#REGARDLESS. I SHALL REST. THEN BOUNCE BACK

[lynxfrost13]

Gamers I think workout wise I am going to take a couple days off 😔😔😔

[moistcl1tikal-ao3]

i need to chew on charlie. hes so babygirl, i need to ruin him. im bouncing on it til he cant cry anymore. yknow what im sayin?

for you? anything.

fuckleweekverse. jealous!reader and little brother! charlie.

canonish. who cares it's my own fic lol

Salty skin heaved under your tongue as Charlie tried to hold back his noises, the thick cords of muscle in his neck quivering beneath the scrape of your teeth. You weren't allowed to bite him, not there -- he had practice nearly every day this summer, and any errant mark would surely get him heavily questioned.

The practice was the reason he was in this particular mess, anyway.

"C'mon, Charlie, I still need to cum again and you're trying to tap out?"

Charlie sniffled as he looked up at you, his baby blue eyes surrounded by damp eyelashes. After the first orgasm, the tears had beaded up as the overstimulation took over. By the second one, they'd been flowing back down his face towards his ears as you bounced away on his cock, switching paces, grinding your hips against him. Your own legs burned with the ache as you kept riding, but you refused to show weakness. This was his punishment, not yours.

Some new girl, some other kid's sister, had tagged along to practice. You'd seen her when you'd picked Charlie up. You'd seen how she'd been eyeing your brother - her eyes trailing over each droplet of water as they slid down his sculpted back and tight, muscular thighs.

That would have been fine, other than the fact that you'd only seen her expression and his back at the same time because they'd been talking. He was a little red, and you knew it wasn't from sunburn.

You saw even more red when that bitch touched his arm.

So you'd dragged him home, and pulled him into your room as soon as you'd gotten in the door. Him and his endless energy had gotten you both off once, but you were going to ruin any idea of touching another girl. Why would he, when your pussy could get him off like this?

"Please, sis, please-- I can't, I can't do another one," His hips and those perfect jutting hipbones were sloppy with the last two loads he'd pumped into you. "I-- I'm sorry, I--"

You slowed to a halt, offering relief but not completely as you sat there with him hilted as deep as he could go into your cunt. He was flagging inside of you, no longer able to bump up against your cervix with every bounce.

"You love me, right, Charlie?" You breathed, looking down at his flushed face and messy hair, still damp from the shower after the pool.

"Y--" He was trying to catch his breath still, meeting your eyes regardless. "Yeah, I do."

"Only me, right?" You purred, slowly pulling off of him. You could see not just your combined messes below you but the bruises on his inner thighs you'd left, the only place nobody would ever find them. "Nobody comes between us."

"Only you." Charlie answered correctly, and you pulled off the rest of the way. You immediately kissed his tears away, licking the salt from your lips again.

"That's a good boy. I love you, Charlie. Feel like cleaning me up a bit?" Your own pussy felt empty after so long of being filled, the second orgasm teasing at the edges of your mind.

"Gimme a minute and I will," Charlie nodded breathlessly, catching your head with a shaking hand as you went to pull away, pulling you into a kiss.

No matter what dumb sluts threw themselves at him, they'd never give him what you could. After all, he was a degenerate just like you. No other girls would even want him.

Maybe it was evil. But...

Was there any other way to ensure he stayed your little brother forever?

-

yan!reader more like. idk btw it's like late as fuck rn i was working on a lab report that's due in not enough hours. some charlie to ease the pain shall heal me 🙏

[shadowtriovibes]

somewhere outside my life, babe

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x f!MC x Sebastian Sallow

Rating: M

Word Count: 3K

Summary: five times ominis gaunt was lovesick for the both of you (and the one time he finally figured it out)

Regardless, in many ways, Sebastian was his first “love,” if a young man such as himself could freely admit to such a thing. Perhaps that’s why he ultimately sighs and tells Sebastian that if it really means that much to him, of course he can take you to the ball. Sebastian nearly crushes him in the vice grip of his appreciative hug.

1: the yule ball

Late one night in the Slytherin common room, Sebastian eagerly fidgets with the single gold Galleon that rests in the palm of his hand.

“Shall we let fate decide?” he offers. “I’ll flip a Galleon, and if it lands on the dragon, I’ll ask her. If it lands on the wizard, you’ll ask her.”

Ominis folds his arms skeptically, sitting back in his armchair. “How do I know you won’t cheat and say it’s the dragon no matter what?”

“Fine, I’ll let you feel it when I catch it,” Sebastian says impatiently. “Go on, then, how else do you suggest we decide?”

The Yule Ball is less than a month away, yet nearly all the witches in your year have already excitedly ordered their gowns from the bespoke clothing shops in Diagon Alley – some even as far away as Paris. You’ve been quietly planning to visit Mister Hill in Hogsmeade to see about a dress for yourself, if only your thickheaded friends would sort out who precisely will be your date for the evening.

Both had eagerly volunteered, of course; you’d asked them to decide amongst themselves, so as to not get in the way of their friendship. A week later, Sebastian and Ominis are no closer to a decision.

Reluctantly, Ominis quietly agrees to the coinflip and listens to the gentle click of Sebastian’s thumbnail against the Galleon as he arcs it into the air. Rather than catching it neatly in his hand, Sebastian misses as the coin veers off course and tumbles to the floor, bouncing away to the corner of the room and under a bookshelf.

Sebastian curses under his breath. “Right, well… I swear, I’m usually more coordinated than that.”

“There’s no need to lie to me, Sebastian,” Ominis jokes. “I’ve known you for many years.”

The two sit in awkward silence for several long moments. While Sebastian mindlessly fidgets with his robes, Ominis finds himself revisiting the night his best friend in the world had confessed his feelings for you, the very girl for whom he himself has become thoroughly, pathetically lovesick.

“She’s just… brilliant, isn’t she?” he’d half-whispered from his bed late one night. “She’s endlessly clever, and strong, and so, so beautiful. Ominis, I really wish you could see her sometimes – she’s breathtaking.”

Ominis had thought to himself that he hardly needed to see you in order for his breath to be taken away.

Regardless, in many ways, Sebastian was his first “love,” if a young man such as himself could freely admit to such a thing. Perhaps that’s why he ultimately sighs and tells Sebastian that if it really means that much to him, of course he can take you to the ball.

Sebastian nearly crushes him in the vice grip of his appreciative hug.

Even though Ominis eventually joins you both at the ball as a reluctant third wheel – and dances with plenty of lovely girls who find him quite dashing in his tailored dress robes, mind you – he wishes he’d had the chance to take you properly himself. It’s not the first time he’d sabotaged his own happiness, nor will it be the last, but it’s probably the instance he regrets the most.

2: the first date

Shortly after the ball, Sebastian excitedly tells Ominis he’s asked you on a date.

“A real one this time, a proper one,” he insists. “ I think we’ll just pop down to Hogsmeade for some Butterbeer, which isn’t that exciting, but at least it’s a real date.”

Ominis says nothing as he presses his fingers more firmly into the pages of the book he’s reading.

“Er, Ominis?” Sebastian asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Would you like to join us?”

His hand halts abruptly. “What?”

“I was wondering – we both were, actually – if you’d like to come to the pub,” Sebastian offers once more. “It won’t be the same without you.”

Then I suppose you should have thought of that before asking her on a date, Ominis thinks bitterly. The audacity of Sebastian to suggest he’ll be missed while he woos you is nearly enough to provoke his temper; instead, he takes a long, deep breath before answering.

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate,” he says, purposefully leaning into the propriety of his posh tongue. “As a gentleman, I’ll respectfully pass.”

Sebastian opens his mouth as if to try to talk Ominis into reconsidering, but he remains silent, and Ominis remains ignorant of his heartsick expression.

You make a second attempt to convince him to join you when you come downstairs.

“Won’t you please come?” you ask softly as you tuck your hair into your scarf. “I know this is… different, but our friendship is what’s most important in all this, and–”

“Our friendship will be perfectly fine,” Ominis says curtly. “As it happens I have plans to study with Violet and Nerida this evening, but I hope the two of you have a lovely time.”

He closes his book a bit harder than is strictly necessary and storms off, leaving Sebastian to gently reach for your hand and murmur, “He’ll come around eventually, you’ll see.”

You aren’t as sure.

By the end of the school year, you and Sebastian have begun quite a serious courtship. Despite his very best attempts to retreat into his schoolwork, the two of you coax Ominis into warming to your relationship just enough to restore your friendship.

Months go by just like that, and eventually, the fiery jealousy that settles in Ominis’ stomach whenever he hears the two of you snogging settles into a dull ache that he can mostly ignore.

3: the engagement

Even in the soft, low light of the Leaky Cauldron, the emerald on your ring finger sparkles brilliantly. The singular flickering candle that rests on the table before you can’t possibly be enough to make it gleam like that, but nevertheless it shines.

Though Ominis can’t see for himself your new glimmering accessory, you’d gleefully taken his hand in yours as soon as he’d arrived and traced his fingertips over the petite stone. He’d nearly forgotten to breathe as you’d told him how Sebastian had proposed marriage on the shoreline near Feldcroft over a lovely picnic lunch.

He needn’t be surprised, he thinks. It’s been three years since the three of you finished school at Hogwarts and took up an apartment in London near the Ministry, and while Ominis can’t specifically recall the two of you discussing marriage, he admits that it felt sickeningly inevitable after a while. When Sebastian had announced that the two of you were taking a brief weekend trip back to Scotland to visit Anne, he should have suspected something like this could happen.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he manages to force out.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you sigh dreamily. “Oh, Ominis, I can hardly believe it!”

Sebastian smiles proudly and rests his arm across your shoulders. With his other hand, he gently lifts your hand to his lips so he can press a soft kiss against the cool, green gem with which he’d asked for your hand.

“It’s not nearly as big as you deserve,” he begrudges. “But it’s the best I could on a Ministry salary.”

“Nonsense, it’s perfect,” you insist, unable to resist smiling to yourself as you tilt your hand this way and that, watching how it catches the light and even seems to glow from within.

Ominis’ stomach twists enviously as he allows himself a moment to fantasize about the ring he could have given you. An offensively huge diamond to start, and then perhaps several emeralds surrounding it in an ostentatious cluster, as if to prove that his monstrous family’s monstrous wealth could be used to bejewel something – someone – so stunning.

(Maybe you’d like a moonstone ring, he wonders, if you were his; you’d once said that his eyes remind you of moonstones, and he’s never forgotten.)

“Perhaps someday we’ll upgrade it,” Sebastian says, glancing sidelong at Ominis. “Or add a second one alongside it.”

“I suppose you’ll have to,” Ominis mumbles, pausing to take a long drink of his elderflower wine while the two of you exchange a hopeful glance.

Finally, he concludes, “At the wedding, hmm? The second band?”

“Right,” you sigh, pursing your lips and rolling your eyes fondly at Sebastian. “At the wedding.”

4: the honeymoon

For a full week, Ominis lays awake at night trying desperately to fall asleep to no avail.

He’s lived with the two of you as a couple for four years now, and it’s hardly the first time he’s heard you being intimate with each other. He’s found ways to cope after all this time – most of which involve leaving the apartment and going down to the pub around the corner until he’s sure you’re finished.

(Sometimes, usually when he’s already been to the pub that evening, he copes by pretending he’s not listening even though he leaves his bedroom door open just a crack. Only under Veritaserum would he admit that on those nights, when filthy noises drift down the hallway between your rooms, he touches himself and imagines joining you both.)

But here on this warm, secluded island off the coast of Spain, there’s no pub to which Ominis can simply disappear and scowl into his drink for an hour or two. He’s held hostage by the utterly maddening sounds of Sebastian eagerly pleasuring you in the next room over, and he wonders for the umpteenth time why he ever agreed to join you on this cursed trip.

“Come with us, won’t you?” you’d begged every day for a full week. “Ominis, you haven’t had a vacation in years! You must come, please.”

There had been promises of endless bottles of Spanish wine, afternoons spent lounging on the beach, and lovely walks through the foothills near the friendly Muggle towns. What had not been discussed was the nighttime routine, which always began with the two of you making a tipsy, not-so-subtle escape to your bedroom suite.

