. And you’re gonna have to wait a while after eating that if you wanna get back in.” Her brow furrows at that.

“Why?” 

“Because– because you– look, that’s just the rule, ok? S’what they always said– gotta wait a while after you eat if you wanna swim.” 

“Who’s they?” That makes him huff.

“I don’t know, alright? Christ, do whatever you want.” He knows it’s too harsh, but he’s having a hard time staying in the present when the past is hanging so heavy over him. He sighs, resting his arms over his knees and leaning forward, his gaze unfocusing into the grass.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?” He keeps his gaze hung low, just tilting his head slightly toward Ellie to let her know he is listening.

“Are you ok?” The question catches him entirely off guard, his head whipping around to look at her, his eyes squinted. 

“I’m fine.” Ellie mirrors his own expression, eyes squinting, mouth in a close line as she nods.

“You deserve to be ok, y’know? I believe that.” She just keeps surprising him, and he coughs hard, trying to clear the tightness in his throat before he responds.

“I know, kid. Thank you– I’ll be ok.” She nods again, seeming to accept his answer as she looks back out at the lake. His eyes follow, seeing his woman, floating on her back with a serene look on her face, her arms lightly swaying in the water. He knows Ellie had slipped and called her mom the other day. Maybe it wasn’t a slip at all. 

“Well, if I can’t get back in right now, one of us might as well. Go on, old man. I’ll keep lookout.” He grumbles at the nickname that both of them seem to have settled on for him, but the heat has gotten to him just enough that he listens to her, getting up and shrugging out of his unlaced boots, his t-shirt and jeans quick to follow.

“Jesus, my eyes!” He huffs as Ellie cackles to herself, but is a little too focused on the look his woman is giving him from the middle of the lake to pay much mind to her jabs. 

The water is cool, a relief to every aching joint in his body as he wades in. He can’t remember the last time he did something like this. She meets him in the middle of the lake, an easy smile on her lips as she winds her arms around the back of his neck.

“Hey, handsome.” Even after all this time, he’s still prone to blushing when she talks like that, all syrup and sweetness. He scoffs to hide the creeping heat, his one hand coming to skate up and down her back. She tilts her head, seeming to search his face as she murmurs lowly.

“You’ve been scowling all day. Gonna tell me what’s going on?” She can read him like a book, always could, and it drives him insane most of the time.

“M’fine.” By the look on her face, he knows she isn’t going to accept that answer. He sighs.

“I just– this doesn’t feel real. Like– it’s too good to be true, don’t you think?” Her brow furrows at his words.

“I think it’s good for sure. But I can understand what you mean– waiting for the other shoe to drop, right?” He nods, both of them swaying lightly in the ebb of the water.

“It’s that– but I can’t stop thinking about– about–” His words fizzle out in his throat as he catches sight of something, a flickering of movement hovering just above the water. 

Wings. The smallest splotches of colors blinking like eyes. A butterfly. The only thing that runs through his mind is a name. Her name. His Sarah.

Suddenly, a breathy laugh is rolling out of him.

“What? What is it? Is this– are you having a stroke?” The ridiculousness of the genuine worry across her face just makes him laugh more, his hands finding purchase on her waist and pulling her closer. 

“Joel, this isn’t funny. What’s–” He cuts her off with a smacking kiss, her face stunned when he pulls away.

“I’m fine, darlin. I’m gonna be fine.” He glances one more time at the butterfly, alighted on the surface of the lake for a second before it flutters away. But he knows she hasn’t really left him. Wherever he goes, he knows he has her with him.

He kisses his woman again, this time to the much-vocalized chagrin of Ellie on the water’s edge.

“Gross! You guys are scarring me for life here!” She pulls away from him with a laugh, hollering at Ellie to mind her own business before fixing her attention back on him with a grin.

“Good?” He nods.

“Good.”

[grapejuicestyless]

Good Luck, Babe!

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Summery: Harry could run around the world in search of a replacement to fill the void that you left, but he’s better off coming to terms with the fact that he’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

I’m okay knowing I won’t ever get to call my future lover my high school sweetheart. It’s hard to stay committed to someone for decades as an adult, let alone at sixteen. But it pulls at my heart strings just to know little me would be so devastated knowing the boy who used to string up fairy lights and scribble on big bubbles letters on poster boards for our prom decided I was too boring for his massive life and left once the glitter from all the glamour of fame got in his eyes.

It’s funny to think about, ten years thrown away forever because my stable life wasn’t worth living when he could offer me anything I could ever dream of. God forbid I want to settle down with some little ones to teach nothing but love in a world where everyone can only ever teach their children hate. God forbid I wanted that with him.

No, my dreams were stupid compared to those of his own. Children mean nothing to him if he’s not taking home another award for his excellence. Settling down is a laughable dream, how could I expect him to ever even try when it seemed like with every single chance to start trying he was at a new peak in his career.

When I left him, he didn’t even look sad. Not even when I turned to face him as I walked out of our front door with all my things stuffed in a bag slung over my arm. He looked distant, sure, but not sad and that made me sad, for me but mainly for him.

Three years ago if I had even shown signs of unhappiness he would have stopped the world to fix our issues, ironed it all out real nice to make sure that I never felt that feeling again. Now I could beg on my knees pleading for him to hear me and my cries would fall on deaf ears.

But I don’t regret leaving him in the end. It hurt at first, leaving behind all I ever knew, letting him go after I wasted away all my youth on him, but life goes on and my heart would heal the longer we were apart.

Occasionally he would reach out, letters with the same swooping letters that I recognized as his own handwriting, the same writing that once wrote me love letters, all addressed to me with the hopes of meeting up.

But I knew myself better than that, I knew Harry better than that. If I met him, even only for coffee our night would end with me back in his arms and his head between my legs. We weren’t ever meant to split, but then again no one who’s ever felt the same kind of love like young kids is ever made to walk away from something so sweet.

I was better for it, between each letter there was a new girl. A model who resembled me in the most vague ways. I wondered all the time if he ever accidentally called any of them my name. If he chose them with my eye color so when he looked into their eyes he could see mine for just a second. It felt like each week he was caught leaving some bar with some other girl, someone else’s lipstick staining his jaw.

I got over him slowly, never fully, but enough to love again. I had room to give once more and enough strength left to keep fighting for the love I deserved. I earned the right to be able to hold someone who would call me “baby” with pride, without the slightest hesitation or embarrassment.

Harry could kiss a hundred girls and boys in bars, drink away his twenties and sing to his fans across the world, and I would be here chasing my own dreams. After all, he always needed the spotlight, he lived for it. All I needed was a little love, and somehow in his search for glory, he lost any kind of that he had and I had found it again.

I saw Harry a couple years later, the small bar in Brooklyn with the good music and sweaty bodies. He looked good, he always did. His hair looked a little grey and I must admit, I almost drooled, but looks were the only attraction I would ever feel for him. Emotionally, I was cut off, even when he leaned up close and pressed me into a bone crushing hug.

With a cool smile on his face he asked me confidently what I was doing here and how I’d been. I told him a friend of a friend had invited me along to come celebrate an old friend’s birthday, that I didn’t really want to drink tonight and was just trying to enjoy myself.

I could see his hesitation when an arm slung itself over my shoulders, curly brown hair tickling my cheek and a kind smile flashing towards him and somehow in our conversation, I forgot the most important update in my life, one I’d make sure he’d never forget.

“Who’s this?” He asked kindly, ready to introduce himself even though we were all well aware everyone in the room knew him by name.

“Oh, Harry, how rude of me!” I laughed at the time, but I’m still not sure if he could hear it over the music. I hope he did, because it would have been the last time he would hear it.

“Harry, this is my girlfriend.”

[bearhugsandshrugs]

Dammon/F!Tav: Hurt/Comfort

Secret santa gift for @aurasyn <3 I picked the prompt that had me go out of my hatefuck-writing comfort zone and tried filling the hurt/comfort that she craved. Hope you enjoy!

Mend What's Broken Read on AO3

The sun was already setting when Tav made her way through the Lower City. Feeling giddy as much as nervous, she kept practicing the few lines she had previously thought about saying: I was nearby and starving. I thought of you and was wondering if you wanted to get dinner with me?

Two short sentences, one white lie: She had absolutely not been nearby. In fact, she’d been home the entire day, talking herself up to doing this, gathering the courage. Then, she’d picked an outfit that she’d changed four times, redoing her hair each time, desperate to find a version of her that looked good, but effortlessly good, but still sexy good, but still without any expectations good, and well, that had taken time. 

Asking out Dammon was the boldest thing she’d ever done, and she’d fought gods and vampire lords. Still, to her this was scarier, more immediate, than anything that had happened over the past months. So when Tav arrived at the smithy Dammon was running, she nearly didn’t make it in. 

What if he said no?

Gale had told her he’d be a fool to reject her, and that there was no need for her to worry. Lae’zel had offered to come with, to “tear the skin off the tiefling’s skull”, if needed. And Wyll had helped write down the lines, then rehearsed them with her. 

Memories of her friends’ support gave her the confidence boost she needed to walk in. Now or never. 

“Oh hi”, Dammon exhaled when he spotted her across the room, hammer still in hand. “One second–” 

He put his tools away, quickly wiped off his hands on a rag, and made his way over to her. “It’s always a pleasure to see you”, he nodded, a smile teasing around the corners of his mouth. 

Tav’s heartbeat quickened, I can’t do this, but this was the fourth time she was trying to ask him, and the last time she hadn’t even greeted him back, had just said she’d forgotten something at home and left. She couldn’t use another excuse like that again. Not without looking like a fool.

“Do you need anything?”, Dammon asked her, trying to break up the awkward silence that had started to settle between them, with Tav not really knowing what to say. Or rather: not knowing how to get the courage to say it. 

“I, uh-”, she shifted from one foot to the other, and the smith gave her a smile, eyes softening at the sound of her voice. “I was in the neighborhood, and I wanted to ask you if you were hungry?” 

Somewhere in the back of her mind it registered that she’d deviated from the rehearsed words. That wasn’t what she had written down, was it? But how did it go again? Tav couldn’t remember, for the life of hers. 

“Uh…” Dammon fumbled with the scarf he wore around his neck, looking awkward, “not really, I just ate, but I got some bread and cheese in the back if you like?”

Oh no. 

No, she didn’t want his pity bread. Or pity cheese. She wanted to spend time with him. 

He must think I’m pathetic–

“No thanks”, Tav mumbled so quickly Dammon barely understood her, “anyway, it was good seeing you!”

Not even waiting for a reply, she practically ran out of the store, hurrying down the cobblestone, back to the tavern, back to her room, straight to her bed. She passed the people on the streets, random faces all mixed up in a blurr: someone who tried selling her a newspaper, a young boy begging for gold, a family laughing together; and then, in the tavern, the usual suspects and guests and strangers and whoever was mixed up in the brimming atmosphere of the Elfsong. 

Tav wasn’t sure how she made it back, most part of the way home a black gap beyond the few people who’d burnt themselves into the back of her eyelids. Everything was heightened and dulled at the same time, with just one constant, drumming up in her chest: The pain. 

Oh, the way he’d turned her down hurt her. But it shouldn’t be surprising: Why would he ever consider going out with her? Spending time with her? What a ridiculous thought. Why would he… like her, beyond the most basic, mutual respect founded on trauma-bonding in the Grove and then the Shadowlands?