Now that he’s here, Ominis thinks, he can hardly ask the two of you not to be intimate with each other – it is your honeymoon trip, after all. But every night? For what seems like ages?

Surely this trip is going to be the death of him.

…If he didn’t know any better, he might think you’re trying to tempt him on purpose. To what end he couldn’t possibly imagine, but it seems as if you and Sebastian are almost trying to make sure that you’re overheard.

“Sebastian!” you wail through the walls. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Ominis can only imagine how he’s undoing you. He’s uncharacteristically quiet; perhaps he has his mouth on you, taking you apart with his tongue while you cling to his messy, sun-lightened hair between your thighs.

Usually, when he’s not using his mouth on you, Sebastian’s just as loud. His low, desperate groans stir up heat in the pit of Ominis’ stomach, and the filth he talks… Ominis isn’t sure where he learned that kind of language, but he’s helpless to stop it echoing inside his head as he shamefully listens in.

Moments later, while Ominis tosses and turns fitfully as he resists the urge to shove his hand inside his pajamas, he hears Sebastian call out:

“That’s it, my love, be as loud as you can for me, you’re such a brilliant little temptress.”

Ominis groans in frustration and throws a stray pillow to the floor; he’s now positive that you’re doing this on purpose.

Your wanton moans carry on and on until Ominis, desperate from exhaustion and heartache and frustration, buries his face in his pillow and shoves his hand beneath his bedcovers, hoping the two of you will never find out about this.

5: the first home

Ominis’ wedding gift to the two of you had been a charming seaside cottage in the Highlands, It’s close enough to Feldcroft to allow for Anne to visit yet tucked away in peaceful seclusion, which ought to be well suited for a pair of broody newlyweds…

Or so he’d thought.

“You’ll come live with us, of course,” Sebastian says easily when Ominis asks him why he’s begun to pack up the entirety of your shared London flat.

“But I work in the city,” Ominis points out dumbly, as if that’s the biggest problem with his dear friend’s assumption.

“So do we,” you say with a cheerful laugh. “There’s a Floo fireplace, remember? You’re the one who showed it to us!”

“B-but… But it’s your home,” Ominis stammers. “I – I intended it as a gift, for your family… as it grows.”

“You are our family, Ominis,” Sebastian says nonchalantly as he charms a pile of Ominis’ Braille books into a moving crate, so casually as if he hasn’t just wrought havoc on his humble heart.

“Besides, no one’s family is growing just yet,” you add teasingly. “There will be plenty of time for all that once we’ve sorted out the house and… well, once we’ve sorted everything out.”

Ominis reddens while unbeknownst to him, you and Sebastian share a significant look.

“W-well, how am I supposed to meet anyone if I move out to the seaside?” Ominis demands. “I’ll have you know I don’t intend on remaining a bachelor forever, despite how much it might please you both.”

You and Sebastian both fall silent. Immediately Ominis regrets his words, regardless of how true they are. He’s dated occasionally, even met a lovely witch who works at Gringotts that he’d considered courting, but every time he introduced a “new friend” to his dearest roommates, none of the lot ever seemed to pass muster.

“I… I shouldn’t have said that,” Ominis murmurs. “I apologize.”

“No, you’re right,” Sebastian says quietly. “We should be the ones apologizing.”

“Ominis,” you whisper, and in a heartbeat Ominis knows he’d follow the two of you wherever you went, even at the expense of his own love life.

“Honestly, we’re truly sorry,” you tell him, taking his hands in yours. “Our selfishness has gone on for so long, and – and there’s so much more I want to say, but–”

“All’s forgiven, darling,” Ominis says faux-cheerfully, cracking a rare smile. “After all, you said it best – there will be plenty of time for all that once we’ve sorted out the house, hmm? Shall we pack my clothes?”

You press a lingering kiss to his cheek and thank him. Ominis feels not unlike a slowly sinking ship, as though the water around him is as intoxicatingly warm as a murlap bath.

+1. the confession

Ominis is perfectly made for seaside living, much to his surprise.

Each morning, he joins the two of you for breakfast in your cozy cottage kitchen. The three of you then join hands as you travel by Floo into the city, where upon arriving Ominis will insist on being brushed clean of any stray Floo powder before joining the throng of Londoners pushing through the city.

Each evening, you dine together and luxuriate in each others’ company by the fireplace, reading books and pressing herbs and making grand plans for your next great adventure, always just the three of you.

Weekends bring brisk morning walks by the beach and afternoon picnics, trips to Anne’s cottage and shopping in Diagon Alley. It’s a lovely little life – companionable, and good, and it doesn’t even matter to Ominis that he’s not in love.

At least not in the traditional sense.

In truth, Ominis has been deeply in love for a very long time: once since he was fourteen years old, with his first real friend, again when he was sixteen, with his second. He thinks his damned heart will probably always belong to them, though he couldn’t ask for a better pair to care for it.

So, perhaps he’s in love, but not loved.

…Except that indeed he is, and when he realizes it, it’s as if he’s finally sunk deep down into that warm water that’s been lulling him in like a siren’s song for nearly half a decade.

He sees love in how you tenderly stroke his hair when he rests his head in your lap after a long day at work. He sees love in how Sebastian loops his arm through his own when he joins Ominis for a walk along the beach, peacefully narrating the journey with a smile so wide Ominis can hear it in his voice.He sees love in how the both of you spin him around each morning and brush your hands over his cloak to rid him of that infernal powder.

He’s loved; he’s so loved.

No milestone marks the day Ominis’ world widens. No first date, no grand ball, no ornate moonstone ring (though you did eventually get one, and it barely puts a dent in the Gaunt family fortune).

Instead, two simply becomes three.

One evening, Ominis presses a gentle kiss to your lips, and then to Sebastian’s. There’d been no conversation; there’d been no need. Sebastian holds him in his arms while you pour every drop of love you’d held aside for him against his mouth; your husband works bruises Ominis will never see into his pale neck that seem to spell out ours, ours, finally ours.

“Always only yours,” Ominis gasps. “Yours, and yours.”

He joins your bed that night, leaving behind a trail of clothes dotted with whispered confessions of just how many times he’s imagined being taken apart by you both. He’s learned, pleasured, devoured in ways he’s never allowed himself to indulge in, even in his fantasies. Sebastian’s touch, your lips, his lewd words, your taste…

Afterward, tears shed for so many years wasted threaten to stain the bedsheets, but Sebastian wordlessly wipes them from Ominis’ cheeks.

“You understand now,” you whisper against the hollow of his throat. “We love you, Ominis.”

“I do,” he finally breathes. “I understand.”

“So brilliant and so oblivious,” Sebastian chuckles softly. “That’s our Ominis.”

Their Ominis. What a lovely little life indeed.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Echo

Chapter Summary: Echo is the lucky bastard who gets to fuck you—or maybe you're the lucky one.

Chapter Warnings: siren!Echo x gn!reader; kinks: formal wear + voice kink. unprotected penetrative sex (can be read as PiV or PiA), cum as lube, Echo has hair because I say so, this one's a little more tame on the 'monster'fucker front but I hope it ticks some boxes for y'all regardless; if I missed any warnings please lmk!

Word Count: 2.6k

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Echo. 

A round of wolf-whistles rises from the rest of the table (quite literally, in Hunter’s case). Echo jostles you with his elbow, a good-natured grin gracing his features. Quirking an eyebrow at him, you drink in the sight of him sitting next to you. His perfectly tailored suit hugs his body in all the right places, thighs straining against the fine material; the silken red bowtie at his neck draws your eye appreciatively down the strong column of his throat. His hair has grown back in a fuzzy nest of brown curls that he’s slicked back. In short, he looks positively mouth-watering. That’s exactly what happens as you rake your gaze over him.

“Get a room, you two,” Fives jeers, playfully tossing a balled up napkin at you. 

It bounces harmlessly off your face. You flash him a rude gesture before rising to your feet, offering your hand to Echo.

“Shall we?”

He takes your hand. Against your skin, his satin glove is smooth and warm, the strength of his grip belied by the entrapment. You suppress a shiver as you step away from the table, Echo trailing you, fingers laced through yours. 

As you begin to wind your way through the crowd, you shoot a glance over your shoulder to Echo. He smirks at you, one eyebrow raised as if in question. In the strobing, multicolored lights, he looks near ethereal, a vision stepped straight out of one of those high-end Coruscanti model holos. You bite your lip. 

His smirk deepens. Tugging you back against his chest, he wraps his scomp arm around your middle to hold you against his chest. He carefully presses his cheek to the side of your head, mindful of his headpiece, and inhales your scent.

“Care for a dance, cyare?” he asks.

A delightful, full-body tingle shivers through you at the way his voice rumbles against your ear. “You read my mind.” 

He hums, the sound sending another frisson of exhilaration cascading through all your nerves. Not releasing his hold on you, your hands still entwined where he brings them to rest on your hip, he finds the rhythm of the song, a deep, bassy, sexy beat that vibrates your bones. Gently, giving you enough leeway in case you decide you want to pull away, he guides your hips to the music. 

It’s all the encouragement you need. Circling your hips, you grind your ass against his crotch, earning a low, groaning chuckle. Snaking your hand free up and back, you thread your fingers through his curls. Echo turns his head, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the pulse point just below your jaw.

A gasp escapes you, lost in the consuming bass of the music. He laves at that spot, nipping playfully. 

Emboldened by the shifting, partial lighting and his lips on your neck, you grind against him again as you draw his hand up your chest. A moan tumbles from you as the half-hard definition of his cock presses against you through layers of clothing. His fingers dance over your chest, tweaking a nipple through your shirt.

“Feel what you do to me, pretty thing?” he murmurs, voice sliding like honey over your ears. “Drive me kriffin’ crazy.”

You’ve never realized it before, but stars, you could listen to Echo talk all day. He could read a damn dictionary and you’d be enthralled. Turning your head, you peer up into his eyes, mere pinpricks of shine in the green-tinted lights flashing around you. Dropping your gaze to his lips, your eyelashes flutter. 

“What d’you want, cyare, hm? Tell me,” he urges, eyes fixated on your parted lips.

“I want,” you begin, voice tremulous, “I want to kiss you.” 

“You wanna kiss me?” he repeats, a dangerous smirk curling over his face.

Gulping, you nod. You don’t trust your voice now to not reveal the intensity of the fire scorching through your veins. 

With a contented sigh, Echo tips his head forward and captures your lips in a heated kiss. His scomp tugs you tighter against his chest as he practically ruts his hardness against your ass, When he tugs again at your nipple, you whimper into his mouth. Electricity sparks where he touches you. But he doesn’t relent, kissing you until you’re dizzy with want. Arousal pools hot and tight in your belly.

“Kriff,” you gasp as you pull away from his mouth, “kriff, Echo, stars.” 

He chuckles. His gaze sweeps over the crowd around you—but no one seems to be paying you any mind. “What’s the matter, sweetness?”

“Want you,” you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

“Want me to what?”

His voice has dropped an octave, positively dripping with sex, and you shudder in his grasp. How can one person’s voice be so alluring, so enticing? 

Rather than using your words, you extricate yourself from his embrace and, crooking one finger with a coy smile, urge him to follow you again. A bemused smile graces his features; he slips his hand into his pocket as he steps after you.

You lead him towards the back hallway you’d caught sight of earlier, down a series of blind turns, and pick a door at random. Within, there’s a simple bed with silk sheets; dozens of candles, strewn on every available surface, cast the room in a cheery, cozy glow. Echo moves past you, surveying the room with a curious expression.

“This works,” you say, shutting the door. 

You take another moment to really, fully appreciate the specimen of a man before you. Echo gives you an indulgent smile. Backlit by the flickering candlelight, he looks divine; the crisp lines of his black suit outline his silhouette in exquisite fashion. Up close, you realize that the fabric isn’t solid black, but rather one shade of black embroidered with another, darker hue. Tracing one of the repeating designs, you reach with tentative fingers to unbutton the matching vest.