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she curled up on the bed, staring at the wall with her back towards the door, too distraught to even take off her boots, or to crawl under the comfort of her sheets. Small sobs shook her body while she desperately tried to muffle the sounds, crying into her balled up fists, stifling the hurt that wanted to free itself from her chest. 

There was a small knock on the door, Gale most likely, she thought, and Tav choked out a “I’m fine” before he would try talking to her. While she was usually grateful for the gentle way her friends tried to comfort her, the shame still burnt too hot for her to even attempt to explain what had happened. 

Worse, Gale knew about her plan. He would probably ask how it went…

“That’s a relief”, came a familiar voice from the other side, and Tav’s eyes went wide when she realized who was standing outside. “Can I come in?”

No. No he could absolutely not come in. 

But she couldn’t say that now, could she?

Paralyzed from the horror of maneuvering herself into a corner, Tav just laid on the bed, tears still silently spilling from her eyes, praying he’d go away by himself. 

But then the door opened. And closed. And someone walked in, pulled up her chair, and moved it close to the bed.

“So, uhm, Shadowheart let me through”, Dammon said from behind her, his voice mellow and gentle. 

Great. Now that he saw her, he’d likely never want to spend time with her again. And he would be right–

“It seems that I’ve been a bit out of practice”, he continued, “because I should have realized what you were trying to do so much sooner.” 

He chuckled nervously, and a new wave of embarrassment washed over her, shaking her body like a rag doll, with her chest heaving so blatantly obvious that the thought of him seeing her like this sent her into a spiral. More tears started to flow, more pain started to build, and soon she was sobbing again, despite her best efforts to bring that damned body of hers under control.  

“I’m so sorry”, Dammon whispered from behind her, and she didn’t need to see his face to know it was full of pity. 

“It’s okay. You can go”, Tav croaked out, desperate to cut this encounter short as much as possible. 

“I can go?” His voice sounded confused. “Tav, I… I’d love to spend time with you. That’s why I offered you dinner.”

That didn’t make sense. 

A small sob flew out of her throat, and she shook her head. 

“Oh gods”, she cried, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so… You must…”

The calm breaths from behind her revealed no stress, no bother; only patience.

“I don’t mind you crying. This is nothing I can’t handle.”

Another headshake from Tav as she tried to express her helplessness. There was nothing he could do. Nothing that she could think of, at least. Worse: Nothing she could do either, as her mind came back again and again to the fact how bad this looked. 

Shuffling behind her revealed he was not going anywhere, as the added weight of his body sank down on the bed beside her. Then his hand appeared into her field of vision, outstretched and open, hovering before her without making contact with her body. 

“Here”, Dammon said quietly, “you can hold it. If… you like.”

Tav stared at his hand for a full minute, considering if this was some sort of cruel joke, a misunderstanding, or whatever else life could have in store for her. But then his scent settled into her nostrils: Fiery smoke, warm leather, pines, and… oats?

Instead of taking his hand, she decided to sit up and look at him. Wiping at her burning face, she sniffled when she met his gaze: Patient and concerned, Dammon slowly pulled his hand away, settling it down next to her, palm still open for her to hold on to, should she want to. 

She felt so messy: her cheeks were wet from the tears and her hands couldn’t dry them quickly enough, and her nose was running, the constant sniffling making her head hurt on top of everything else.  Fumbling nervously, Tav was of half a mind to send him away again, but he looked so soft, so steady, she couldn’t help herself but cling to the fact that he’d come to see her. 

He was here, wasn’t he?

“Here”, Dammon’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts as he took off his blacksmith’s scarf, offering it to her. “I don’t have a handkerchief, but this might do.”

Parts of her didn’t want to accept the help, but her face stung from the tears, and she really could use the cloth to clean herself up. 

“Thanks”, she mumbled, reaching for the scarf. But her sense of coordination was still numbed, and she clumsily grabbed half of his hand when she wanted to take it from him. Blushing, she quickly dabbed at her cheeks to dry them, hiding herself from view behind the fabric. 

It smelled so nice. 

“Are you still hungry?”, Dammon asked her as if they were just having a normal conversation and she hadn’t been hysterically crying just a moment ago. Unsure how she deserved him, she nodded. 

“Yes.” Her voice was shaky and quiet, and when she dropped her hands to her lap, face finally dried, he was still sitting there, warmly smiling at the sight of her. 

“I’m an idiot, Tav”, he repeated once more, and this time, it registered. “I was overwhelmed because… I like you. And you caught me off guard–” Dammon scratched the back of his head and chuckled nervously. “But I like it. Like that you asked me. Like you.” 

Her mouth fell open as her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why are you here?” It was the first question from a series of things that didn’t make sense to her at that moment, things she only now started to unravel.

“You stormed off so quickly, I cursed myself for a few minutes before I closed down the shop and followed you”, he shrugged. “Your friends let me in. Said you could use the company.”

Tav made a short note to kill them later. Or thank them. She hadn’t decided. 

“Besides…”, Dammon continued, and she followed his eyes to their hands. He swallowed two times before he cautiously took them in his, “I’ll just keep saying it in case you’re not understanding me… I really. Really. Like you.”

Oh.

OH.

He liked her and she was behaving like a fool, unable to control herself… Another set of tears welled in her eyes and she breathed out a quiet curse, followed by a small sob. Down where her hands were entangled in Dammon’s, the tiefling gave them a short squeeze. 

“It’s okay”, he offered gently. “Or would you rather I leave?”

“No”, something in her burst out the word before she could think, and that was good, because she already regretted it the next moment. “I’m sorry that I’m… like this.”

“Emotional?”, he asked, but there was no judgment in his voice, only genuine curiosity. 

“Weak”, Tav sighed, and her reply was met with a hearty laughter. 

“Come on”, Dammon smiled, “You’re the strongest person I know. Which, if I may, makes you so goddamn impressive.” He chuckled, and Tav spotted the slightest blush on his cheeks. “That, and many other things.”

“Are you serious?”, Tav asked weakly, still in disbelief about it all. 

“Oh, yes.” Nodding, Dammon held her gaze, his thumbs stroking over the back of her hands in steady, calming motions. 

They sat like that for a while, enough for Tav’s body to quiet down. When she felt ready, she gave his hands a light squeeze, then looked up at him. 

“Thank you for coming”, she said nervously, and the smile that spread on his face was wider than any she’d ever seen. 

Dammon beamed. “Are you ready to head out? Or would you rather stay in?” 

It was still early, but she wasn’t really in the mood to leave now. “Honestly… if we could stay here…”

“I got it”, he nodded and stood up from the bed, Tav letting go of his hands reluctantly. “I’ll order you some food, and us some drinks, and we can spend some time talking. Or…” His eyes fell onto the bed, but he dragged them away, forcing himself to look over to the table by the window. “Or play some cards.” 

She knew her cheeks were likely flushed, but she didn’t care. Not when he was this charming and self-assured, unbothered by her crying or needing to be in a familiar place. So when she replied, it was heartfelt: “I’d like that.”

He smiled at her, holding her gaze with an earnest expression that peeked behind the mask she usually put on. Oh well. He’d already seen more than most anyway… But there was more to it, something promising, and when he spoke again, his firm and gentle tone sent her heart into a stutter. 

“Good. Me too.”

[francesminos-tt]

Lucemond classic canon-divergence, abo au where Viserys betroth Lucerys to Aemond after the eye incident. With a twist.

 The union between alpha and omega is a sacred thing. It’s cherished by the old gods and new, especially by the Targaryens because it will bring heirs and dragons. Lucerys respects such union, and so does Aemond.

Lucerys has always been a loving and compassionate kid, though he can be cheeky and mischievous sometimes, in his core, he always cares for others. He is a little chubby and clumsy, not overly good with swords, but has a passion in embroidery. He will be an omega like his mother, all people say. Lucerys believes them.

Apparently King Viserys believes this too, because his solution to Lucerys taking out Aemond’s eye is to betroth those two boys. Another union of alpha and omega will mend the rift in our house, the King declares. Queen Alicent objects of course, but to no avail. Surprisingly, Aemond doesn’t seem to mind too much. So the matter is settled. Lucerys will go to King’s Landing as prince Aemond’s betrothed. They will learn, train and grow up together, and after they both present, the wedding will be held in the capital.

Those first months are the hardest. Lucerys is all alone in a place he once called home, but now filled with strangers. Aemond is still healing, so basically all Lucerys does is reading to his uncle, his betrothed. He has a soft voice and perfect pronunciation of high valyrian, a relaxation like no other, his mother would say. Lucerys hopes Aemond would feel the same. He desperately wants to make things better, to take away Aemond’s pain, even for a little while. Aemond just listens, never demanding him to leave nor making him stop. Little by little, Lucerys could see Aemond relax, tension fading from his shoulders, a painful frown turning into a slight smile. Not until Aemond falls asleep without the help of milk of the poppy for the first time in two months does Lucerys deem this as a win.

After Aemond resumes training, Lucerys finds himself a new routine. He would accompany Aemond to the training yard at the crack of dawn and sits there to watch. Aemond normally pays him no mind as the one-eyed prince trains hard to regain control over his body. Lucerys flinches every time there is a clash of swords, but he forces himself to stand still. After training, he would go with Aemond to the Dragon Pit. One and a half year later, on a random morning, when Lucerys greets Aemond outside the latter’s chamber, he gets a whispered good morning in return.

 They come to a truce, or even a real relationship, Lucerys would argue. Aemond presents at his 14th nameday, an alpha like everyone expects. Lucerys meets him after Aemond recovers from his first rut, the first thing Lucerys notices is the proud smile spread across the alpha’s face.

“Congratulations, uncle. I am sure you will be a formidable alpha.” Lucerys says with all his heart.

“I thank you, nephew.” Aemond replies with dignity and pride.

“I brought you a gift.” Lucerys pauses before draws a small embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and presents it to Aemond. On the light blue silk is a massive dragon about to take flight.

“Forgive me, uncle, the needlework is not that intricate. You don’t have to use it, of course, I just hope you could accept this as your presentation gift.” Lucerys rambles, heat creeping up to his cheek.

“Did you make this yourself?” Aemond asks, seemly intrigued by the embroidered dragon.

“Yes.” Lucerys admits.

“Then I shall keep it on me at all times.” Aemond tucks the handkerchief in his tunic and gently takes Lucerys’s shaking hand into his calloused palm. “It reminds me of my duty and commitment to you, nephew, as your alpha.”

Lucerys stares right into Aemond’s lone eye, and all he sees is tenderness and devotion. That’s when he realizes he is in love with Aemond. Maybe he always has been.

“I thought you didn’t want me, didn’t want our betrothal because I hurt you.” Lucerys manages to babble among hiccups.

“Don’t cry, sweet omega.” Aemond calls him omega even though Lucerys hasn’t presented yet. “Nobody is able to resist your stubbornness it seems, not even me.”

Lucerys chuckles as he leans in for Aemond’s touch.

 People at the Red Keep start to call them lovebirds, much to Queen Alicent’s chagrin. The King is thrilled despite his ailing health. He sees an alpha-omega union with so much potential and happiness. Now it’s Aemond who accompanies Lucerys everywhere, to read, to take a leisure stroll in the garden, to fly on dragon back. Lucerys can’t wait to present. Sometimes he daydreams about the children he and Aemond would have, all with silver hair and violet eyes, little dragons who are both adorable and fierce.

All his happiness end on that fateful day. Vaemond Velaryon challenges his claim to Driftmark so there is a petition held in the throne room. Lucerys isn’t worried, no, because his mother and family are here, he knows they will defend him at all cost. And there is Aemond. His alpha keeps a steady grip on his wrist during the whole ordeal. Vaemond’s accusations are harsh, but that man soon loses his head for his arrogance and vulgar insult. Lucerys collapses after seeing all the blood spilled on the floor. He hates blood and conflict, all of which reminds him of when he hurt his alpha. He feels hot, the air suffocating, the bloody smell blocking all his senses, and Lucerys presents. As an alpha.

When he comes to, it is well past midnight and Lucerys is in his chamber. Rhaenyra is there, offering her sweet lavender scent as comfort, but Aemond is nowhere to be seen.

“Where is Aemond, mother?” Lucerys asks. To him, not seeing Aemond has become an anomaly.

“My sweet boy, it is not appropriate for your uncle to visit you in your private chamber at such late hour.” Rhaenyra answers, stroking her son’s unruly curls.

“But he’s my betrothed.” Lucerys argues. Panic begins to rise from his gut when his mother hastily breaks eye contact.

“Your betrothal is annulled as you both present as alphas. The King deeply regrets this but for continuation of our family, you are to marry another omega and sire children. Rhaena, maybe, if the King accepts my petition.”

Lucerys’s world shatters. Did Aemond willingly agree to this? Why didn’t he defend their relationship? Are his promises all lies? Does Aemond only love him for his second gender? Does Aemond abandon him because Lucerys couldn't bear children?

“No. I won’t accept this.” Lucerys struggles to get off the bed. “I want to talk to Aemond. We love each other, mother. He promised. He promised we would marry.”

“Oh, sweet boy, I am so sorry.” Rhaenrya embraces her trembling son. “I don’t think it is wise taking to Aemond now. In fact, it is him who suggests the betrothal to be annulled.”

Lucerys’s resolution breaks along with his heart as Rhaenyra hands him a handkerchief with dragon embroidery.

It turns out, promises are meant to be broken. Lucerys has always been a loving and compassionate kid; he cares for others and avoids violence as best as he can. He loves unconditionally and whole-heartedly.

He is not that boy anymore. A part of him died with his betrothal, turned to ashes and buried deep in the ground. He is not that boy when he leaves King’s Landing on Arrax, swearing never to return. He is not that boy when he enters the great hall of Storm’s End. He is not that boy when he sees Aemond’s measured expression falter for a split second.

He is not that boy when he proudly tells lord Borros that he shall take the lord’s word back to the Queen but bear in mind that prince Aemond is an oathbreaker. He broke a promise once. He will not hesitate to break them again.

Lucerys is not that naive boy anymore. When he sees Aemond’s shocked face as he falls from the sky, he feels no pity, only a cruel sense of contentment.

If I cannot have you as my alpha, uncle, at least I can take your sanity away. I will haunt you to your last breath because I promised I would always be with you and I am not an oathbreaker.

That is Lucerys’s last thought before he is welcomed by eternal darkness.

[caitlynskitten]

oh my gods,,,,, SENSITIVE WEDNESDAY????????

Enid & Yoko are so used to antagonistic conversations with the seer (Yoko more than Enid) and so they're surprised when Wednesday starts tearing up whenever they make little jabs or teasing remarks like they used to and they both go in the complete opposite direction, loading her with praise and love and hugs and kisses, just to reassure their little raven again.

And ohhhh a raven plushie?!?!?!?

Anon, you have melted my heart!!! I CANNOT HANDLE THIS ANYMORE!!!

....

Anywayyyy Wednesday is absolutely inseparable from that damn raven plush and the only time she lets it out of her sight is when it needs to be cleaned.

So, one night, she's cuddled up in between Enid & Yoko and holding her raven tight when in the middle of the night, Wednesday wakes up to the feeling of it missing. Unable to find it anywhere, she begins panicking, breathing quick and shallow and tears flowing. Enid wakes up to the disturbance and sees Wednesday crying, "Little raven? What's wrong?"

"Can't find it! Need it need it need it, please Mommy! NEED IT!"

Enid's confused for a moment before noticing Yoko, also woken up by Wednesday's crying, standing by the side of the bed with the plush. She leans over the seer to take the plush and holds it in front of Wednesday, who grabs it back immediately.

Yoko crawls back into bed and the vampire and wolf both hold Wednesday tightly. None of them are able to sleep after all the excitement so they all take the day off tomorrow and spend it all cuddling.

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

ORRR,,,,

Wednesday gets detention one day and the typical rule is to have backpacks confiscated for the duration of the detention, along with any belongings inside. And of course, the plush rests inside Wednesday's backpack so being separated from the bag is no good, no good at all.

A few times Wednesday tries to sneak over just to grab the raven plush, only to be stopped by a sharp clearing of the throat by Principal Weems, who is increasingly less impressed by the raven's insistent behavior, despite very well knowing the rules.

It all comes to a head when Larissa finally snaps, "Listen here, Miss Addams. You knew the rules and the punishment for breaking them and now you are facing the consequences for them. I haven't the faintest idea what in the world could be so important in that bag of yours, but if you do not remain sat in that chair for the remaining time left, I will have everything in that bag confiscated for the rest of the year, do I make myself crystal clear?"

And that shatters Wednesday, not only being snapped at when she's already in a very vulnerable state of mind but also the threat of losing her raven plush for the rest of the year?!? Wednesday immediately breaks down in full-body sobs, tears running like rivers down her face. Weems is taken aback for a moment before she enters panic mode. She tries everything she can think of, even giving Wednesday her backpack, but nothing settles her.

Weems is finally forced to do the only thing she can think of and calls Enid & Yoko to her office, hoping they'll be able to calm the raven down. Thankfully, they do. Though it does take some time. Once Wednesday is breathing evenly again and most of her tears are gone, Enid picks her up and they bring her back to the wolf and seer's shared dorm and spend the next few days together.

And after Wednesday's feeling better, Yoko and Enid go to Larissa's office to have..... words and practically tear the principal a new one... in multiple languages.... just to make sure the point sticks.

DO NOT MAKE WEDNESDAY CRY! EVER!!!!!

And if somehow, word spreads across campus of Wednesday Addams herself crying.... Well, no... it doesn't. 🙂

WHY DO YOU KEEP MAKING MY HEART MELT 😭😭😭😭😭

You know Yoko now has to remember not to tease Wednesday anymore. She definitely doesn’t want to see her beautiful Raven’s eyes filled with tears again. In fact if she ever thinks about trying to tease her she’ll just kiss her to stop herself from saying anything. Of course Wednesday doesn’t mind that at all and enjoys it every time ♥️

God baby Wednesday being super attached to that plushie is everything to me now ughh 😭😭🥺🥺 I just know Enid and Yoko seeing their babygirl cry like that makes their heart break. When Yoko gives her back the plushie and Wednesday takes it and cuddles with it she just kisses her all over and reassures her she won’t ever lose it again and god I love that these two love each other so much that they’re willing to stay home and take a day off just for their little rain cloud. She’s so much more important to them now.

Omg you know damn well Enid wolfed out at Weems. Telling her to never ever fuck with Wednesday or her plushie ever again. While Weems is TERRIFIED I imagine her being so taken back at the fact that not only does Wednesday have a girlfriend but TWO of them.

After all that Yoko and Enid come home they find Wednesday hugging her plushie really tight and smother her with love and kisses in bed giving Wednesday and overwhelming feeling. The good type of overwhelming ♥️♥️♥️

Now it’s just the four of them. Yoko, Enid, Wednesday and Wednesday’s plushie 🥺🥺♥️♥️ Baby Wednesday with her plushie all the time oh my god my HEART. 🥺♥️

This is how Wednesday is holding her plushie in bed 🥰🥰🥰

[thenightfolknetwork]

So I know you don’t answer many questions from- across the pond, as it were, but I don’t need any legal advice, and I’m at my wit’s end. I’m hoping you can help.

So my genus is very small. In point of fact it’s just my family, as far as I know, and it’s only ever one creature active at a time- bunch of sapios doing sapio things, then the previous Creature dies or sees the Signs and boom! One of us Wakes and hey look at that, new Hierophant! And as the current Hierophant I Speak and Am Heard- part of the reason I’m writing to you.

A part of my genus is acting as the mouthpiece for a portent of the apocalypse. That's not a secret- hell, its why the town has the name it does and why the family name's on the radio station. Predictably, I am the foremost DJ on 226.5, the Voice of Birch.

It’s not a bad gig, per say. I go to work and between the traffic reports and the local top forty I give an update on the eventual Coming of The Burned Birch. It never lasts long and my local community really likes it. The Birch sort of became a touristy thing, you see- awesome in the autumn, all its leaves yellow and glowing with ghostfire.

Well, so they tell me. I can't actually LOOK at the Birch-if I do, I'll go by way of great uncle Milton and turn into salt. Thank goodness pictures and art don't count or we'd have to move the station and the whole family into the old mica mine.

The Birch likes being appreciated and turned into post cards and calanders, though. It’s a bit of a show off, really. I guess I’d be showing off if I were a tree that could move around at will.

The problem is that lately, the Birch has been sending me updates at the most inconvenient times. It's generally a twice a day thing, but now I’ll be brushing my teeth at five AM and the whole town hears me ominously spouting coordinates and warning of the cracking of the earth and rising of the dead. The Birch can’t even make the dead rise, there’s been wards on the local cemetery for a century!

Or I’ll be making an order at my coffee shop and suddenly I’m telling poor Taylor the barista that the trees come down the mountain to open their fiery branches to the burnished sky.  

The worst of it is at ten or eleven at night when I’m trying to settle into bed. My hometown is very small and quiet, so most folks are in bed early unless they’re nocturnal like the coven that runs the night shift at the bakery. I’ll be drowsing, mind floating off to dreamland, and all of a sudden I’m bolt upright in bed declaring that West Street’s pavement is going to shatter with the feet of elder gods, flee the Burned Birch, flee! People are losing sleep.

It's getting out of hand. I’m not in danger of losing my job or anything (not even sure I can be fired, to be honest) but when you live in a town with less than two thousand people and everyone knows you’re the Hierophant of the Burned Birch, well. That's me avoiding the next St. Mary's rummage sale.

I know you always say communication is key and I’ve tried, believe me. All the old methods- blood rituals under the full moon, a cracked labradorite under my pillow, whispering to the moths- it hasn’t worked.

There's nothing in the family archives about the Burned Birch acting like this and frankly, I’m worried. Is there something wrong? Some rot or fungus that infects only apocalyptic omen trees? Is it trying to reach out to me for help? I can't go look at it and my friends tell me it looks fine. They show me pictures and my omen looks fine! How do I tell if it’s being needy or if it’s being obnoxious? and how do I hang on to my declarations without a three hour nosebleed?

Literally anything you've got will help, at this point. Thanks in advance!

-Fat Ricki, The Voice Of Birch

First of all, may I say how lovely it is to hear from another radio professional? Liminal broadcasting is a topic close to my heart, and it's always nice to hear from others in the field.

To your question, I think your first job is to absolutely rule out the possibility of any physical or magical ailment your tree might be suffering.

You said you've had friends inspect the tree, and have looked at photos to assess the situation yourself. But tree diseases are not always easy to spot with the naked eye, especially to the untrained. This is doubly true for thaumaturgically active trees, which may be susceptible to infections, infestations and diseases on several planes of reality.