Only to gasp in surprise when his hand catches your wrist.

“You never answered my question,” he says. His gaze holds your own, deep and soulful and burning. Have his eyes always been that golden?

“Everything,” you say, the answer falling from your lips without a second thought. “I want you to do everything to me.”

His eyes fall to half-lidded, a sultry twist to his mouth. “Everything, cyare? That’s awfully broad. How am I supposed to pick?” 

Another shiver dances up your spine as goosebumps erupt all over your skin at his voice. Echo’s eyebrows twitch at your physiological response. 

“D’you like the sound of my voice, pretty little thing?” he asks, inflecting the words down, deeper, hotter.

Nodding, a more concrete idea of what you want crystallizes in your mind. “Love your voice, Echo. Can you— can you make me cum just by talking to me?”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink. “Kriff, yeah, baby. Whatever you want. Want to get off from me telling you everything I want to do to your gorgeous body?”

You whine, pleasurable heat pulsing through your core.

“Alright, baby.��� He gestures toward the bed. “Get undressed and get comfy.” 

“What about you?” you ask. You’re already shucking your clothes, but pause when he fixes you with an inscrutable look.

“Oh no,” he says, “you asked for my voice. The suit stays on. Fitting, that you’d ask me to whisper filth to you, when I’m dressed as a siren.”

Inhaling a short breath in surprise, you merely blink at him. He chucks you under your chin with a wink, then glances down at your state of half-undress. Swallowing, you hurry to strip out of the rest of the now-too tight garments and clamber up onto the silky smooth sheets. You prop yourself up with a number of plush pillows. 

“Good,” Echo murmurs. He perches on the edge of the bed, one thick thigh crossed under the other, his hand supporting the way he leans. “Such a good listener.” 

The praise coils through your ears and settles in your lower belly, simmering with an intense, acute heat. You can only nod, at a loss for words.

“Sit on your hands for me, baby,” he instructs. “Can’t have you cheating, now can we?” 

Your chest heaves with anticipation as you shift, sliding your hands beneath your butt to trap them there. Echo’s eyes flicker a brighter gold. For a moment, he lets you sit there, core aching, skin flushed and sweat beginning to dew. At the apex of your thighs, your arousal throbs, demanding to be touched.

“Bet you feel so soft,” he says. The way he murmurs the words makes you think it’s more a thought that slipped out than an intentional statement, but the effect is the same: your nipples pebble as if inviting him to touch. He clears his throat and continues. “Nearly lost my mind out there when you pushed your ass against my dick. Nearly took you right there on the dancefloor.” 

“F-Fuck,” you grit out. His voice caresses your skin, a physical presence. “W-Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t want to put my vod’e to shame.” He chuckles. “Wanted you all to myself. Wanted to feel how you fall apart, just for me. Is that what you want, cyare? Gonna squirm for me?” 

As if by his request, you push your hips in his direction, silently begging. 

“Thought so,” he says. “Mm. So needy. I’m gonna make you cum just like this, and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk after, how’s that sound, gorgeous?”

“Yes, yes please, just keep talking,” you whine. The aching need in your core grows with each word he speaks, a spell weaving in the air around you, drawing your nerves along for the ride. 

“You felt so good against me out there,” he continues. “Warm and pliant and body fucking begging me to take you. Gonna make you feel so good, cyare. I’m gonna suck my mark into your neck, show everyone who makes you feel this good. Make sure they know whose cock was buried in you. Fuck, I bet you’re tight, bet you need a good fucking to loosen you up. That what you need, baby? Need to be fucked out?” 

You’re writhing at this point, hips jerking as if his words are physically touching you. “Y-Yes, stars, please!”

“Yeah, I know you need that.” 

You have enough awareness to catch movement in his lap—he’s fucking palming himself through his pants, and the sight draws a raw, cracking moan from your chest. His eyes bore into yours for a moment, an intense, glowing gold, and a jolt of pleasure rocks through you. 

“First I’d make you suck me off, get my dick all nice and wet. Your lips will look so good wrapped around me, kark. Don’t worry, I’d put my mouth on you, too. Tease you with my tongue until you’re begging for me to fuck you. 

“And then I’d slip into your tight hole—ngh, kriff—” He shudders, palm stilling over his crotch for a moment. “Make you scream for me, make you moan until your voice gives out. Then I’d make you cum again, all over my cock. Fuck, you’ll look so pretty when I fuck you like that, takin’ everything I give you.” 

Pleasure mounts in your body with every new word. The rough, raw edge to his voice only serves to rake tingling ecstasy over your entire body. In your belly, the knot of desire pulls tighter, tighter, tighter—you’re teetering on the precipice, ready to shatter at any moment. 

A sob wracks through your form. “Echo, please, need to cum!”

“I know, baby, I know you do,” he coos. “You wanna cum? Cum for me, pretty thing. Cum and then I’ll fuck you just like you need me to.” 

“Oh fuck—” Your moan chokes off into a strangled gasp as his command washes over you. All at once, the knotted core of need in your center snaps and unravels. Your back arches off the bed, hands scrabbling at the silk sheets for purchase as you cum, shouting incoherent praise to the room. Wave after wave breaks over you, each one drowning you in fresh pleasure.

Through it all, Echo murmurs sweet praise in your ear, his fingers finding purchase at your heated core. “That’s it, baby. Just like that, you’re doing so well. See? Promised you I’d make you cum, and now I’m gonna fuck you, okay, baby?”

Dimly, you register his words. Nodding, you think you beg for it—or maybe you’re just begging for the orgasm to keep going, for your body to keep convulsing and shuddering. Somewhere in the haze that begins to settle over your mind, you feel Echo’s hand grip your hip, holding your lower body still, and then he’s pushing into you, his cock slick with spit and your release.

You groan simultaneously. Walls fluttering around his thick length, you suck in lungfuls of air to steady yourself, the stretch a little painful but nevertheless immaculate. He’s so big; he’s everywhere, stuffed into your tight heat and filling your vision and caressing your flushed skin. 

“Kark,” he bites out. “Not gonna last long, cyare.” 

“S’okay,” you pant. “Please fuck me.” 

You don’t need to tell him twice. Snapping his hips against you, his balls slap your ass with every thrust, the erotic sound echoing in the small room. Gripping one of your thighs to his chest, he squeezes it as he drives his cock into you mercilessly, his jacket discarded and the rest of his clothes disheveled. All you can do is lie there and take it, keening brokenly. His cock grazes against that one spot deep in your heat that makes stars burst across your vision. Whining, you fist the sheets to ground yourself. 

“W-Where—” 

“Paint me,” you gasp. “Want your cum on me.”

He pulls out immediately, his cock throbbing. Ribbons of hot, white cum splatter over your chest and tummy. Eyes locked together, you have to fight to keep your own open to catch the way that his face twists with bliss as he cums. But he makes it difficult, working his hand over your center to draw out your second orgasm.

You spasm under his touch, weakly pushing his hand away in overstimulation. Core locked up with tight pleasure, it takes you several long moments to drift back down. Heart pounding, chest heaving, you glance up at Echo with a tired grin. 

He chuckles. “Holy kriff.” 

“You can say that again,” you say, huffing a laugh.

His cum has begun to dry on your skin; you glance around for a towel. Echo retrieves his jacket where he must have tossed it on the other end of the bed and gently wipes your skin clean.

“Thanks,” you murmur, too blissed out to care that he’s ruining a perfectly good suit. 

He shrugs out of the other garments then collapses on the bed next to you. Tangling your fingers together, you smile lazily at one another. Distantly, the music of the party reaches you, but you’re in no rush. 

“So,” you murmur. 

“So,” he echoes. His voice has returned to its normal gruff timbre—still incredibly sexy, but no longer magically enhanced. 

You study his eyes for a moment, also returned to their normal state. With a teasing hum, you nudge him. “What happened to all the other things you mentioned? Marking me, going down on me?” 

He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got...impatient.”

You laugh, a genuine, belly laugh that makes him chuckle, too. 

“Maybe...” You trail off, biting your lip. “Maybe we can get dinner sometime, and then we can try those.” 

Humming, he nuzzles your neck. “I’d love that.”

Ragu list: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @originalcollectionartistry @imarvelatthestars (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

[roseshewrites]

RadioApple Week ; ~DANCE~ I forget the day number oops)

Am I doing this right?! I completely missed this whole week because I literally just rejoined tumblr. Anyway, here's my out of context mid-fanfic contribution to RadioApple Week. (You'll have to forgive the inconsistencies of Alastor's knowledge of the song it's an unedited WIP, regardless one of my favorite scenes)

-Getting the ballroom ready for a patron's wedding venue

-Fred Astaire songs ensue

**********

"You shouldn't apologize." 

Alastor looked away from Lucifer at the blue windows, as if invested in them instead of what he had just seen- a magnetic little creature bouncing and brimming with ideas, his eyes shining with the love of dreams and invention. Lucifer was... 

Well, he was rather cute at that moment.

"Pardon?" 

"Oh," Alastor said, "I mean, you shouldn't apologize for loving something. Don't bring yourself down. It will turn you cold." 

He allowed a true grin and added, "Anyway, if you should turn all depressed and miserable on us, your daughter will have a fit, and that ruins everyone else's day." 

"Yeah you're right," Lucifer said. "Huh. So what do you know about being depressed and miserable?" 

"Nothing at all," Alastor responded airily, "Shall we let Charlie know this may be the only available room?" 

"Sure." 

Lucifer turned around and on a whim it seemed, made blue and white twinkle lights appear around the ceiling rim with a wave of his hands, making the room seem full of starlight. 

Alastor heard him whistling a tune from behind him.

"What is that from?" It sounded familiar. 

Lucifer chuckled, "You're a fan of tap dance, and you don't know Fred Astaire? He is *the* king of tap. It's from Top Hat." 

"I don't watch picture shows."

He was lying. He remembered that song, now. He'd seen the movie, used to play it on repeat back when he'd actually owned a television set...before Vox had inexplicably ruined them for him.

"You should. You'd like that one. *Isn't this a lovely day to be caught in the rain?*," Lucifer sang. 

Alastor heard the little patter of a tap routine being conducted behind him and he whirled about to see it, amused. 

"You dance like Fred." 

Lucifer tried out a few different simpler footworks.

"Thought you don't watch 'picture shows.' And really? I always thought I was more of a Ginger." 

"I've seen it. And Fred's style is ecstatic. Well. More airy...he'd off and fly away if he didn't have her to  ground him." 

"You were going on your way now you've got to remaaaain..." 

"Oh, do stop, we have things to do." Alastor shoved him away, only for the little king to bounce back on his left, continuing to sing, "Just as you were going, leaving me all at seaaa! Gah!" (Alastor had shoved him again) 

"The clouds broke! They broke, and oh, what a break for mee!" 

Alastor whirled to get in his face, "Will you not shut your trap!" 

"I will after you dance with me. I know you adore the routine. I can see it. Your feet don't lie," Lucifer grinned. 

Alastor did. He knew how the song continued. He knew every inch of this scene; he'd watched it many times. It was one of the only movies he *would* sit and watch.

I can see the sun up high, though we're caught in a storm... 

I can see where you and I could be cozy and warm.

He remembered the expressiveness of Ginger's face as Fred cooed this song to her, giving him the time of day only in her smile, then giving up halfway through the song to let herself dance with him. 

Alastor let his radio crackle into the air, summoning the rest of the song with ease. 

"Let the rain pitter patter, but it really doesn't matter if the skies are gray...long as I can be with you, it's a lovely day!"~, Fred Astaire's voice echoed about the empty and softly lit ballroom. 

"You win. I'll dance," Alastor smirked, "But can you keep up?" 

"Oh it's on, Ginger!" Lucifer chuckled. 

"Then take it away, Fred." 

Astaire was a leader in his style, and Ginger a follower. Lucifer...there was that dominating presence again, that shine of confidence as they moved together, their footsteps and the song echoing around the room in tandem. It was one of the only times, Alastor thought, that he did not mind dancing in a style was more fluid, more of a matcher for his partner, and Lucifer's beat and energy was right on time with his. 