I recommend investing in the services of a trained arboreal arcanist. In the United Kingdom, customers can find specialists through the Arcane Arboricultural Society, whose members must meet the societies standards of professionalism and training. If such an organisation exists in your area, all to the good.

If not, take some time to read up on professional qualifications available to tradespeople in your state. You want someone qualified in thaumaturgic horticulture, and preferably with the ability to perceive reality on at least three additional planes, if not more.

There are several pests and diseases that might be causing your tree's distress, from spectral bacteria to ether flux. Better to invest a little time and money in ruling those out than risk leaving them untreated.

I think it's safe to say your tree is trying to get your attention for some reason. Once you've ruled out disease or discomfort as the possible reason, consider what else might have changed since this behaviour began. Has it been receiving fewer visitors than usual, or perhaps been the subject of a less-than-flattering news article?

Many apocalyptic trees, shrubs and bushes have a tendency to fussiness and egotism. It's very possible that your tree wants nothing more than to be the subject of a bit of ego-stroking fuss. You might try drumming up a few more visitors and acolytes, or performing a ritual of appeasement that recognises its great and terrible power.

The phrase “attention-seeking” carries with it a host of negative connotations. Instead, think of this as “support-seeking” behaviour. There is a need your tree feels is unmet, and as its Hierophant, it's up to you to meet it. With a bit of reassurance and attention, I think your tree should settle down into its usual ways in no time.

[prolix-yuy]

For the 500 celebration, Pero & everlasting love!❤️

Okay, I'm cheating just a little bit. The request will be in here, it might just take a little while to get to it. Because you asked for Pero and all I could possibly write was for him and his Guerrera...and I've been dying for an excuse to share their sequel...sooooooo...

Coming Due

Pairing: Pero Tovar x F!Reader (sequel to Stop That, Right Now)

Summary: Tensions rise after last night's quarrel, and Pero must find a way to make it up to his Guerrera.

Word Count: 7.8k (I KNOW I am the architect of my own misery)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of male and female bodies, insensitivity to the perils of women in this time period, references to violence against women but nothing described, Pero being a real big asshole for about 4 minutes, angst, oral sex (f-receiving), fingering (f-receiving), sorta safe PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), biting, an obscene amount of banter, Pero learns to be a consent king, FEELINGS.

Notes: Back by popular demand! Pero has stolen many of our hearts (and our nethers) and I couldn't wait to write more of these two. I left everyone hanging in the balance after the first drabble, and while The Debt gave us some more background I KNOW what we all actually want to see - what happens the next day?

Enjoy these allies to friends to enemies to lovers figuring their shit out!

Morning comes too quickly for Pero, barely settled in the stables for the night before the cock crows and light filters in through the wooden slats. He’s itchy, over-tired, in need of a bath and hungry from the night before.

The low sigh he breathes out, coupled with work-cracked hands rubbing over his face, brings the events of last night back into stark relief. A groan follows, this one deep and exasperated.

Pero’s mother told him that God only gave him a mouth so ravenous because he put both feet in it so often. Which, of course, he did once again. He could blame it on many things - the poor quality of his dinner, aches from the road, the raucousness of the tavern - but all would be a lie. It was the shock of your dress, baring those soft swaths of skin he’d contemplated many nights, hand itching to fist his cock. It was your smile, teasing and knowing all in one. It was the touch you left on the inside of his wrist that he swears he can still feel. Everything swirled together in a mess of light and noise and hammering heartbeats and instead of succumbing Pero fought like the idiot his mother hoped she didn’t raise.

Rolling up from the hay, swatting stray straws from his armor, he begins saddling up his horse. On any other day he would saddle yours too, save the fact that she faltered on the way into town and the farrier deemed her front left hoof too injured to travel. You’d sold her to him, a few quiet moments spent with the mare who carried you for many miles alongside Pero. Now down one steed with a job hastening you to the next town, your travel arrangements would be all the more troublesome.  

“Idiota,” Pero grumbles to himself as he pulls the straps snug, checking the saddle bags for supplies. Once he opened his mouth he knew he’d made a grave mistake. And the more you fed him vitriol, the more he spat back. You brought out the best and worst in him, but always forgave and moved on. There was never bad blood between you.

The door to the stable snaps open, your frame silhouetted by the morning sun at your back. If Pero entertained any delusions that you might have forgotten last night, they’re dashed away when you stride in fully armored, not a word spoken. No forgiveness either, the dark scowl on your face slashing across his own like a thief’s dagger.

“Good morning, hermana,” Pero says gruffly, making the final check of his tack. You pick up your own supplies, slinging them over your shoulder now that you have no horse to bear them. 

“Let’s begin, the day is already warm and I wish to be at our destination before nightfall,” you say curtly, turning on your heel to exit the stables. 

“Hermana, give me your supplies, Caballo can carry them,” he offers, reaching a hand to graze over your tack. You dart away, always so much faster than him, and stalk out. Pero sighs, curling his fingers back into his empty palm. 

It’s worse than he imagined. Not only was your desire for him revealed, but he’d crushed it beneath his boot.

Pero sways on top of Caballo, watching you stomp along beside him. He tried to convince you to ride, let him walk for a time. Then he snarked that you’d be better off riding together, which you scoffed at. It would not be the first time you’d shared a saddle, though with all the anger simmering below the surface you might set him ablaze if you sat so close. 

Pero lets himself drift to the few times you’d let down your guard enough to settle on Caballo with him. When your mare needed to play pack mule, or when you were recovering from a poisoned arrow. Pero had hauled you up in front of him, settling you between his thighs, arms caging you in. Protests quickly quieted; those few rides were mostly spent in silence. You were stiff to start until exhaustion overtook you, melting into Pero’s broad chest. One he believed you settled he would rest his hands on the saddle pommel, forearms criss-crossing your thighs, and relax into the warmth of a body pressed flush to his. When you were weak with recovery from the poison, Pero even took to wrapping one arm around your waist to keep you upright, even when you weakly refused his help. 

And now you were being exactly the stubborn mare you’d left behind, trudging through half-wet mud and dirt rather than riding with him. It would boil his blood, your refusal, if the shame of the reason why didn’t snuff it out.

Your foot comes down on a deceptively slippery spot, and with a yelp and a thud you’re splayed in the mud, supplies in a heap and fire in your eyes. Pero sighs, bringing Caballo to a stop and swinging down from the saddle. Already up on your knees, you pull your tack out of the muck with some unladylike curses seeding the earth. 

“This is ridiculous, give me your things if you will still refuse to ride with me. You are slowing us down with your stubbornness,” Pero growls, coming down to a knee by your side. You snort, blocking him with your shoulder. A brief peek of the fateful dress you stuffed into your pack pangs in Pero’s chest.

“I can manage quite well without you, Tovar,” you spit back. Pero rolls his eyes. You only ever call him by his family name when you’re exceptionally upset.

“You can manage shit, stop being a mule and get on the horse,” he huffs, one hand easily yanking your saddle supplies out of your slippery grip. You make a noise of heated indignation, coming nose to nose with Pero as you both kneel in the mud.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to stand being near me, with all your talk,” you taunt, a scowl across your face but challenge in your eyes. A frustrated rasp wraps around Pero’s words.

“I did not mean what I said…” he tries to apologize, but this is a fight you’ve clearly been preparing for.

“Oh, you didn’t mean to call me a whore, is that it? You think women are only meant to be quiet little wives or holes to fuck?” Pero’s fists ball at his side, words clattering against his teeth but none coming out. You were wrong, and right, and infuriating, and beautiful in the cool morning light. 

“I’m sorry…” he tries again, but clearly he let this sit too long. You’re too pent-up, sneering into his face as he fights to stay calm. 

“Spare me your morality, Tovar. I have lived in the world long enough to know what men think of me, and I do not care. I will eat what I want, say what I want, fuck when I want, and the devil can watch in glee. I don’t need you,” you hiss, moving to stand from the filth in the path. The tightening in Pero’s pants at the glint in your eye when you enunciated fuck makes him bolder than he can control.

“That is not what I saw last night,” he practically purrs, mocking your own grimace. The tables turn sharply; your eyes widen at his impropriety, teeth bared as you swing your fist to land a blow on his face. He catches your wrist, unbalancing and toppling you backwards on your ass. Before you can scramble up for a repeat attack, Pero wraps his hands around the backs of your knees and drags you towards him, sliding your hips up his thighs until your core is pressed tight against his growing cock.

Fuck, you’re hot and soft and silent for once, the shock of his boldness stilling your tongue. He keeps a vice-like grip on your hips but chances a roll of his own against them. 

“Is this not what you wanted, guerrera? When you took off the armor and sat before me, did you not want me to claim your cunt?” He digs his fingers into your flesh, another retort ready on his lips but more inclined to kiss you first. Weeks of simmering tension finally coming to a head, he folds over to taste the mouth so full of fire for him. 

“Don’t you dare, Pero,” you roar, legs kicking out to find purchase to flee. Pero grimaces, trapping one leg under his armpit and pulling tight to his body. The other he catches under his ass, pinning it between his calf and thigh. You swipe muddy hands at him, but he’s just out of reach with the way your spine is bridged up his body. 

“Tranquila,” he tries to soothe, to show his true intent, but you’re a rabid fox in a trap now. Your hips buck wildly, mixing searing hot pleasure with adrenaline as he tries to calm you. The situation is slipping away from him, turning uglier as he speaks over your anger.

“Mierda, guerrera, listen to me, amor de dios…” Pero curses, but your hand finally finds its way to your boot, a sharp little gutting knife now shining in your palm.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” you rasp, making a wide arc with the blade. It almost skims his cheek, snapping his head back just in time, but the fact that you’d raise steel against him boils his arousal into anger. He releases your legs, one hand in the center of your chest slamming you to the ground, the other pinning your arm above your head. 

“Qué coño, hermana?” Pero pants, and when he can see your face through the haze of his outburst he realizes he’s made a mistake. An enormous one. Your face is ripped wide with a grimace, teeth gritted and shining with spittle. Your eyes are wild, but tears gather along your lashes. 

This is worse. Multitudes worse than being an ass in a tavern.

“Mierda, hermana, perdóname,” Pero murmurs, backing off to sit on his heels. He keeps his hands in his lap, turned upward while taking in shaking breaths. He’s never put a hand on a woman, not one that wasn’t asked for, and in a second he’s terrified you. A man who easily pinned you, roughed you up, teased you and did not let you go when you shouted - that was a man never to be trusted. Bile rose in Pero’s throat that he for a moment was that man.

You stumble to your feet, covered in mud and disheveled. Pero follows, extending a hand when your balance falters. Righting yourself immediately, you point the blade at him, standing as far away as you can manage. He retracts his gesture, letting it hang limply at his side. 

“Don’t you dare,” you croak out, and Pero can see the tremor in your arm. Easily blamed on adrenaline, but he knows better.

Thundering hooves interrupt the stalemate as Pero unsheaths his sword, your bow quickly in hand and nocking at the ready as a small crew of horses curve the corner. A familiar face rides at the front.

Pero lowers his sword, flinching at what he knows will come.

“Hail William!” you shout over the din, in a voice remarkably stronger than before. Pero sneaks a glance. You’re offering a crooked smile, hip popped out and a lazy wave to the blond Irishman as he pulls the company to a stop. How many times had you done this before? Had to put on a brave face when you’re anything but okay?