"Do you know round? How about swing?" Alastor tried a deviation from the movie routine and barely gave Lucifer time to adjust, but he caught on quickly, his deep laugh bouncing off the walls, then lost it just as fast but cracking up again as he tried to regain his balance. 

"Those are my feet you are trampling all over, sir," Alastor complained, catching Lucifer before he could stumble again and hit the floor. 

The music was reaching the faster part now, the bit that was full of thunderstorm noises and lightning, but they both were stationary- 

"Hah," Lucifer, still in Alastor's arms, looked up at him grinning, "A good dance partner you are not. Who throws styles all over the place like confetti?" 

"Hmm perhaps it's your fault for not reading my mind," Alastor responded. 

"Hey radio face, if I could read your mind, I'd have a whole lot of answers to a whole lot of questions I have right now." 

"Lucifer...shut up." 

"Make me," Lucifer challenged. 

Alastor kissed him. 

It was Lucifer's turn to make a noise of surprise and protest, to resist just the tiniest bit, push at Alastor's chest with his hands uselessly, then quickly melt...his lips were hot, and skilled, and now that Alastor was close to him again, he was detecting a soft sweet scent like perfume or shower soap.. 

Or..apples.

Just when Alastor wished it to go on further Lucifer drew them apart, whispering, his breath warm on his lips, and said, "Alastor...you're confusing the *shit* out of me right now." 

"Hmm...well," Alastor murmured, then grinned, "Payback's just an ornery old bitch, isn't it?"- he patted Lucifer's cheek sassily, "We should go and see what your daughter thinks of the room." 

With that, he left Lucifer behind, who was muttering some curse or other under his breath. 

[tallbluelady]

Melody!

It was strange to Thancred how quickly life returned to routine after the events of the Praetorium. It didn't even take that long for him to recover from his ordeal, at least physically. Mentally, he had enough work to do that he didn't have time to dwell on anything, which is how he preferred it. For the moment, he was reviewing the various reports on the Amalj'aa from the Immortal Flames over breakfast. He sighed and shook his head. Routine, he recalled, included strife, and it would seem he would have to call upon Rowan and her friends to ensure that the Lord of the Inferno wouldn't start to wreak havoc upon the land.

Thancred found Thorsthal and Khaliun talking over some chain mail that the large Au'ri woman needed mended, and both received the news with a grim nod. A'quexta was gathering a few plates for herself and her comrades and was humming a familiar tune.

"Is that Tam Lin that you're humming?" Thancred asked before getting to the news that she needed to fight another Primal.

"Oh, is that the song? Rowan must have been humming it and it rubbed off on me," A'quexta said. "D'ya need to talk to her?"

After relaying the news to the conjurer, Thancred started through the Waking Sands to find the elusive bard. He smiled as he heard the melody of the ballad through the hall and into the common room. He couldn't help but smile as he heard it bounce around in various voices and even in whistling.

Eventually he found Rowan in the library, humming the song to herself while wandering through the shelves. She found a book on the top shelf and picked it out with only a stretch. She jumped when she turned and saw Thancred.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," she said, holding the book to her chest. "Is there aught you need to tell me?"

"Two things - Ifrit's likely to be summoned again soon, if the Immortal Flames are to be believed," he said.

She gave a worried hum. "What's the other thing?"

"Only that you've infected the entire building with your melody, dear bard. I didn't realize you had a such talent for song." Thancred gave a rakish grin, hoping to win a blush from Rowan.

She did, in fact, give him one. "I, uh... oh, goodness, truly?"

Thancred laughed. "Tis a compliment, sweet lady. And any sort of levity is welcome these days, I'd say."

"Ah, I suppose... do A'quexta, Thorsthal, and Khaliun know about Ifrit?"

"They do. If you haven't broken your fast, I'd say do it now before you head over."

She nodded, then turned to wave at Urianger in the corner before leaving. Thancred saw him grace her with a smile before he returned to his work. After pulling up a chair and resting his chin on his hands, Thancred sighed.

"I know they're up to the task but... I still feel so much trepidation sending our heroes out to slay gods. Especially when they could be filling our halls with melodies instead," Thancred said.

Urianger gave an affirmative ehm-hm without looking up from his papers. "Would that a less noble spirit be able to take up the mantle of the Warrior of Light. Alas, we may yet surmise that tis from her gentle and kind nature that Rowan developed such abilities as to protect us all."

Funny, I hadn't singled her out in my statement. Thancred smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder before leaving to fulfill his other tasks. "I suppose you're right. So, in her absence, I shall carry her song through our halls."

Despite his goggles and cowl, Thancred could tell that Urianger rolled his eyes, but Thancred started to sing regardless.

"I forbid ye maidens all..."

*   *   *

Urianger gave a small contented chuckle to himself. Thancred was healing. It had been moons since he heard the man sing, even before he had been possessed by the Ascian. I pray that he may yet have more cause to sing in the coming days.

He found himself humming the melody again as he worked. Urianger hadn't intended for Rowan to catch the tune, but he enjoyed her rendition nevertheless, even if it did come back to himself.

[olliexwrites]

A Grove Of Silver Leaves — Chapter One

CWs: Uncomfortable kisses, death, manipulation, blood, mass murder, etc. (Please let me know if there's more I need to warn about)

AGOSL Taglist: @bluberimufim / @dyrewrites / @himawari-candyy / @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling

“Lindenbaum? Hey, it’s me!” A young man called out, knocking softly on the wooden front door of a small red and white cottage. His platinum hair radiated down his back, and there was a glint of impatience in his silver eyes as he knocked on the door. 

“Coming, Florian!”

A younger-looking girl opened the cottage door. Her silver hair appeared to be almost white, and she had vivid, crimson eyes that burned like fire. A warm, youthful smile shimmered on her face as she briefly bowed her head in greeting. She was a bit shorter than Florian, and she wore a flowing, snow-white cloak that trailed behind her as she took a step forward. 

She was excited for today's excursion.

"I’m ready, big brother!”

“Again, with you calling me that,” He chastised. Sighing and shaking his head at her, he placed a hand on her head. “You always insist on wearing this, don’t you, Lin?” He lightly pulled at the cloak she was wearing.

Lin’s bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “I don’t want to be hunted! Didn’t you hear about what happened to Bella and Basil three days ago?”

The incident the girl was talking about was the third report of a hunting of witchkind within Silver Grove that had been made since the last full moon. Humans had spotted the silver witches and decided to hunt them down, envious of the rarity of silver eyes. This envy drove the humans to kill any witches they saw and carve their eyes out. It was a merciless hunt, and she was frightened that it would happen to her as well.

This was why the girl wore crimson contacts to hide her true eye color from outsiders. They had been given to her by her mother a long time ago, and so far, there wasn't a day where she hadn’t put them in before she left her cottage.

Even though there had been at least seven deaths since the last silent vigil, there had been too many to hold another one straight away. So instead, a large funerary service was to be held during the next full moon to account for all of the deaths since the hunting began.

The air outside felt thinner than usual, and Lindenbaum wrapped herself tighter in her cloak as she continued to pout.

“Yeah, of course, I did.” A solemn look came across his face as he spoke. “But there’s no way they’ll hunt you. Y’know why?”

She knew what he was going to say, but played along anyway, bouncing on her toes. Excitement was clear on her features. “Why? Why?"

He wrapped his arms around the younger girl and smiled. “Because I’ll be here to protect ya. All the way. Promise on the moon.” He laughed and pressed a small kiss to the girl’s forehead in an affectionate gesture.

She squealed, but returned the unexpected embrace happily. “It’s a promise on the moon. You can’t break it, okay?"

“And why would I go and do something like that, for? Heh, that would be ridiculous!” He hummed as he withdrew his arms, instead grabbing at one of the girl’s trembling hands. “Well, shall we get going? Viola doesn’t like it if we’re stuck outside after dark, remember?”

She squeezed his hand to ground herself. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The Dovetail Ruins was a place that not many witches were brave enough to enter. It was many centuries old and was once known as a “tourist trap” for humans, before witches came into being and chased them out. It was also often known as an informal resting place for spirits and ghosts to fester and hide. This was why many did not wish to enter.

However, Lindenbaum was one of the few that loved exploring places such as these, and Florian was forced to explore alongside her as her chaperone. He never minded it, as he refused to pass up the chance to spend more time with the one he regarded as a younger sister. Even though he had been assigned to stay by her side, he would protect her regardless.

Florian held the torch as Lindenbaum grabbed onto his free hand. She loved exploring the ruins, but she refused to be alone there.

At some point during their adventure, she saw an eerie black shape out of the corner of her eye. She remembered the stories she was told about the spirits that would reside in such a dark and desolate place. What scared her wasn’t the ghost itself, nor was it the dark and desolate state of the ruins themselves.

What frightened her most was the sound.

Somewhere deeper in the ruins, there was the sound of scraping metal. She seemed to be the only one who could hear it, so she didn’t dare ask what it was. However, the sound itself shook her to her core, and she couldn’t help but quiver where she stood. This only lasted a moment, before the excitement of exploring took over once more.

"Shouldn't we be heading back soon?" He asked when the two of them were about three hours into their exploration. It was bound to be dark soon, and he knew that their leader, Viola, would be concerned if they didn't make it back by sundown at the earliest.

"Aww, but we just got here!" She pouted childishly, and the man beside her chuckled, patting her head and messing up her silver hair.

"I know, but it's getting dark out there. You don't want Viola getting mad at us, do you?" He frowned. "Then we won't be able to come out here again for a long while."

She sighed. "Fine. You'd better promise me we'll come out here again soon, though." She pouted childishly, turning away from him as she crossed her arms.

"On the moon," He said, holding out his hand for the other to take. He was used to this routine by now; it was something he had gone through every time.

“On the moon,” She repeated, taking his hand. She tightened her grip on his hand once they prepared to leave the ruins.

It took them three hours to return from whence they came, and the sun was setting by the time they returned home.

Silver Grove was a relatively small village that housed the remaining witches of the Silver Clan. The structure itself was circular, with buildings of various sizes and shapes dotting the landscape.

Lindenbaum's cottage was near the center of the village, exiled from most other houses due to her specific condition, while Florian's was close to the village leader’s mansion for  safety. This was where Viola resided.

There was a forest surrounding the outskirts of the village, the trees shimmering with silver leaves that made the surrounding air feel like a wintry wonderland of sorts. The breeze was colder in the forest, sending a shiver down the spines of witches who traveled to and fro.

The entrance to Silver Grove was around two hours away from the Dovetail Ruins entrance on foot, but the path was narrow and intriguingly plain, so it wasn't difficult for the two of them.

An older, well-defined woman with silver hair and eyes stood at the entrance of their home, focusing her narrowed glare on Lindenbaum and Florian. Her arms were crossed, and her eyebrows knitted together tightly as she stared the two younger witches down.

“And just where have you two been?” The woman demanded, and Lindenbaum hid her face in the hood of her cloak.

“Lindenbaum wanted to go out, so I went with her,” Florian explained, once again patting the girl’s head softly, “So what’s the problem, Viola?”

“The problem, Florian, is that you didn’t tell me that you were going! We’d just assumed you’d been hunted!” Viola stepped closer to the pair, uttering her next sentence under her breath, “Klein and Klara were found dead in the forest last night.”

The girl froze up at that, whimpering as she clung to Florian’s arm. He softly shushed her and placed his hand on her head. 

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner? If I had known, we wouldn’t have gone out.”

“Because Esther and I didn’t want the entirety of Silver Grove to be stirred up in a panic!” Viola hissed, her fangs slightly protruding from her thin, dark lips. “You’re Silver Grove’s strongest warrior, Florian! You can’t just leave without telling anyone, or they’ll start to spread rumors!”

Esther was Viola's older sister and her assistant as village leader. Esther was a kind, older woman with obsidian streaks in her silver hair, and her eyes were a shimmering rose color. She didn't come around often, but she was always hard at work, so she was never forgotten.

And yet, recently, she hadn't left her cottage, not even to purchase food from one of the village markets. Some of the other witches were all abuzz regarding her whereabouts, but Viola was insistent that Esther was fine.