William hails you from atop his horse, bright smile plastered on his face.

“I was sure you’d beat us to town,” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at the sorry state of your armor. 

“Unfortunately we’re down a steed, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare?” you ask, stepping closer and away from Pero. He stands listlessly behind you, wiping mud from his hands as you converse with William.

“Of course, we can ride in together, enjoy a meal before the job tomorrow,” he agrees, motioning to another man to pull out a horse. 

After some redistribution of supplies, you’re sitting on your own black steed, riding beside William as he asks how your travels have been. Pero trails a length behind, head tilted down and listening carefully. You describe the perils of the road, the few coins you’d gathered, events in neighboring towns. Nothing of last night, or the moments just before their arrival.

Pero chews on his sour tongue, the scene replaying in his head. The tension coming to a head, his challenge meant to spur on something more. He wanted you sprawled below him, laughing at the mess in your hair and on your skin, as his mouth roamed your face. He would have wiped his hands before sliding them into your pants, teasing your slick folds before testing how hot and wet your cunt was. He desired to know what your face looked like shattering with pleasure, and what would spill from your lips as he brought you to your peak before sheathing himself inside. 

But he didn’t temper the anger with lust. Instead he put hands on you that were unwanted. Of course they were, ever since he spoke rashly in the tavern. Why would you want his brutish touch, his rough hands and rougher manners? A glance back up at you and William conversing amicably only settles loathing deeper in his stomach.

The drip of water is a welcome change after the ruckus that followed you all day. From the rowdiness of the tavern, to the poor sleep you got in the noisy room, to the thundering of hooves as William and his men escorted you into town, you’d been surrounded by sound.

Well, save for the short period of tense quiet you experienced on the trail.

If William suspected anything he kept it to himself, which you appreciated. Your heart was still thundering in your ears, hands shaking and breath coming out in soundless sobs when his company broke your stalemate. Pero had been silent since, a shadow slipping along behind you. You then turned your attention to his sunny companion, letting adrenaline slowly seep from your bones like tree sap.

Lifting the rough cloth from your bath basin, you lather it with one of your precious soaps and begin scrubbing filth from your skin. Too angry to bathe last night, coupled with the altercation, left you woefully soiled. Every pass darkens the water, but rebirths you clean and renewed.

The forced cheerfulness continued through your entrance to the inn, the purchasing of rooms (Pero grunted and tossed coins on the counter), and supper in the common area. Breaking bread with William was an unexpected pleasure you gained from Pero’s friendship, and the moments you got to share with the garrulous blond were bright spots in the tedium of most days.

Your hand slows on your calf, eyes unfocusing. To say you have a friendship with Pero might be a stretch. A begrudging connection at first, yes. A growing fondness, no doubt. But now…you didn’t have words to describe what your feelings towards Pero were.

Anger had morphed into spite by the morning, your dreams fitful and heart tight at his swift rejection. Never mind the flare of foolishness you tamped down repeatedly at trying to be a lady for him, all softness and femininity enticing him to your desires. If he had reciprocated, touched your hand and called you one of those foreign names that lick heat under your skin, you would have taken him to your bed. 

Instead you were not only humiliated once, but twice when he put his hands on you in the mud and debris. Fear had laid heavy in your chest, but it warred with thick lust when he rutted against you. If he had only spoken his desires, maybe dragged his gorgeously curved nose along your neck and whispered to you, you would have forgiven him, leaned into any caress he bestowed. 

That dream was dashed now, replaced with the pig-headed desires of cruel men. You’d had to unsex yourself many times on your travels, hide your shape from slithering eyes and keep a hand on a knife in seedy taverns. But you never feared Pero. You respected him, wheedled him, annoyed him and on those few occasions endeared yourself to him. Until you felt the strength he used against you, Pero had been one of the few good men you called yourself lucky to know. That list is even shorter now.

Pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, you empty out a sigh that releases tension in your shoulders. It was to be expected. All men want only one thing from a woman, and will take it in any way they deem fit. 

Stepping out of the bath, you dry yourself and stand by the fire, letting the flickering warmth relax you further. The fury finally lifts from you like morning dew, and come sunrise you will share words with Pero. 

As you dress for the night, a loose shirt over leggings and wool socks, a knock rattles your door. Much too late for a messenger, or the tavern owner. Might be trouble, might be William wishing you a pleasant evening. A small blade in your hand for the second time today, you stalk to the door.

“Who calls?” you ask, and are met with shuffles.

“Pero, hermana,” comes the low rough voice on the other side. 

All thought flies out of your mind. Pero. You didn’t expect him to seek you out, not after the distance he put between you on the ride, at supper while you laughed with William, in the stables where he bolted at your presence. Sheathing the knife, your hand hovers over the door handle. 

Why leave for tomorrow what you can do today, you think dryly before opening it a crack.

“It is well past the social hour, Pero, can it wait until morning?” you husk at your once-constant companion. He’s discarded his armor, clad in boots and breeches and a rough-looking gray tunic. His hair is lightly damp and skin lacks the grime you associate with him. One expansive hand rubs the back of his neck, his scowl deepening.

“It cannot,” is his short answer, so with a sigh you open the door and usher him in.

He fills the small room with his broad shoulders and dour mood, waiting for you to close the door and face him before speaking.

“I have committed an offense against you, and I am here to beg your forgiveness,” he says lowly, and you realize his mood is not dark, but regretful. His hands hang limply at his sides, occasionally balling into fists like he’s preparing for a blow. It wouldn’t be unfounded after the last day. 

“What am I to forgive, Pero? The desires of men? Your quick temper? My foolishness? I only have so much grace,” you reply, moving about your room to continue preparing for bed. His eyes press along your shoulders, the back of your head, as you busy yourself in his presence. 

“I hoped you would forgive my behavior. Last night and on the road,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Chancing a glance, he does look remorseful. You’re sure he is. But you’ve already made your decision.

“I have forgiveness in me,” you begin, and Pero’s shoulders lift briefly, his brow raising as you speak. “What I do not have is trust, or understanding. I thought…well, it does not matter. I know what must be done.” With even strides you cross to open the door, noise from the tavern below bursting into the solemn room. “I free you from your debt, Pero Tovar. You have fulfilled it tenfold, and for that you have my gratitude and appreciation. I would like us to part as friends, and allies should we ever cross again…”

Pero’s hand snatches the handle, and in a moment he’s so close he could brush his nose with your own. You swallow a gasp, trying to keep your face calm as he crowds you.

“No,” he rasps, rough and desperate. His eyes flicker with fire as they bore into yours. “Hermosa, please do not do this. I will suffer any punishment you see fit, but please do not send me away.” 

Silence reigns, caught between the soft crackle of the room and the harsh merriment of the patrons downstairs. You have never seen Pero like this, wild-eyed and desperate. It lets words slip from your lips unbidden.

“That’s not what you call me,” you whisper. Pero’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What?”

“Hermosa. You call me hermana. You told me it means companion. What…what did you just call me?” Tongue thick and lungs heavy, you barely register Pero’s hand coming to cup the back of your head. His eyes soften, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Beautiful. It is one of the many names I hoped to call you one day. Bonita, mi vida, amor…” 

“I know that one.”

Time passes in fits and starts as you hang in the balance with Pero. 

“You said, last night -”

“Many stupid things.”

“And the trail -”

“I meant that to go very differently. I regret ever putting my hands on you.”

“And now?”

You hold your breath, the heat of his palm spreading over your skin. 

“I would very much like to put my hands anywhere you will allow.”

Heat blooms in more places, and a small smile plays across your face.

“And your mouth?” you tease, but Pero is already leaning in so close his breath kisses you first.

“Here,” he sighs before pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, cautious, like you might bolt at just the feeling. His hand cradles your head as he parts from you briefly, then follows with a bolder one, firmer and fuller. A swipe of his tongue against your lower lip spreads goosebumps down your back, and a thin moan slips out. 

Suddenly your back is up against the door as Pero slams it shut, nosing your jaw with a scratch of teeth.

“I want those pretty noises only for me, hermosa,” he growls into your ear, and a moment of clarity pulls giggles from your belly.

“Is that what started all of this, Pero? You were jealous?” you scold, and he huffs against your skin. “I wore that dress only for you, you idiot,” you rib as his hands come around your waist. When he pulls back his lips are flushed and shiny, eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“They did not deserve to see you. Not without knowing you the way I do,” he says, and the honesty in his tone delivers a pang of sentimentality to your heart. You cup his scruffy cheeks in your hands, thumb tracing the termination of the scar on his cheek.

“A gentleman at heart, but maybe not in execution,” you say, eliciting an eyeroll. 

“Must I be scolded at every step?” he sighs, pulling you away from the door and not so subtly towards your bed. 

“When your big mouth stops getting you in trouble, I will consider giving you the benefit of the doubt,” you hum thoughtfully. Pero stops at your bedside, hands wandering from your hips to squeeze your ass. 

“I have other uses of it that may get me in trouble. If you desire,” he purrs into your ear. Fingers skimming along his waist make his stomach clench, and before you can ask he grabs the hem and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. 

His chest is littered with scars, but glows golden in the firelight. Your fingers slide up his softer stomach, dance along his ribs and settle on the powerful planes of his back. He shudders once under your touch as you lean forward and press a kiss to his chest. 

“Let me undress you,” he pleads, hand already sliding up the back of your shirt and spreading wide over your skin. Your hum is permission enough, shirt joining his on the floor. The room is pleasantly warm, but your nipples peak at his rapt attention. 

“Mierda, hermosa, you are a dream,” he says, voice reverent as he sits back on the bed, face turned up to you. “You have been with a man before?” he asks, a brief concern passing over his features. It’s your turn to roll your eyes, slipping your thumbs under your leggings and dragging them down.

“You won’t sully my reputation, Pero.” Standing in front of him, his eyes wide and hungry but hands still soft, power thrums in your core.

“I am more concerned about wrecking your cunt,” he teases, and you’re about to throw another quip back when he unlaces his breeches and slides them down to discard. His cock juts thickly between his legs, flushed and leaking shiny precum from the tip. The concern is not unfounded; how the hell does he sit on a horse with that in his pants? He palms it briefly, pulling the foreskin back to reveal the fat head slick with his arousal. 

“I will not be giving this to you until you are begging for it, hermosa,” he says smugly, and you snap back to his face with embarrassment. You should be the one making him dumb with need.

“Then what do you suppose we do? I am nowhere near close to begging.” The shift of your hip and curve of your smile pulls control back briefly. Pero lets you have it, eyebrow raised, but when his hands slide up the outside of your thighs your resolve shakes.

“I would like to make you wet and aching to start,” he says thoughtfully, tracing your bellybutton with one thick finger. “Then I will open you up with my fingers until you are trembling from pleasure.” His smile widens when your knees buckle briefly, but you try to stay aloof.

“All men make such grand promises,” you begin, but with a tug Pero pulls you onto his lap, spinning you until you’re on your back in the bed with his head between your legs. 

“All women have such little faith,” he mimics back, one hand pressed on your stomach while the other wraps around your thigh. His breath skims your curls, and your mouth slows to a stop when he drags his aquiline nose along the delicate skin below your navel. 

“I would like you to cum here first,” he says, and before you can retort he buries his face in your cunt and licks a long stroke through your throbbing folds.