“What, so you want me to just not protect my fellow clanmate? Fine, just don’t come crying to me if she ends up being found dead in Dovetail Ruins!” That comment earned him a sharp elbow in the side from the younger witch.

Viola grew further vexed. “Dovetail Ruins?! I thought I'd explicitly told you two not to venture out there!” Her voice rose in volume as she spoke. “Even I’m terrified of that place! What if the toxins out there hurt Lindenbaum, or worse, you?!”

“Are you saying that I’m more important than Lindenbaum?! I may be older than her, but she’s special! That heart she has can’t take much—” He was suddenly silenced. The words he was saying were—quite literally—snatched away from him. Viola’s hand was raised, palm facing the pair. 

“That’s enough,” She said coldly, before lowering her arm. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Now, that’ll be enough exploring, understand? From now on, the two of you are forbidden from leaving Silver Grove without my approval.”

“No fair! It gets boring in a stuffy old grove!” The girl protested, crossing her arms as her eyes flashed silver through the contacts, indicating that they weren’t far from fading completely.

The contacts she wore would only last for 6 hours at most before she had to restore them. She often forgot to take them out before she slept, which also didn't help much.

Viola scowled, raising an eyebrow. “No complaining, you two, or I’ll make sure I put in a word with Doctor Thorne.”

Lindenbaum felt a shiver run up her spine at those words.

Doctor Thorne. Viola’s temperamental and vicious former teacher. From what little she had been told about him, she knew that he wasn’t somebody to be trifled with. The other witches in Silver Grove would often spread rumors that he was once a medic, a part of the Silver Clan, but after being accused of malpractice, he was exiled. Viola was the only one who had kept in any sort of contact with the man.

Even Florian was taken aback by the leader’s warning. He cleared his throat, bowed his head in respect, and grabbed at one of her trembling hands. Viola lowered her hand, and he murmured, “We understand. C’mon, Lin. Let’s go home.”

She wanted to protest, but instead bowed her head and silently followed the other, tightening the grasp she had on his hand. She was already worried about humans coming along and hunting her, but now the mention of Doctor Thorne had her on edge, and she couldn’t help but whimper, clinging tightly onto Florian once the two of them were out of Viola’s earshot.

“I’m scared… What if Viola does call upon Doctor Thorne to punish us?!”

“She won’t. And hey, even if she does, you don’t gotta worry about it. ‘Cause I’m here to protect you. That’s why Viola assigned me to you. And even if she hadn’t, I would’ve been by your side regardless. Because I promised you I would. On the moon, remember?”

His words comforted her, and she smiled, nodding as they continued on their way. "On the moon, Florian," she giggled, opening the door to her cottage, "You can't break that!"

She said nothing, but she felt an eerie feeling crawl up her neck as she entered the tiny cottage. It sent a chill down her spine that she was not ready for.

The cottage was small yet cozy, and it was perfect for someone who lived alone like her. The sofa was red as blood, and hanging above it was a small chandelier alit with thin black candles.

He followed her into the cottage, which was rather unlike him, and shut the door behind him, locking it from the inside in an attempt to reassure the girl. He smiled as he moved to press a button on the side of the hearth, causing a roaring purple flame to jump to life. Despite the fact that it was artificial, it created a comforting warmth nevertheless. She softly sighed as she hung her ivory cloak on one of the hooks on the gray brick wall before moving to sit beside the other on the sofa.

“Florian…” She began, leaning her head against Florian’s shoulder, “I don’t know what I would do without you.” The way she spoke was languid, each word slowly easing off her tongue in such a fluid motion that it almost seemed rather poetic.

“What are you talkin’ about, Lin? You’re talkin’ as if I’m gonna suddenly disappear on you! Just relax, okay? I’m gonna be here for a long time, kiddo.” He wrapped his arms around the shorter girl as he spoke, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her face.

She couldn’t help but blush at the sudden soft action, and she leaned closer into the other’s warmth. Between the artificial heat from the hearth, the body heat of his embrace, and the heat that came across her cheeks, there would be something wrong if she felt even the slightest chill.

Which she did.

“It’s cold,” She murmured, shivering in the other witch’s hold.

He instantly moved a hand to the girl’s forehead, and he frowned quizzically, adjusting her so that she was lying on the sofa. “Oh, dear. You have a fever, don’t you?”

“Do I?” She frowned, partially because she was sick and partially because he had stopped embracing her. She didn’t like how often she got sick.

“Hang on, dear. Let me get the medicine.” And he was quick to rise from the sofa, walking towards the bathroom at the other end of the cottage. That was where Lindenbaum kept her medicine, though she really should have kept it in the main room or some other place that made it easier to take care of her condition.

After a few long, agonizing minutes where Lindenbaum was alone, Florian returned, and he set a small bottle with a bubbly pink liquid on the coffee table before heading into the kitchen to gather the rest of the things he needed. He soon sat down next to Lindenbaum, making sure that she was sitting up before administering the medicine.

“Open wide,” He prompted, and when she reluctantly opened her mouth, he placed the cup of pink medicine at her lips, tilting her head back with his free hand. Once she had swallowed the medicine, he replaced the cup with a glass of water, repeating the same process. 

“I don’t like that medicine,” She complained as Florian eased her onto her back, “It tastes nasty.” She stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“I know, Lin. But put it this way, you’ll feel better sooner. And when you feel better, we can go exploring again!” He patted her head as he reassured her, smiling warmly at the pouting girl.

“But Viola said—”

“That doesn’t matter! We can go exploring wherever you want. She’s just trying to keep us under control. But we don’t gotta listen to her, okay? I love you, and I will do everything in my power to protect you from anything that happens.” 

He kissed her on the forehead, holding her close as he situated her on his lap. She reached up and kissed him in turn, and the two of them ended up sharing a soft and tender kiss that left them breathless. She couldn't see it, but Florian made a slight face of disdain after they pulled apart.

That night, after he had fallen asleep, she opened her journal and began to write down the occurrences that had happened during the day. She told her journal about the ghosts she saw during their trek out to Dovetail Ruins; the eerie feeling she felt crawling up her neck when they had returned to her cottage earlier. 

As she often did, she dreamt of flight when she curled up next to her beloved on the sofa and fell asleep, silver eyes fluttering shut.

The next morning, the two witches were embracing each other on the sofa, having fallen asleep that way the night before. The sun was high in the sky, and Florian cursed as he sat up, attempting to wake Lindenbaum by shaking her shoulders.

“Lin. Lin. Wake up. We missed morning check-ins.”

She was groggy, and she yawned softly as she managed to sit up. When Florian’s words registered, she also cursed.

“What if they think that we were hunted?” She was slightly panicking. “This is bad. We need to inform Viola of our mistake.” She went to stand, but she felt dizzy and collapsed back onto the sofa with a groan. It was as if she was exhausted despite having a good night’s rest.

“Easy,” He said as he carefully helped her lie back down. “Let me check your temperature, okay?” He hummed.

She was silent as he placed a hand on her forehead. “I don’t wanna take more of that medicine,” She whined, shutting her eyes and pouting as he placed his hand on her forehead.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. He shook his head and frowned. “I’m sorry, Lin. You’ll have to take more. You know the doctor’s medicine isn’t any better.” 

She was left to shiver alone as she waited for him to return with more medicine. She frowned as she wrapped herself up in one of the thicker blankets.

She despised the medicine, as it tasted rather sour for a treatment that was supposedly bubblegum-flavored. Bubblegum was supposed to taste sweet, wasn’t it? At least, that was what she was led to believe.

He returned and gave her some more medicine, and he turned the hearth’s flames on once more, which would hopefully help. When she sat up, he gently pushed her back down, preparing to lightly scold her with a frown.

“You need to rest. I’ll go talk to Viola and let her know that you’re sick again. Don’t worry. I’m gonna pester her until she lets me take care of you, okay?”

“Okay…” She was not pleased, but soon her fatigue overwhelmed her. Collapsing against the couch, she fell asleep. Her chest softly rose and fell with shallow breaths passing through parted pale lips languidly.

He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead before tugging his coat onto his shoulders and heading outside.

Admittedly, Florian had only seen the kiss the two of them had shared the day before as nothing more than a platonic gesture between siblings. He figured Lindenbaum had romantic feelings for him, but he could not feel the same way.

Ever since she had undergone a plethora of medical procedures before she reached maturity, he had been assigned as her guardian to ensure that she was kept safe. He hated having to treat the girl in the way he did, but he couldn’t reciprocate her romantic feelings, and he knew how fragile her body had become, so he did what he could to keep her safe and sound no matter what.

In truth, he had developed feelings for another male witch in his guard division, but he had never gotten the heart to admit the truth. After all, he was certain that Briar would eventually be engaged to the woman from Sapphire Meadow whom he would never shut up about, and so he kept his lips sealed in fear of being judged or rejected.

When she kissed him, he couldn’t bear to tell the truth to her, so he was leading her on and made her think he shared the same feelings. While he appreciated the sentiment, however, he could not love women.

As he made his way to the place where Lady Viola lived, he sighed and tugged his coat closer to his body. It was colder than usual in Silver Grove, and there was no snow in sight. This was unusual, but Florian persisted, knocking on the woman’s door. He gripped his hand afterward because Viola’s door was made of metal, and he slightly winced as he rubbed his thumb over his poor knuckles. He felt his heart jump the second the door creaked.

Viola stood there, and although she was smiling, it was clear that she was far from pleased. Her foot tapped impatiently, and she stared deep into Florian’s eyes, clearly waiting for him to hurry up and explain himself.

“Look, I’m sorry for missing morning check-ins,” He began hurriedly, “but Lindenbaum was sick again, so we were both resting. I was making sure she was alright.”

Viola was silent for a moment. Her expression darkened, and in an instant, her hand was gripping the collar of his shirt, and lips parted, fangs baring and sinking into flesh. Florian tried to scream, but the agony left him without a voice, a choked noise of pain being the only sound that escaped him. She eventually let go of him, not even caring about the mark her rather deadly teeth had left on his neck, streams of ebony dribbling down his flesh.

Purple smoke came from the wound in wisps, and Viola’s eyes glowed the same shade as she spoke to him, ominous and demanding.

“You will break your attachment from Lindenbaum at once. You belong to me now, little puppy. Do you understand my words, Florian?”

Florian nodded obediently, and just like that, the bleeding had stopped and the pain was gone. What was left in its place, however, was a small, black mark shaped like a little star that remained on his neck. It could easily be written off as something else.

He failed to notice the hold that the woman now had on him; in fact, he failed to even remember what he had been doing in the first place. With a sigh, Florian returned to his home, and that night, he did not dream of anything at all.

At least his mind wasn’t haunted by nightmares anymore.

When Florian did not return that evening, Lindenbaum was scared for her life. Her body was chilled from her illness, leaving her shivering even as she stayed warm in her home, but she threw her cloak on and ventured outside into the twilight in search of him all the same. Panic overtook her quickly into her search and she ran, ran more than her lungs could stand as the cold night air scraped its way through them. Reaching the edge of the grove, she could hear the sound of footsteps, dark and ominous, and it sounded like it was coming in her direction. 

Not wanting to get caught out here, she rushed to hide behind a nearby cherry bush. The smell of cherries caused her nose to wrinkle up in disgust, but she kept as silent as she could lest she wished to be hurt.

An eerie figure emerged, cloaked in shadows, their presence polluting the air around them with a heavy sensation of unease. They were silent, not uttering a single word, but rather having an indescribable sound that emanated from them that left Lindenbaum shaken. The figure lingered for a time, looming far too close to her hiding place, before turning to leave just as silently as they came.

She was frozen in fear for quite a while before she made her way back to her cottage as fast as her legs could carry her.

Suddenly, there was a scream. It had come from behind her, and she quickly hurried inside the cottage and shut the door, locking it from the inside.

The sun was about to set, and she had heard that this was when the humans would come and hunt the witches. So she willed herself to stay inside all night, no matter who she heard screaming outside. She did not sleep that night.

For most of the night, she curled up into a ball behind the sofa, covering her ears with her hands. 

The next morning, she determined it was safe, and unlocked the door, tugging her cloak closer as she left the cottage. She needed to know if Florian was okay.

The air was heavy and reeked of blood and death. The young girl had to cover her mouth and nose to keep from choking from the intensity, and her legs were too frail to carry her very far on their own. 

Closing her eyes, she whispered a quick spell under her breath, and soon she was floating inches off of the ground, her speed increasing drastically in this state. She must have passed by mountains upon mountains of corpses, and she had to hold in the urge to vomit as she scanned her surroundings desperately.

She could hardly breathe, but she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was finding Florian and making sure he was okay.

Lindenbaum froze when she found who she was looking for, the spell dissipating and causing her to fall to her knees. Her eyes widened in disbelief and her entire body trembled.

Florian’s body was covered in black blood, and there was a massive, gaping wound in his chest. Lindenbaum knew for a fact that the blood was his own. His silver eyes were now missing, taken from their sockets, much like the other victims of the humans that hunted their kind, and empty black sockets stared back at the girl. A sharp crimson dagger coated in that same black blood was left discarded by his feet, and that same substance also coated his right hand.

Lindenbaum sobbed, holding his cold, deceased form closer and staining her limbs and cloak with stygian. She held him close to her own body, wailing into the sky. She didn’t care if the humans came for her now, she would much rather die than live all alone in a world where Florian wasn’t there beside her. He had broken his promise that he would never leave her.

However, she didn’t get the chance to lament for long, as she froze in place upon hearing footsteps that shook the very earth as they thundered forward and towards where she was pitifully lying. They were heading straight for her.

She didn’t know when, but her world went dark, and she ended up collapsing atop the corpse of her beloved.

A young man with long, brown hair walked through the desolate ruins of Silver Grove, frowning as he discarded the cigarette he’d been smoking. As he stamped on it with his foot, his eyes caught sight of Lindenbaum’s unconscious form. After making sure she was still alive, he scooped her into his arms and turned sharply on his heel.

“By the stars… I’ve never seen such carnage,” The man murmured to himself as he continued on his way, taking small, languid strides.

It took the man several hours, not including the three times he stopped to have a cigarette, to return to his home, which was around four or five hours away from Silver Grove. He knew that once he got there, he would have to cease his unhealthy habits to avoid putting the girl he was carrying at risk. It would be an easy first step on the journey of quitting, he supposed.

The man’s home was an abandoned hospital, and he was the only remaining person there. He took up space in one of the rooms on the first floor, which made it easier for him to return whenever he stepped out as he had this time. The room was mostly white and housed two beds as well as two bedside tables. Many shelves mostly contained empty medicine bottles that he would often rearrange when he was bored.

The man carefully placed Lindenbaum upon one of the beds, and as he watched over her, he began to note down everything he noticed about the girl while she was asleep. Listening to her heartbeat caused him to look down at her with a confused expression.

“Is she human…?” He remarked, scribbling something onto a notepad. He listened once more, and his eyes widened. “No, she can’t be…”

After running some more tests, he simply propped himself into a seated position atop the bedside table, kicking his legs to curb his boredom as he waited for Lindenbaum to wake up. He sat like this for a long time, possibly multiple hours, until his legs ached and his butt was numb.

“Ahh, I’ll just have to ask her when she wakes up. I hope she doesn’t mind that I ran this many tests on her while she was asleep.”

The man hopped down from the table and began to reorganize some of the medicine bottles that collected dust on one of the shelves. He started humming a tune as he did so, and soon, he was cleaning the entire shelf instead of just reorganizing. He was bored, after all, and he wasn’t sure what else he could do until Lindenbaum awoke.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Summer’s Hallowed Halo: Prologue extra- Addam

Addam, the Training Grounds, Court of Summer.

“Reginae Saludant!” calls the Prince, a grin bright and wide on his face, as he raises his lance and kneels on the ground. The Queen’s Salute. All of us follow in tandem. He nods approvingly as he rises. “The lad is positively bouncing,” observes Ser Benedict, fondly. Most of our older compatriots smile indulgently. “He has good reason to. Besides, happy though he might be, Regis Filius would never overlook his duty.” “Aye,” the others respond in a chorus.

Before I can join in, his voice cuts in. “Cousin! Would you deign?” I move out of formation, even as Jaime, schooling his face to the façade of the Prince, commands the rest of the regiment to stand at the ready. “Addam, cousin, you and I will lead together, so shall we?” I nod,

Throughout the walk to the stable, Jaime is making elaborate plans. “Mama and I will sally out to my castle, alone. I know she likes the lyre and the lute. I learned and composed a few tunes, she’d like it, wouldn’t she?” His eyes shift down. “Perhaps it is too little a gift…” Well accustomed to my cousin’s insecurities, his drive to be perfect for his parents, I keep a hand on his shoulder. “Of course she would, Jaime,” I reply. He shakes his head, smiling once more. “It is not fitting for this day to be marred with doubts and sorrow,” he says, habitually shrugging past his moment of vulnerability. “What else should mama and I do? Mayhaps we can visit the ocean shore, arrange her garden, read together,”- “Do allow the poor lady some time to sleep as well, cousin, in the middle of all these activities.” I cut in. He laughs. He huffs back. “I just…I have dreamed of her for so long…” he breathes softly, his hands petting his horse. He shakes his head anew. “And it will soon be far more than a dream could ever be.” He looks me up and down, playfully raising a brow. “You should look better than this, cousin. We are to escort the Queen, after all.” I laugh. “Have you looked at yourself, Your Grace?” Truth be told, Jaime cuts a handsome figure, even in a casual tunic and breeches. He nods seriously regardless. “We need to be presentable indeed.”

As he mounts his horse, Jaime is a sight to behold. Sunlight glints golden off his light armour, scaled white and red swirls, his cloak, a similar white and gold, draping down till the elaborate caparisons on his horse. Ser Benedict whistles with a laugh. “You’re about to escort your mother home, lad, not woo your wife.” Jaime laughs back. “Half of you look even more bedecked than I do. Let me warn you, Father is very protective of his wife.” In the general laughter that rises, Jaime rides to the forefront, sending a grin and wink winging over his shoulder.

As the ride progresses, Jaime, as is his habit, is riding up and down the formation, making sure all is well, trading stories and laughter. “The Queen might be well-nigh astonished that the little urchin who never left her hand if he could is this grown a man!” grins Ser Daven. Jaime grins, “She might be more astonished that you stopped your roving about! As for me, I will still hold her hand.” “Fie, me?” the older man ripostes. “Never! And you don’t mean to ever grow up, do you?” Jaime shakes his head with a laugh. “Never. I am my mother’s son.” He pauses, then tsks slightly, after conferring a little with Ser Benedict. “Fie, fie, Ser. Doesn’t become you, does”- Jaime cuts himself in the middle of his rejoinder, tensing. “En guardia!” his command is curt. “There is a skirmish. I can sense Winter magic.”

Quick as that, all laughter is lost. “Winter Magic? Do the Queen’s Guards have battle magic, Jaime?” I ask. “They would,” he answers absently, brow furrowed. “It does not feel right…The guard is too small. We must intercede.”

Years of fighting together has attuned us to what the timbre of Jaime’s voice means. It is dire. Taking a deep breath, Jaime calls “Ja endevant!” and the Vanguard sallies forth, sounding the ritual clarion call of flute.

Jaime had assessed the situation rightly. The Winter soldiers are too many, even accounting for all of us. It is a rout, too difficult to even guard one’s life. The heavy blanket of Jaime’s battle magic is the sole deterrent to death, even as we fight on as best as we can.

And yet, the Winter hordes bypass us with ease. All hope seems lost until… “Ja!’ Jaime yells. ‘Jäger regina salvus! Na distruerer. Na luitair. Meu solnel schriben. Ja!’ Go! Go protect the Queen! I’ll distract them. I’ll fight. So I solemnly command. Go!

His voice carries, easily recognisable as his. The Winter soldiers turn as one, and Jaime grins, wide and bright. When I follow his gaze, it is on the Queen. She looks stunned, but there is no light of recognition in her eyes.

Bound to our Commander’s will, our Prince’s will, we flee, leaving him behind.

The Queen is riding beside me, she and her companions as quiet as the rest of us were, the soul of our regiment lost to us. I cannot stop looking to the other side of myself, of her. I have dreamed of her for so long…his soft, hopeful voice echoes in my memories. I ride at the place Jaime should have been riding, his hand ostentatiously holding his mother’s, his voice raised in laughter and joy.

It is with Jaime in mind that I ask the Queen for the leave to pray. When she asks to be involved with us, we are at a quandary. Do we tell? How do we honour his sacrifice? Would Jaime want us to tell?

The answer to that question is immediate, even in my thoughts. No, Jaime would not want his mother to grieve for him. The boy who dreamt of her laughter and her joy would want to cherish her, protect her. And so we do the same, even as we pray for his safe return, clinging to the hope that he comes back to us, and with him our joy and hope.

[queenimmadolla]

Could we get more baby Wayne? 🥺

ask and you shall receive. love our little grump ♡ (dad!Eddie Munson and his baby boy, Wayne) ─ part of the pennyverse

“What?” Eddie cooed down at the small, scrunched up face staring back up at him.

The baby in his grasp grunted back up at him, loud and opinionated as his barely-there eyebrows pulled together. Eddie chuckled, settling further back into the couch. Wayne, his son (named after the most important male figure in his life) had just eaten and you handed him over to Eddie to be burped. After doing exactly that and spitting up on his dad, his baby hadn’t gone into a milk coma as expected. He’d been obviously milk drunk, eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head, lids almost closed when Eddie made a comment about him being a big softie, regardless of how disgruntled his son’s resting face appeared. 

Baby Wayne did not like to be called out. He snapped right to attention, mouth dropping open to yell at his dad, much to Eddie’s amusement. “You know I’m right. That’s why you’re mad.” Eddie had him cradled in the crook of his arm, gently bouncing him. Wayne grunted in protest again, fists curled over his onesie covered chest as Eddie adjusted the blanket around him. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it! Just means you’re like me.”

Eddie leaned in close, despite you being at the table, feeding Penny; therefore, out of hearing range. “I’m a pretty big softie, too. Don’t tell anyone.” Wayne cooed that time, as if to tell his dad his secret was safe with him. His eyebrows relaxed as he kept his big, brown eyed gaze on Eddie. “You’re like your mom, too.” Eddie offered his son one of his fingers and the infant took it into his grasp without breaking eye contact, gripping onto it with all the might in his one month old body. Wayne’s tongue prodded at his lower lip before he was letting out another coo. “Yeah, you are. ‘Cause she snaps awake to yell at me when I say something she doesn’t like, too.” As if he knew what his dad was saying, Wayne’s cooing turned to an angry grunt again. Eddie laughed, raising his baby to eye level with him (he’d never tire of the way Wayne’s tiny body curled back, scrunching as he was lifted). Wayne looked thoroughly bewildered by the whole conversation, letting out a couple of little squeaks as he was moved. “I love it, though. I love you.” Eddie mumbled, bringing him in to press a couple of kisses to his soft, sweet smelling cheek. Wayne didn’t protest, affection being something he seemed to thoroughly enjoy despite his personality developing into a seemingly grumpy one. After everything he’d been through in his short life so far, born prematurely in nonideal circumstances and housed in an incubator, away from his family, Eddie would let him be as grumpy as he wanted to be. He’d just make sure to shower him with love every chance he got. 

When Eddie pulled away, he caught sight of the gummy, close-eyed smile (and the dimple that matched his) Wayne just had to express. Eddie would like to believe it was because of their bonding. He knew the truth, though.

“You just shit yourself, didn’t you?”