It’s…okay. Pero laps at you like he’s trying to lick up your arousal, but doesn’t quite tease the places you need him. It’s not unpleasant, but won’t make you cum in the way he seems to think it will. You tilt your hips down to drive him closer to where you want, but even when he slicks his tongue over your clit it’s too soft and not nearly enough. Burying your fingers in his curling locks, you urge him to look at you. His eyes are dark and mischievous, lips flushed red and shiny.

“Are you going to cum on my tongue, hermosa?” he rumbles, skating his hand up to cup the underside of your breast. His thumb brushing over your nipple unfocuses you, but you snap back when he dips his head to pass his tongue along another uneventful path.

“Not with what you’re doing right now,” you huff out, a crooked smile gracing your face when his darkens with a scowl. 

“I have made many women cum just like this,” he grumbles, and his surliness shakes your chest with restrained laughter. Pero’s eyes light on your jiggling breasts as you slip a hand down to his mouth, brushing his soft lower lip with your thumb. His attention shifts to where you slide your fingers into your folds, parting them to reveal where you need him most. A few practiced strokes have your thighs tightening around his head.

“More, here,” you gasp, his grumbling only half heard as he bats your hand away.

“Next you will be telling me how to fuck you,” he sasses, but drops his mouth down and flicks his tongue over your clit. “Like this?” he asks almost begrudgingly, but he does slow and wait for your reply.

“A little harder, Pero,” you reply, and his hands tighten on your flesh. An idea skitters across your mind. “Did you like that? Hearing me moan your name?” You can only see his mop of curls as he breathes in your scent, nose gently nuzzling your mound.

“I only want to hear you scream it,” he challenges before circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, fast hard passes that make you choke on your words.

“Oh fuck, Pero, yes, there, that’s…fuck, yes,” you gasp, Pero’s throaty chuckle vibrating in your core. The worry that he’ll stop pangs your chest, but he keeps up his relentless ministrations. The wet noises coming from between your legs make your skin hot and itchy, your thighs beginning to lock up as your orgasm approaches.

“Pero, please,” you whine, the sound foreign but nothing stronger surfaces. He pauses briefly, panting into your cunt.

“What do you need hermosa? Say it and it’s yours,” he grunts, and before you can answer he starts laving his tongue in undulating passes. It’s all you can do to hold on and squeeze out what you’re trying to ask for.

“Fingers,” you finally beg, reduced to a shaking mess as your orgasm mounts and your cunt aches to be filled. Pero’s head tilts, eyes flashing up at you. Seeing him buried in your cunt, mustache tickling along your sensitive lips, drives another wave of arousal to your already thrumming core. 

“Of course, hermosa,” he rumbles, and one thick digit slides into your soaking channel as you moan long and muffled behind your hands. Buried to the knuckle, he strokes his finger along your velvet walls and with a press to a spot you struggle to reach inside yourself, you’re cumming hard and burying your cries in the crook of your elbow. 

“Mierda, bebita, you’re so fucking tight. Never made a woman cum that hard before,” Pero admits, still softly stroking inside you and pressing open-mouthed kisses on your thighs, your stomach, your hip. When you finally get enough air back in your lungs you hum in response.

“I suspect your technique has needed improvement. Every woman should cum that hard when you do it right,” you snark back, his nails digging into your soft flesh.

“How am I to know if a woman acts like it is the best fuck of their life? Did I not do as you asked?” he growls with a surly downturn of his mouth. You slide your calves off his shoulders so he can lift to his knees, still palming your cunt with his clever fingers. 

“That you did. But I’m sure you’ve paid for many of your conquests - the performance is half of the coin, is it not?” you ask, adding another eyeroll to your collection. “And then there’s all of you, of course.” Trailing off, you see the implication land on Pero’s face. He sits up on his knees, free hand coming to stroke along your hip. His mouth opens, then closes as he grits his teeth, brow heavy before he speaks.

“I do not wish to ever scare you again. If I do…if I make you feel that you cannot refuse…know that I will always stop if you tell me so. The debt is only mine, and I will repay it in any way you see fit.” Regret paints his face, rough fingers dancing nervously on your hips. Reaching down you stroke his fingers with your own.

“I’ve released you, Pero, you are no longer in my debt,” you say quietly, the nicks and scars telling stories under your fingertips. With caution you observe curiously, Pero slides your fingers together, lacing them with his own. He leans over your body, pressing your clasped hands by your head. 

“I do not wish to be free of it. It is the only debt I have ever desired.” Emotion wells in your throat.

“Kiss me, Pero.”

His mouth descends to yours and this time it is hungry, sharp nips of teeth soothed by softer brushes of lips. He laps thickly at the seam of your lips and you part for him, his tongue coated with your flavor. It fills your mouth, stroking against your own as you explore just as liberally. Groans and puffs of air pepper your skin, and with mounting need Pero’s fingers stroke through your folds again, gathering wetness before he presses two inside of you. You break the kiss with a gasp, back arching as he pumps them deep, his mouth now set to worrying at your jawline. 

“Fuck, bebita, this cunt is perfect. Look at how well you take me,” he groans, the obscene slick noises of him slipping them out making your face hot with embarrassment. “I want to be buried deep in this perfect hole. Can I fuck you, hermosa? Are you ready for my cock?”

“I…” Your voice fails when he pulls back to capture your gaze. The hesitation blooms understanding on Pero’s.

“I will not finish inside you, or be careless with my seed. And if it hurts, I will stop until you feel nothing but pleasure again.” 

You believe him, even after all that has come between you the last few days. It’s too vulnerable, needing the shield of your clashing swords and quick words to protect the softness you feel for him.

“If you continue to take direction as well as you did, bedding you may at least be tolerable,” you sass, nerves making your voice shake briefly. Concern takes a harsh turn to lasciviousness, and with a rough chuckle Pero flips you onto your stomach, lifting your hips to press against the hot velvety length of his cock.

“If you continue to goad me, I’ll have to give you something to keep your mouth silent,” he grits out with little threat, the thick head of his cock slipping along your folds, brushing your clit as he grinds his hips.

“If you are still awake after I fuck you, I’ll be impressed,” you shoot back as Pero’s grip tighten. A few low curses bleed from his lips as he presses the tip of his cock just at your entrance, barely breaching you. Another fear grips you, your hand flying back to Pero’s thigh. He stills.

“Hermosa?” he questions, strained.

“Slowly. Please. Just to start,” you ask, and the gentle request is met with Pero’s firm body folding over you, one arm banding your waist, the other planted in the mattress.

“Like this?” he whispers, mouth to your ear as he presses just the head inside. The shallow stretch drops your mouth open, a sigh letting you know Pero is equally compromised. 

He thrusts smoothly, sinking into your cunt inch by inch before backing away. The precision and control is more than you expect from the brutish warrior, his breaths measured as he slides in a little deeper each time. Your body opens for him, pressing back when your need outmatches his pace. Adjusting, he rolls his hips just a few more times before he’s seated deep and full inside you.

“Pero, fuck, move,” you gasp inelegantly, grinding harder but he remains still around you. 

“First, I want you to be so close to cumming you are begging for it.” You bark out a laugh.

“I don’t beg, Pero,” you rasp, but when he rolls his hips impossibly deeper his name devolves into a low, desperate moan.

“Not with your mouth. But your pussy is begging for me to make you cum again, and this time I want to feel you squeeze around my cock.”

The pace he sets is torturous, slow slides out before firmer strokes back into your molten heat. Head hanging low as you gasp through his methodical fucking, all you can focus on is his hand pressed into the folds of bedding below. Blunt, work-worn fingers, dirt always under the nails. The pattern of veins. The light dusting of hair creeping up his forearms. Arms you wish to hold you close, if you could ever allow your pride to accept it.

“Bebita, you are better than anything I could have dreamed,” Pero gasps into your spine, the soft slap of skin on skin harmonizing with your combined panting. “Can I…I would like to…do…” he tries to say, every attempt defeated by another aching moan he cannot resist.

“Yes, Pero, do it,” you encourage, backing up against his thrusts. He shouts like you’ve punched him in the gut, leaning back so cool air dries the sweat that gathered between you. 

“Fuck, hermosa, this cunt is made for my cock. Fuck yourself on me, show me how much you like it inside you,” Pero growls, hands wrapped around your hips as you slam against him. The choked out moans and curses make you turn to look.

He is pure lust, head tilted up to the ceiling and veins standing out along the thick column of his throat. The clench of his stomach, arms flexed with effort but hands still soft on you, all paint him like a god of dark and deadly sin on the candlelit canvas of your quarters. Your hips slow, rolling back on him as his gaze falls to your face. Eyes dark and ravenous, he looms over you while his hands roam your skin.

“Come here,” he manages to say, and those powerful welcoming arms pull you up from your hands and knees to hold your back flush to his chest, legs framing his thighs. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, breath caught in your throat as he palms one of your breasts and splays his other hand over your belly.

“Is this good?” he asks, to which you nod vigorously. “Good,” he adds right before his hips snap into you and your world goes white with a starburst.

The intensity of fucking Pero increases tenfold as he keeps you tight to his body, thrusting up into a place that rips throaty cries from your chest. You register the slide of teeth along your jaw, nipping at your ear, before he sinks them into the meat of your shoulder, just hard enough to bloom pain and pleasure in equal doses. It’s sure to leave bruises, rings of his teeth on your skin, but the ecstasy is worth the mark. He suckles over the offending marks each time before picking a new spot, some overlapping with a hiss that he quickly corrects. He's frantic, plunging into you, chasing the high you keep delaying for a few moments more.  

“Hermosa, you feel divine like this, but I want to see you this time,” Pero finally gasps, and with dizzying speed you’re on your back in the bedding, his hips slotted between your thighs once more. He pauses above you, hands posted by your sides. The urge to take him in hand wins out, and a few slow strokes of his cock makes his legs shake with need. You’re no better; you’ve edged yourself for too long, and release is just beyond your fingertips. If you could concentrate on cumming you could tip into ecstasy, but Pero’s awe-struck face above you fills your lungs.

“I do not want to be apart from you. Not now, not in this lifetime, not even if you hate me. I am bound to you, by forces greater than I would ever challenge.” He lowers to his elbows, urging your arms around his neck as he brings your foreheads together. The rough-soft touch of his fingers on your cheek makes you realize a few tears have slipped out, now lost beneath his caress. 

“Then I will never release you, Pero Tovar. You will never do enough to be free of me.” At this Pero slides back into your cunt with a long exhale, curling into your heat as his mouth interrupts your speech over and over again. “Every time you think you’ll be free…you’ll go do something stupid…that makes me extend your debt…you will never be without me…I promise.” He seals the deal with a kiss, deep and breathtaking, his face crashing into yours with a whimper. 

“I will never be without you,” he pants as he begins rolling his hips again, engulfing you with heat and protection and words you have never found reason to utter to any living soul. You want to say them now.

“I will never be without you,” is what you settle on instead. 

Pero chases your orgasm with a single-minded intent, slipping his fingers between your sweat-slicked bodies to rub at his new favorite part of you. A few hard, quick passes have you cumming around his cock, the force of it close to pushing him out if he didn’t fight to stay inside. Once your whole body isn’t locked around him, he chases his own release with a handful of overwhelming thrusts before pulling his cock out to spill on your stomach, painting you both with his cum as he shoots and dribbles it liberally. 