[itsmentalillness]

Blood Lust || Darth Maul

Please reblog and comment

A/N: I don't really get periods, so I did my best and it’s very much not proof read

CW: Period sex, shower sex, periods, mentions of blood, thigh riding

Word count: 741

Taglist: @zabrak-show @dexthtoyounglings @mayajean @o-rion-sta-r @dreamy-clousds @emo-typical @baueoud @mollysolo @romqnticizer [join]

In all honesty, things didn’t seem that bad. It was true that you had spent the last two days stuck in bed, thrashing around trying to find some affinity to comfort. However, to the outside eye, your state was quite concerning. Especially to Maul who insisted on bringing you out of, in his words, your sorrow.

The pillow nest you surrounded yourself, the constant snacking and for lack of a better word, your unhygienic tendencies brought you here.

Here being the refresher booth as your boyfriend washed you like you were some sort of helpless child. Regardless of the fact that it was slightly embarrassing to have Maul take care of you as such, it was comforting. The warm water bringing slight relief to your sore muscles mixed with Maul rubbing knots out of your shoulders had you dazed.

In moments like these it was easy to fall into his touch. His hands running the expanse of your back was comforting.

Until it wasn’t.

When his hands reached past your shoulders. Down your collar bone towards your breasts. Your desires became malleable to Dathomirion next to you.

You no longer craved the simple solace of Maul. Your thoughts ran else where as his hands tugged softly at your chest. For the first time in days, Maul enjoyed the whimpers that escaped your mouth.

“I’m well aware of how tender your breasts get during this time. Please, let me take care of you.”

The simple “please” you whispered was enough for him.

His lips pressed against your neck, softly peppering kisses along your skin as your head lolled back against his shoulder. Shivers were sent down your spine as dragged the tips of nails down the center of your chest.

For a second, all discomfort seemed to wash away. That was taken from you as Maul’s hands grabbed at your waist. Pulling your figure towards his own, when you remembered there was a dilemma.

“Maul, I’m-”

“I know little one, I don’t mind. If you want me to stop, I shall.”

You contemplated your options for a moment. Obviously it would be messy and embarrassing for you, but orgasms were known to still period cramps, which was something you desperately needed.

Maul noticed your hesitancy, not that it was well hidden. Your stature was tense and eyes were wide, it did not take a force sensitive being to understand what was wrong.

“We don’t have to do anything of that nature. I was merely offering you ride my thigh.”

His words being so blunt caused heat to spread across your cheeks.

Slowly, you pushed yourself off the bench and straddled his leg, his hands came to rest your waist.

There was an uncertainty to your movements that had Maul tightening his grip, setting a faster pace for you.

“I see we’re incapable of carrying ourself today.”

You pressed your forehead into the crook of Maul’s neck. Normally his teasing would have you showing some resistance, but you didn't care enough about that. Instead, his words went in one ear and right out the other. The only thing that mattered at this moment was clearing the cloud of lust that fogged your mind.

Your whimpers and pleas for release became louder as his leg started the bounce, adding extra stimulation to your needy cunt.

“Please, Maul. Please.” You spoke into his shoulder, making your words were barely audible.

“Please what? Use your manners.”

Your words weren't cohesive, only a jumble of “please” and “Maul”, for that’s all your clouded mind could come up with.

His hand came down to rub tight circles around your clit and set a fast pace. You sped up your hips, grinding not only faster but harder to reach the high you so desperately needed.

“Whenever you're ready. You can go ahead.” Maul pressed a kiss to your forehead.

His permission sent you leaning into him, clawing at his back as you came.

Your head rang in post-orgasm euphoria. However, that was cut short as Maul spoke.

“Feel better now?”

The simple question pulled you from your blessed state and reminded you of the reason behind this whole scene.

You looked down at the mess of blood running down your leg and into the drain. Rather than feeling embarrassed of the muddle of red water pooling at the drain, you felt relieved. The pain that had bothered you for the last couple of days had finally simmered.

“Yes sir.”

[blu-joons]

You Have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)

Chan:

You were confused when you saw Chan’s name pop up on your phone, convinced that he was supposed to be in the middle of a meeting for the group. Regardless, you picked up, hearing him sigh as soon as you did.

Your heart pounded with worry as you heard him clear his throat, “I’ve been outside for half an hour now waiting for you at the restaurant, did you not remember I took a half day?”

Your eyes darted up to look at the clock on the wall, and then the date on the calendar, quickly realising what today was.

“Chan,” you whispered, letting go of a shaky breath. “I completely forgot, if you just wait ten minutes, I’ll be able to get there and we can still eat together, do we still have the reservation?”

“No, don’t worry yourself, I’ll grab takeout, I’d prefer to eat at home with you anyway,” he tried to comfort you, “just get some bits sorted at home and I’ll be there soon.”

“I promise that I’ll find a way to make this up to you Chan, I’m so sorry.”

Minho:

He couldn’t help but let go of a sigh as he read through the essay, you’d been writing that you’d left out on your desk. He knew there were times when you struggled, but the mistakes that you made certainly caught his attention.

He was so concentrated, that he failed to notice you walking back up into your room. “I know what you’re looking for, you don’t need to tell me that there’s mistakes in there.”

His head shook, encouraging you to take a seat beside him. He knew that you wanted it to be perfect, so that was what he was going to do to help.

“Just don’t panic,” he quickly assured you, “the essay itself is really good, but I know you’ll hate me if I don’t tell you that there are a couple of things that could do with improving.”

“I’d rather you tell me,” you responded, as hard as it was for you to hear. “You’re right, I do want this to be perfect, so as much as it sucks, I guess I’m going to have to listen to you.”

“I’m helping you, just remember that when you want to punch me over this.”

Changbin:

Any time when there was silence at the studio, it confused you. The boys were usually so loud, that when the room was peaceful, you never quite knew what to do, silently wishing for someone to make some noise again.

Changbin quickly caught onto how uncomfortable the new atmosphere made you. “Talk to me if you want a bit of noise Y/N.”

As soon as he spoke, you began to talk to him about anything that came to mind, just so that the room was completely silent anymore.

“Why don’t we talk about what we can get up to once I finish work for the day?” He suggested as soon as he noticed that you were running out of things to say. “Shall we try the Thai place?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, looking around at the rest of the boys who were all lost in their phones, “it feels weird to see them all being so quiet, I’m not used to it.”

“Make the most of it, once the phones go down, the noise will go up.”

Hyunjin:

To begin with, Hyunjin tried to ignore it, but the sound of your pen tapping against the paper as you thought eventually became too much, causing him to eventually snap at you and make you jump at his voice.

Instantly, he felt bad, noticing you trying to write a list of things to pack. “I’m sorry, the noise was just getting a little bit irritating to listen to you.”

Your head nodded, trying to refrain yourself from being any more disturbing than you were for Hyunjin as he tried to concentrate.

“Let me help,” he spoke up again, coming to your side. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you; I know that you’re trying to think. Why don’t we go through the things that you need together?”

“I know there’s a few things I’ve forgotten,” you sighed, sliding your list across for him to have a look at. “But nothing is coming to mind for what else I might need for the trip.”

“I reckon a good start might be to at least write down your toothbrush jagi.”

Han:

His heart sunk when he watched you tear yet another piece of paper out of your notepad, he already knew exactly why you’d thrown it away, just like you did with most of the things that you scribbled in the pad of paper.

Jisung walked straight across to you as you did so. “Why don’t you let me help you if you’re worried about getting it wrong? You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”

You didn’t respond, but Jisung knew that deep down you were desperate for his help to try and get your letter spot on.

“Just take it slowly,” he encouraged, helping you with every word, stopping you before you made a mistake. “If you’re not sure, just ask me, I’m here to help you after all Y/N.”

“These are simple errors,” you frowned, “I should be able to spot these the first time without looking back over it and realising mistake after mistake that I’m making,” you groaned loudly.

“We all make mistakes sometimes, let’s just try and fix them instead.”

Felix:

Another groan came from you as the two of you continued to wait at the airport to check in and get on your flight to Australia. Felix could quickly tell you were getting agitated as you bounced up and down on your toes.

His eyes stared across at you, “there shouldn’t be that much longer to wait, just don’t get yourself stressed or anything jagi.”

Your eyes rolled, with each passing second, your impatient grew as you desperately wanted to get moving again.

“We can’t jump the queue,” Felix pointed out to you as you groaned yet again. “Just think, the longer that we queue now, the less time we’ll have to queue once we’re in the departure lounge.”

“Queuing sucks,” you sighed, resting against his shoulder. “I just want to get moving again, I’m fed up with being made to stand still, why are they all taking so long to get a move on?”

“They’re working as fast as they can, I promise we’ll get moving soon.”

Seungmin:

Your mind was absent as the two of you walked side by side, Seungmin knew that you were pretty distant beside him, but the grip that he had on your hand was enough for him to know that you were still beside him.

However, as an elderly couple came from the opposite direction, Seungmin had to pull you last minute to get out of the way as you failed to notice them. “What are you doing? You could have hurt them.”

It was only once you’d passed the couple, did you realise they were there. Glancing back to look at them stare back at you.

“Don’t panic, they’re alright,” Seungmin assured you, noticing that the incident had shook you up. “You just weren’t concentrating, that’s all, but no one got hurt, did they?”

“But they could have done,” you whispered, resting your free hand against your forehead. “If you hadn’t have pulled me out of the way I could have been responsible for hurting them.”

“But you didn’t hurt them, just concentrate a little more next time.”

I.N:

As soon as you got to the checkout, you handed the new shirt that you wanted to purchase across to the cashier. You reached into your pocket, unable to feel your purse, peering into your handbag to see that your purse wasn’t there either.

Your eyes darted back to Jeongin behind you, “I’ve left my purse at the dorm again, I’m just going to have to hand the shirt back, I can’t pay for it now.”

Before you even finished speaking, Jeongin stepped forwards and covered the cost, saving you from any further embarrassment.

“Sometimes I think I should glue your wallet to you,” he teased, “we all forget things from time to time, there’s no need to get upset with yourself, you’ve still got your shirt.”

“I’ll pay you back,” you quickly informed him, but his head shook. “If you hadn’t had been there, do you have any idea how embarrassing that could have been for me Jeongin.”

“But I was there, so you don’t need to worry about what if.”

---

Masterlist

[crimsontroupe]

❝ rest assured, if you attempt to bring destruction down upon me, i shall do the same to you. ❞ svein to ran - @kesil ╰┈➤ STARTER PROMPTS : Sherlock Holmes : A Game of Shadows (accepting! kind of!)

"For your sake, I hope you are not threatening me." It bounces off Rannulfr regardless, but he does not wear his usual smile with too many teeth. No. It is enough for him to stop tending to his weapon, looking up to Emil mid-sharpening. "I am absolutely sure people will turn on you if they know who you are, no matter how much you have done for them.

Y'know? Even if you were nice to them, they will feel betrayed. Or do you really think you can turn my own people against me?" He goes back to his task, not really bothering to pay attention to the would-be King. "After all, you threw everything away for the sake of a challenge. If you wanted to make their lives better, you would've done it from your very comfortable life. Unlike others, I don't buy easily into your crap.

You're a spoiled little princeling wanting something that will not bore you. I am working with you because you are the best option I have. If you try to stab me, well... you would be surprised to find out how well prepared some people are.

You're too arrogant, 'Emil'. You can play the nice fucking boy as much as you want, but you're too arrogant. That is definitely going to bite you in the ass later. And I'm not going to be here to watch it unfold, because I am not going to let you drag innocent people into your lunacy.

Better watch that pretty head of yours. Make sure it is still attached to your neck at the end of the day."

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Moments We Knew // Colin Bridgerton

Request: Hello! I’m so excited that you’re writing for Bridgerton and I was wondering if I could request a fic? Maybe one where Colin is courting the reader, what it would involve and their first kiss? Basically just some Colin fluff that’s too sweet :)) - anon

A/N: Oh this request is so sweet! Thank you so much for requesting! I can only hope I have done it justice. The other requests in my inbox will become my priority for next weekend! 

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: female reader, courting, courtship, fluff, cute, mentions of food and drink, the British Museum is mentioned (I have to apologise for that lol), kissing, pining, instant love, love at first sight and all that jazz.

Word count: 4k

One:

“Miss (Y/L/N), would you do me the honour of saving me a spot on your dance card?”