The silence that blankets you after leadens your tongue. Sweat-slicked and sticky, covered in each other’s essences, you briefly wonder how much of what Pero said should be attributed to lust-drunk confessions to be forgotten in the morning. The question is answered swiftly; he leans over you to wipe his cum off your skin with his wadded-up shirt, the tired lines around his eyes deepening as his body slows. Once a semblance of tidy, he flops on his side and wraps you in his arms, guiding your head to his chest so he can tuck his nose into the crown of your head. Slowing heartbeats pull at your eyelids, but before you can drift off he whispers to you:

“All of it, I promise.” 

A smile curls your lips.

“Then I will take it all.” 

His meaty chuckle slips you into unconsciousness.

The stock around his neck is beginning to tighten Pero’s shoulders, flexing his hands to force more blood into them. The unnatural weight of the heavy wood circling his neck and wrists pulls his spine into an uncomfortable curve. The chain bolting him to the wall is too short to sit properly, another means of punishment. It’s almost bearable if the mouthy guard wasn’t making so much noise. 

“...surprised you came so quietly, a man of your size and stature. Thought you would bloody your face before we took you alive.” Pero rolls his eyes at the burly man, leaning back to rest against the cool stone wall behind him. 

“I have spilled enough blood to know when it’s not necessary,” he grunts, one ear on the guard, the other on some ruckus making its way towards him. He tries to hide the quirk of a smile. 

“Yet you still struck down the city official? God blessed you with strength but no sense,” the guard laughs, quaffing ale just out of reach. The noise is closer, whistling arrows and steel on steel. The guard takes little notice. Pity for him.

“You will thank us when your livestock stop mysteriously dying,” Pero says, sliding on his short lead to look down the narrow hallway. Light flickers closer, shadows playing on the wall. One tall, lithe and powerful, stopping to let arrows fly. The other smaller, swinging a sword with practiced ease and ferocity. It looms larger as its owner approaches. “Besides, God blessed me with something even greater than sense.”

“I fail to see what graces follow you into this place,” the guard mocks, but the noise finally rouses him from his station. Pero’s smile widens as the guard moves to stand in the entrance, his hand on his sword hilt.

“An old friend, who has been steadfast for many years,” Pero says nonchalantly, the scuff of boots hailing his salvation. “And a guerrera who would only allow me to die with her permission.” 

The guard stiffens and falls, revealing your battle stance in the damp darkness of the dungeon. Pero’s heart soars at the blood splattered on your armor, the shining song of your blade, and the triumphant smile on your face as you saunter up to him.

“It looks like you have gotten yourself into a mess, Pero,” you tease, folding your arms and cocking your hip to regard your shackled companion. He sighs deeply, but cannot remove the grin from his face.

“I had thought you both to be better fighters. I expected you an hour ago.” Your eyes flash with faux offense he knows he’ll pay for later. He’ll enjoy his penance though.

“Oh I see, so when William and I fight through half a garrison to free you, our thanks is a complaint. Next time we will let you sit in your shame through the night,” you hiss, but pack precious black powder into the keyhole of the stock lock. A quick flame, a shouted “Mierda!” from Pero at the small ignition, and the stock unhinges from his neck. He rubs his wrists and neck ruefully as you drop his weapons at his side.

“Pero,” you breathe, for a moment softening before him. He takes your face in his hands, pulling your lips to his grateful mouth.

“Mi guerrera,” he whispers in the still moment you steal, “Mi vida.” 

“I recommend we save the celebration for when we’re on horseback!” William shouts down the hall, driving you and Pero upright. He shoulders his sword, palming his ax for a violent escape.

“I will thank you properly for the rescue when we are safe and out of earshot,” Pero murmurs in your ear. You smile knowingly up at him.

“I’ll add it to your debt,” you whisper back, “You will never be without me.” It’s the closest you have ever come to saying you loved him. He presses your foreheads together.

“You will never be without me,” he repeats, a truer declaration something he will save for tonight.

END

Next: Teamwork

[xdepthsofwinterx]

Pulled by Fate: In which Dhana is finally reunited with Elithrar (@waterdeephero @pyritea) and Deekin in Cania. {{A couple years after I promised I would write this, Baka comes back swinging with fluffy angst. Hope Dhana is as good as she used to be!}}

-

Frigid cold arched across her skin, burning bone deep. But beyond that, to a point that her very soul ached. Booted feet trudged through the snow, crunching and crimping in the deeper drifts. Cheeks burned red, and even her furs couldn't keep the cold at bay. Days, she guessed, had passed, but it could be an eternity for all she knew.

One thing was for certain. Dhana wasn't in the overworld anymore.

The Reaper had confirmed that. Sucked through to their pocket plane, face first into cool obsidian tiles, Dhana had awoken with a start. Last she knew, a denizen of Mephistopheles had thrust a greatsword through her chest. Panicking, scrambling to het feet, the meticulous monotone of the ethereal presence filled her mind.

"What is your will, sojourner?"

Now she was cast out into the baltic, infernal infested hellscape, awaiting what, she knew not. Crouched down by a measley fire, those berries filling a hole and heat in her belly for a short time. Once vibrant sepia eyes look on vacantly into the space before her.

"Deekin isn't sure, but perhaps Boss might find out?"

Those words rip her heart wide open, until she bleeds salty tears in its wake. Soft pattering, clawed feet, hopping through the snow after their leader. Her tongue feels like cotton in her mouth, her head too full of both painful and familiar memories that she feels like she might faint.

Deekin. Of course, the lovable scaley kobold hopped along beside a taller, willowy cloaked figure, with an equally familiar and graceful gait.

Hunting for recognisable features beneath the tanned, furlined cloak, Dhana spies the gorgeous shock of gingery gold hair, angular features, soft lips. Another painful clench of her heart, and her feet are stumbling after the pair in the snow.

How can she not?! Like a string of fate, her soul and being was bound to those walking only a couple feet ahead. But her throat is clenched shut with unspoken grief and need for them both. Her hand outstretched, all long, slender fingers, tattooed and calloused. Her lips part, eyes filling with tears as she wills this not to be another fever dream.

"E-Eli...thrar-"

Emotion cracks her voice, turning it gravelly as it echoes out in the space between them. The reaction is instant, as if both figures before her are struck with an arrow, the taller of the two freezing in place.

Deekin is the first to turn. And when his beady eyes lock onto Dhana's form, a shrill cry of anguish and disbelief emits the kobold.

"B-Boss?!"

He doesn't wait on ceremony, doesn't care for her apologies or excuses. No, Deekin charges towards the sorceress and latches onto her leg as tightly as he can. From the wetting of her leggings, it is clear the proof reptilian is equally moved.

Instinct has her bending down to him, bundling the little fella in her arms and letting out a mournful sound as she buries her head into his scaley shoulder. She rocks him for a moment, unleashing their shared grief. When at last Dhana pulls back, warpaint smudged, eyes red and nose snuffly, her eyes catch on the sight of leather boots in her periphery.

A quiver of pure, unadulterated joy and happiness washes over her as Elithrar's face comes into full view. Golden eyes are round, tears wavering as he barely holds himself back. Straightening, the blackette barely gets a breath in before the elf is engulfing her in a tight squeeze, mouth uttering words of shaky disbelief.

"D-Dhana...God's be good."

His warmth filled her nostrils; that familiar scent of incense, musky amd slight sweat, it was all so nostalgic. Dhana let herself settle into Elithrar's tight embrace, relishing in his soft caresses to her back.

"I-I n-never thought I would

get the c-chance to see you again," The cleric squeezed her tighter, and sliding up her back as that soft, tanned nose is pressed into her shoulder. Tears trickle silently down her cheeks, pressing herself firmly against his warm form. Heart clenching, arms tightning about him, Dhana manages out words that Elithrar is also trying to communicate.

"Gods I have missed you, so much."

Fingers delve into fabric, desperately seeking more contact, the need to be closer almost all consuming.

But here, in Elithrar's arms is exactly where her heart belongs, with Deekin at their side. Just...just like old times...like it should be...

And this time, Dhana would fight tooth and nail to remain there. Even the Archdevil himself.

[writingsofwesteros]

Robert baratheon x targaryen princess fluff. Maybe from their meeting or 1st year of marriage.

AN:Hi, I hope you like it x

It was difficult during the first few months of the marriage. You found it hard to even relax in his presence, which wasn’t new. It was with everyone you were like that. The curse of being a royal, you supposed. Your mask is always on and your body is gracefully moving just like now as you moved towards the dragon pit.

The sound of swords moving against each other had your attention as your silk, red dress flowed behind you. The matching jewels adorned your body with those locks of yours freely cascading down your back. “Princess.” A guard bowed his head when you appeared but you gave him no answer.

Your husband of only a couple of months was as ever showing off. “Hello Princess.” He called up to you; cheekiness dripping in his tone. You rolled your eyes and fought against the soft blush making its way onto your cheeks. You played with your fingers in front of you as your eyes moved over his broad chest.

A soft gulp escaped you as you thought of your wedding night. The pleasure he had taken from you still had you blushing at the mere thought. And if that greedy smirk of his was anything to go by; he knew it too. Gods, what had you done to deserve such a beast of a man? Those words didn’t have the same bite as they used to.

He knew that, as well. “You need to wash.” You hummed in near disgust as your husband made his way up the stairs. “Oh?” Robert teased with that boyish charm and you had to roll your eyes once more. “Yes.” You hummed and watched him walk towards you; the size difference having you feeling all sorts of things. 

“I suppose I should listen to my wife.” He whispered into your ear and leaned in; his sweaty body brushing against yours. “Robert!” You called to him as he walked away; his longer strides put distance between you both. “I suppose you need to wash now.” He winked and this time you couldn’t stop the blush coming your way.

~

The hot water of the large tub had you humming. Your bare body on full display as your husband settled behind you. “Hmm, how did I get so lucky.” He whispered into your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your neck. Goosebumps spread across your soft skin as you leaned your head, allowing him more access.

His hands moved up your chest and your heart skipped a beat. Robert only smirked as you reacted. You slowly hummed and leaned back. Those dark eyes of his found yours and he leaned in. You softly gasped and moaned against him instantly. You were so sensitive and touch starved.

His tongue found your own and began to suck. You could only melt against him, which he took great pride in. The ice princess melting for him. His eyes fluttered for a moment before you leaned away. “You good?” Robert softly asked; his fingers moving through your locks once more as you turned around.

“Yes..I was..I was happy to find you today.” You whispered shyly; still unsure of all these emotions he brought out from you. “Me too.” Robert smiled; his hands slowly moved to cup your face. He brushed your noses together and you found yourself melting for him once more. Your hand moving up and down his chest.

You lost yourself in those eyes of his for a moment before you leaned in and lovingly captured his soft lips. Your fingers moved into his hair as you slowly moved onto his lap. Those larger hands moved up and down your sides. He brushed against the sides of your soft breasts and goosebumps littered your body.

You moaned and just allowed yourself to relax against him. “Do you love me?” You whispered into his ear. Robert stilled against you. His fingers gently moved into your locks now as he leaned away. “Of course. I love you so much.” Robert whispered and his hands moved to gently cup your face now.

The relief that flooded you was pathetic. You were better than this. Well, you were before he wormed himself into your heart. “And you…you love me?” Robert himself couldn’t believe he was asking this of you. He was a strong man for gods sake; but you did something to him. Had him melting too.

“Of course. I do..” You babbled out truthfully as your hands moved up and down his chest once more. You had never seen Robert smile so widely as you giggled into his ear; cuddling into him again. “Hmm, I wouldn’t allow you to leave me now anyway.” He whispered into your ear as his hands moved to your arse.

“No?” You hummed teasingly. “I am Princess..you wouldn’t be able to keep me.” You whispered into his ear. “Oh?” Robert hummed, raising his eyebrows as he palmed your arse and kept you close. “You think you could escape me?” He whispered and watched you blush some more before their lips met.

“Hmm, yes.” You hummed. Amusement danced in your eyes as you rested your head against his own. “But I don’t desire that.” You whispered and slowly moved from the water. A soft shiver ran down your spine as you reached for the robe beside you. You watched Robert stand with the water falling from him.

You chewed on your bottom lip in desire that you had always been taught to hide. It wasn’t your fault that Robert pulled it out of you. “See something you like, Princess?” Robert couldn’t help but tease. His hand moved to your side and he gently backed you up against the wall. A soft gasp escaping you at the contact.

“Hmm?” He cooed into your ear before softly gasping when your small, soft hands moved onto his hard cock. Robert had been aroused since you had stepped into the tub with him. “Are you sure it’s not you who likes something?” You whispered into his ear before hotly mouthing at his neck.

Robert only hummed; rocking into your hand as his own hand moved to rest on the wall beside your head. His muscles moved as he did. You couldn’t help but grow in desire at such a man under your control. “I always like what I see.” He purred before burrowing into your neck as soft desire moved easily through him. “Good.” You leaned in and passionately captured those lips of his.

[nyoomfruits]

if i’m being honest

pairing: max verstappen/charles leclerc word count: 2k+ a/n: written for the prompt ‘i don’t want them. i want you.” this was just going to be a short little thing and then it completely got away from me and now here we are haha

set during the summer break of the 2023 season. hope you enjoy!

It’s only the second day of summer break when there’s a knock on Max’s door. He frowns, glancing at the door like it’s going to tell him who’s on the other side, while slowly getting up from the couch, pausing the TV as he goes.

There’s another knock, more incessant this time. “Coming,” Max yells, wondering who on earth is showing up at ten in the morning during his summer break when he specifically told all of his friends and family he needed some alone time.

“All right, Jesus, what’s on fire,” Max says as he swings open the door halfway the third knock and nearly gets hit in the face by Charles Leclerc himself.

“Ah, good, you are awake,” Charles says, ridiculously chipper. “Pack your stuff, we’re going to the beach.” He cheerfully holds up his own bag as he says it.

Max blinks at him. Pauses for a second. Blinks again. Charles is wearing some sort of god awful Hawaiian shirt, Ferrari red swim trunks, and bright yellow flip flops. His sunglasses are pushed onto his forehead, and his hair is tied back with a bandana. Despite looking like the Teletubbies threw up on him, he still is unfairly pretty.

God, it’s way too early for this.

“Beach?” Max eventually manages to squeeze out when his brain decides to work again.

“Yeah,” Charles says, rolling his eyes, clearly impatient. “You know, the thing with the sand, and the water, and the sun.”

“Yes, I know what a beach is,” Max says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Seriously, which gods did he piss off to deserve this. “But why are we going to one.”

“You have been moping all season,” Charles says, frowning. “And now I hear from your friends you have shut yourself in, like some hermit.”

Max frowns, too. “Okay, first of all, I am not moping.” He absolutely is, but Charles doesn’t need to know that. “I am not a hermit, and I don’t want to go to the beach.”

--

Fifteen minutes later, Charles and Max are standing on the beach.

Despite being a Tuesday it’s pretty busy already, with parents looking for the perfect spot to settle down, while children run around building sandcastles and playing in the water.

Charles unfolds his towel and sits down on it, and starts ruffling through his bag. “Did you put on sunscreen?”

“No,” Max says, refusing to sit down because that means admitting Charles successfully managed to drag him to the beach.

Charles’s head appears from inside the bag. “What? Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be here,” he says, “and also you didn’t give me enough time.”

“Always so dramatic,” Charles says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, sit down, I will do your back.”

There’s a moment where Max realizes he could just walk away. He could just turn around, trudge back to his apartment, and continue doing what he was originally planning on doing today, which was watching a godawful amount of Netflix.

But it’s Charles. And Max finds he’s never really been able to say no to Charles. It’s the whole reason he was being a so called ‘hermit’ to begin with. Because somewhere during the past season, between fighting each other on track and talking with him after and watching him win podiums he’s realized that shit. He’s in love with Charles. Maybe even has been this whole time.

So he was going to use the summer break to finally get his shit together, finally get over Charles, because Charles is a fantasy that’s just never going to happen.

And now here he is. On the beach. With Charles.

Plan’s not going great.

“I swear if you draw a penis on there I’m never talking to you again,” he says, plopping down on the edge of Charles’s towel with his back towards the other man, taking of his shirt as he goes.

“I was going to go for a #2 actually,” Charles says gleefully, as he starts spreading sunscreen across Max’s shoulders.

Max hisses when the cold sunscreen makes contact with his warm back. “That’s worse, actually. You’re the worst.”

“Actually I am the best, seeing as I am number one,” Charles says, his hands swooping over Max’s back, making it hard to focus on anything else.

“Season isn’t over yet,” Max says, his eyes briefly falling close. Charles’s hands really do feel good.

“You’re right,” Charles says, patting Max’s back. “But I am still going to win. All right, you are done, do me now.”

Max turns around, and once again curses all the gods in existence that lead him to his point as he lets his hands sweep over the expanses of Charles’s back.

--

The rest of the morning is actually quite nice, Max thinks. They spend most of it lounging around, occasionally taking a swim and even attempt to build a sandcastle at some point. They don’t really talk about why Charles dragged him out of the house, or why Max refused to leave the house in the first place, or how this is a thing they don’t normally do.

Eventually it’s lunch time, and they make their way over to the closest beach club for something to eat. Charles puts his incredibly ugly Hawaiian shirt back on and Max has never both hated and loved an article of clothing more. He’s not sure how much more shirtless Charles Leclerc he can handle.

“So why have you been moping?” Charles asks, as they sit down at an empty table.

Max considers lying for a moment, but he knows Charles, knows how observant he is, and settles for telling a half truth. “I have feelings for someone who doesn’t like me back,” He says it with a shrug, like it doesn’t make his heart squeeze in his chest just thinking about it.

“Ah yes,” Charles says, almost a little sadly, “I know that feeling.”

Max doubts that. Who on earth wouldn’t like Charles?

“I do not think moping is going to help. I should know, I have tried,” Charles continues. Seriously, who is out there breaking Charles’s heart and would Max get in trouble for breaking their nose?

“Then what do you recommend?” Max asks, leaning back in his chair, pushing his sunglasses up on his head.

Charles taps his chin. “The classics, really. Getting shitfaced drunk. Finding a rebound.”

“Well, I’m definitely into that first one,” Max says, signaling a waiter and then ordering two beers. “Not sure about the second,” he adds, when the waiter leaves their table.

“No, no, this could be good for you,” Charles says, leaning forward across the table with a mischievous grin on his face. “I will help you find someone. What about her?” He gestures to a girl sitting only a few tables over, talking to her friends.

Max barely glances at her. “Not my type,” he says.

“Ah,” Charles says, thoughtfully, twirling his sunglasses between his fingers. “Too leggy?”

Fuck it. Max thinks. If Charles can’t accept him for who he is, then what’s the point? “A girl,” he says.

“Hm,” but he’s not looking at Max, staring at something over his shoulder, and it’s kind of unnerving. Charles can’t even make eye contact with him. Fuck. “What about him then?” He points to a dude on the beach, behind Max, who is playing volleyball with his friends.

Something in Max’s chest loosens and he twists around in his chair to look. “Too leggy,” he says, turning back with a grin on his face as Charles sends him an exasperated look.

“Please take this seriously, Max. Your hermit status is on the line,” Charles says, and then flips open his menu. “I am kind of feeling burgers. What about you?”

“Burgers sounds nice,” Max says, just as the waiter arrives with their beers.

--

As they eat Charles points out more guys at him, and Max shuts every single one of them down. Charles never really seem to be upset over it, instead becoming almost competitive about it, like finding Max the perfect boyfriend is now his only goal in life. If only Charles knew it was him.

Max gives vague descriptors of his ideal man, like ‘well build’ and ‘good personality’ that has Charles rolling his eyes and telling him that that’s not helpful.

“All right, I give up,” Charles says, falling back in his chair, burger long gone and halfway his second beer. “You are somehow the easiest yet the pickiest person I have ever met and you are making my job absolutely impossible.”

“I’m sorry?” Max says, wiping his hands on his napkin before taking another sip of his beer.

“You better be. Why do you not want any of these men? They are not ugly. One must jump out to you, no?” Charles puts his sunglasses back on as he says it and god, he truly is the most beautiful man Max has ever seen.

The sun is hitting him just right, making him look like he quite literally shines. His hair is all over the place, and the bandana is doing a terrible job of keeping it out of his face. The Hawaiian shirt is still the ugliest thing Max has ever seen, but it’s also hanging off his shoulders just so, and the first few buttons are undone to reveal just a little bit of chest that is making Max feel like he’s going insane.

It’s distracting, how beautiful Charles is. That’s the only reason he can think of why he blurts out what he blurts out next.

“I don’t want any of them, Charles. I want you.”

The moment Max says it, he knows he’s made a mistake. Charles eyes widen almost comically and he nearly drops the glass he’d just picked up. “You mean that?” He asks, softly, so softly Max almost doesn’t hear him and well.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yeah, that’s why I’ve been. Moping, I guess. But it’s fine, I get it, you’re not into me, I can. I can get over that, I’m sorry I ever said anything,” Max’s heart is pounding and there’s a rushing in his ears that makes it hard to focus on anything and all he wants to do right now is go home and crawl in bed and not come out for the upcoming ten years.

“Right, yeah, we have to go,” Charles says, almost a little frantic, and Max tries so hard to pretend like he can’t physically feel his heart break in two. Charles pulls out his wallet, slaps a hundred dollar bill on the table, and gets up, gesturing to Max to follow as he stalks away.

And Max. Max follows, because he will follow Charles everywhere. Even though he’s not sure why, or where they are going.

Charles looks around, finds an abandoned alley between the beach club and a little souvenir shop, and grabs Max’s arm, dragging him forward until they come to a stop behind a collection of large garbage bins, completely hidden out of sight from the street.

“Charles, Jesus, if you’re going to kill me I’d rather you do it somewhere a little more comfortable,” Max jokes, even though his heart isn’t really in it.

“What?” Charles says, bewildered. “I am not going to kill you. I just needed some privacy to do this,” and then he takes Max’s face into his hands, and kisses him full on the mouth.

Max gasps, a little surprised, but then leans into it, kissing Charles like his life depends on it. His hands are on Charles’s waist, and it feels like a dream, being able to do this, being able to hold Charles like this and kiss him.

Charles seems equally enthusiastic about it and even though it should give Max whiplash, from going to think him Charles is going to kill him to this, it sooths something deep inside him. Charles likes him too. He isn’t alone in his feelings, he isn’t doomed to love someone that’s never going to love him back.

“You will really do anything to stop me from becoming a hermit, won’t you?” Max jokes, when he finally pulls away, and it startles a laugh out of Charles.

“I do not mind you becoming a hermit, not really,” Charles says, with a bashful little shrug. “As long as you are my hermit.”

Max, giddy and elated and deliriously happy, just leans forward and kisses him again.