Your eyes widen at his words, but you nod your head regardless, unable to deny the blue eyes and sweet face of Colin Bridgerton.

“I shall find you soon,” He promises before walking away, leaving you to question the last few minutes of your life.

You had spoken to the Bridgerton before; had dined in their company too, but you had never danced with one. It was to be something you would never forget, that was for certain.

Strolling around the ballroom, you truly did not hold much hope for tonight. Having been out in society for a few seasons now, you did not think there would be much interest tonight bar the Bridgerton who had kindly asked you to save him a dance.

Sighing softly, you reach the table covered with glasses of lemonade. Reaching for one, you eye the couples already taking to the floor for the first dance of the evening. Eager young hopefuls, all curious to know whether they would meet their love match tonight.

A flicker of excitement begins to stir as the music begins the couples start to twirl across the floor; the women’s skirt billowing out from under them as the men look every dashing in their suits. You think to Colin, wondering briefly where he is as you think of how it would be to dance with such a man.

“Did you save me that dance?” A voice asks from behind you.

Startling slightly, you only just manage to keep hold of your glass. “I have,” You reply, holding up your dance card where Colin’s name is written.

“Perfect,” He grins, “Shall we dance now?”

“Why not?” You answer, placing your glass down and taking his open hand.

Colin’s hand is soft as he places it on the small of your back, pulling you to him ever so slightly. Your hand rests on his shoulder whilst his free hand wraps around yours. Your skin tingles in all the places his hands rest; it’s an addictive feeling, you come to realise.

The band strikes up and the couples on the floor begin their dance. Colin begins to lead you with confidence; evidence of his upbringing alive in the way he directs his feet whilst holding you steady. Dance lessons were a must for all offspring of London society; it was not a gendered activity.

“How are you finding the evening?” Colin asks, leading you across the floor.

“Am I to be truthful?” You ask, smiling coyly at the brunette.

“I find that would be best,” Colin responds, his own sly smile written across his face.

“Then I shall have to say that I was rather bored until you asked me to dance. This is sure to be the highlight of my evening.”

Colin spins you out before replying. “How odd,” He murmurs quietly though you hear him perfectly over the band, “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

A startled laugh leaves you at his words; one that Colin finds himself joining in with as he continues to lead you around the ballroom. Many couples watch on; curious to know what it is that has you both laughing and smiling the way that you are. You find yourself delighting in the act that you are to have a secret with the third eldest Bridgerton; a secret you could revisit whenever you wanted.

The dance comes to an end; the music rising for one last crescendo before falling silent. Stepping back from the Bridgerton, your chest rises heavily due to the pace of the music and the dance. You smile softly at Colin, “Thank you for the dance. It was wonderful.”

“Join me for one more?” He asks; his voice close to pleading as if he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, doesn’t want to see you walk away from him without knowing if he’ll ever see you again.

Your eyes wander over his face; finding the desperation in his eyes and noting that you feel the same way. You find yourself hating the idea of walking away from this man just yet; not just because of how much fun you had had when dancing with him, but because you feel that if you were to walk away from him in this very moment, you would be making a choice you would surely come to regret.

You take his hand; revelling in the way his fingers close around yours as he leads you to the dancefloor once more. Lining yourself up, you do not look away from his blue stare, finding yourself enraptured by him and more than happy to stay that way.

The music begins, and once more, you fall into step with your future.

Two:

Wandering into the drawing room, the previous night felt like a dream. The ache in your feet being the only sign that you had indeed danced the night away with the third eldest Bridgerton.

“Good morning, mother,” You greet, settling down at the small tea table.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” She asks; her eyes bright with happiness as she takes in the dazed look on your face, already away with the fairies.

“It was wonderful,” You sigh dreamily; remembering how Colin’s hands felt on the small of your back and how he listened to your every word. It felt too good to be true.

“I would not be surprised if he called on you this morning,” Your mother declares from her place by the window. She often sat there; her legs tucked underneath her as she worked on a new stitching pattern, read a new book or simply stared at the view.

“I do not want to get my hopes up,” You confess, fiddling with your fingers nervously. All night you had dreamed of the Bridgerton; his eyes and his smile, the sound of his laughter. If he chose not to call on you, your heart could surely not take it, not after so many seasons of disappointment.

Your mother smiles, “My dear, I feel it within my bones. He shall call on you this morning.”

“Thank you, mother,” You reply graciously before pouring a cup of tea; one for you and the other for your mother. “It looks to be a fine day,” You comment, making light conversation as you add sugar and a splash of milk to your own tea, stirring until you know it will be just the right temperature for you to drink without burning the roof of your mouth and your tongue.

Your mother hums from her place at the window, sipping delicately at her own tea. Suddenly, she sits straighter, her eyes and ears focusing on the streets below. “I do believe a carriage has just pulled up with the Bridgerton initial on its doors.”

“Mother, you jest.”

“I do no such thing,” She protests, stepping away from the window as she catches sight of the dark brunette hair of the Bridgerton boy.

“How do I look?” You worry, now taking your mother seriously, standing to smooth down the patterns of your dress. Already wishing that you had changed into something more fetching than your everyday wear.

Your mother sidles over to you and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “You look lovely, my dear,” She promises before taking a seat on the nearby couch, knowing that the conversation that was to take place was to be between you and the Bridgerton boy.

Sitting back down, you know you only have mere minutes to collect yourself before Colin walks through the drawing room door. Mere minutes to stop the bouncing of your leg and the worrying of your mind. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself, already confident in the knowledge that what you feel for Colin is far from platonic and after last night, you felt somewhat confident that he felt something for you too.

“Mr. Colin Bridgerton,” The butler announces to which you stand, barely repressing the urge to fist your hands into your skirts out of nerves.

Colin strides into the drawing room; his eyes scanning the room only for them to light up when they land on you. A large smile spreads across his face and he steps further into the room. “I apologise if I am interrupting anything,” He states politely.

“There was nothing to interrupt other than some tea. Please help yourself,” Your mother smiles from her place on the couch; her eyes dancing between the two of you – a good match is the conclusion she comes to as she takes in the flush of your skin and the smile on Colin’s face.

Colin turns to your mother, bringing out a bouquet of flowers he kept hidden behind his back. “These are for you, Mrs. (Y/L/N).”

Your mother’s eyes widen as she takes in the humble but sweet bouquet offered by the young man. “Thank you,” She states, “They are most unexpected but are very beautiful. I shall have to find a vase.”

“You’re welcome,” Colin responds before bringing out another bouquet. Turning his attention to you, he holds out the delicate collection of flowers. “These are for you,” He murmurs, a note of vulnerability shining through his usual confidence.

“Thank you,” You reply, voice awed at the sight of the gorgeous colours; reds, whites and yellows making up the bouquet, brightening the room instantly. “I shall find a vase for them soon.”

“I had a lot of fun last night,” Colin whispers, his voice loud enough for you but quiet enough that your mother only hears mumblings.

Smiling widely, you reply, “I had fun too. I’ve never enjoyed dancing that much.”

“Me neither,” Colin agrees, thinking back to how it felt to hold you in his arms. He knew after his second dance with you that if he was to have a future, you would surely play a part in it. “Would you accompany me to the British Museum tomorrow? There’s an exhibit being shown that I have been told we simply must not miss.”

Blinking twice, it doesn’t take you long to think of an answer. “I would love to. I’ve heard nothing but good things about the exhibit. It’s a collection of Greek and Roman sculptures and art.”

“I have a soft spot for History, but I have not been yet. I thought it would be perfect for us to go together.”

“I think it would be perfect for us to go together too,” You whisper, your heart beginning to race at the thought Colin has put into your first outing.

Colin smiles; the act lighting up his face. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a golden stopwatch, frowning briefly at its face before slipping back to where it belongs. “I wish I could stay longer,” He laments, “But I promised my mother I would meet her this morning.”

“Go see your mother,” You smile, “I will get to see you tomorrow after all.”

Another smile at that has your heart beginning to sing. “Until tomorrow,” He promises, standing from his chair and reaching for your hand where he places a lingering kiss to the back of it. The very kiss itself holding many promises for the future that you could not wait to fulfil.

As the door closes behind the brunette, you let yourself fall back onto the chair with a smile gracing your face. Until tomorrow; you had to wait until tomorrow before seeing him once more.

Three:

The building loomed large as you tightened your grip on Colin’s arm. Your stomach a ball of nerves as you think of what this means; your very first outing together as a prospective couple. Things needed to run smoothly; you needed to calm yourself down.

Taking a deep breath, you hasten your steps to keep up with Colin’s long strides. He had been so excited on the carriage ride over; babbling about the latest exhibit on show for the masses. Whilst History was a subject you adored when in education, it was not something you had kept up since coming out as a debutante.

Whilst the art is spectacular, it is the sculptures that ultimately take your breath away. Strolling through the main hall, you cannot help but be completely taken in by the attention to detail of such creations and the very fact that they have managed to survive hundreds of years with minimal damage.

“They’re beautiful, are they not?” Colin asks.

“They’re stunning.”

“My older brother, Benedict, suggested this to me. He’s the artist in the family but knows of my love of history.”

“He sounds like a wonderful big brother,” You murmur, finding it hard to tear your attention away from the pieces of work.

“How are you finding it? Are you enjoying yourself?” Colin asks, his voice close to your ear.

“I am. It’s spectacular. It makes me wish I had continued my study into the subject.”

“You like History?”

“Very much so,” You smile, “My father used to sit me on his lap and tell me stories of the past.”

“Mine would do the same,” Colin murmurs quietly, remembering his youth with his father. How he would sit on the floor by his father’s feet and listen for hours about not only his father’s life but the creation of the country in which they live and its many countless invasions.

“How are you finding it?” You ask, bringing him back to the present. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am, but I have to admit it is more the company than the art work, no matter how stunning.”

“Colin!” You gasp, smiling widely, “You are a flatterer.”

He laughs; the sound reverberating off the marble sculptures and walls. “Only for you,” He admits when he calms down. “Only for you.”

His words bring a smile to your face, setting your heart racing in your chest. He could undo you with so few words; it was a miracle you were still standing.

The rest of the exhibit is much of the same; breathtaking sculptures and happy conversation with Colin. He doesn’t enjoy too much silence; rather, he asks you all sorts of questions about your childhood and your life in London. In kind, you ask him of his life and the travelling he did in his late teens/early twenties.

You find that not only is he kind and sweet, he is incredibly knowledgeable of not only life in England, but life and society in other countries. He speaks fondly of his time abroad, but as he regales you of tales of his travels, Colin finds no burning desire to travel abroad again. Instead, as he stares down at you, he finds that you rather hold everything he could need for the future.

It’s then that Colin decides he’s found what he needs for the rest of his life, and he’s found it in you. He supposes he should be laughed at; finding love so quickly, but it just feels right. Everything about you feels so perfectly right for him that he does not see the need to fight it.

He finds himself trying to fight the want to propose then and there. Instead, Colin hooks your arm through his as he leads you from the museum. Like a gentleman, he helps you into the carriage before joining you himself.

“Thank you,” You comment as the carriage sets off.

“Whatever for?” Colin asks, curious to what you should be thanking him for.

“For taking me to exhibit.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” He responds honestly. It was; the pleasure of the afternoon was entirely his because you brought out a side of him that he had never met before but found he rather liked. Colin had always been a man of the moment; rushing through his life so he could get to the next exciting part as quickly as possible. However, with you, he finds that he has no need to rush or to hurry. He finds himself excited for the journey he wants to take with you, and thanks his lucky stars that you saved a dance for him on your card.

The carriage soon rolls to a stop outside your home. Gathering yourself, you smile wistfully at the brunette who has so quickly made his home in your heart.

“Thank you for a wonderful morning and afternoon,” You state as you step down from the carriage with the help of your footman.

“Wait!” Colin calls, rushing out of the carriage, “Will you be at the picnic later this week?”

“I will,” You answer, excitement bubbling inside of you, “Will I see you there?”

Colin nods, “I was hoping you would want to promenade with me.”

“I would love to.”

From there, Colin leaves you with yet another kiss on your hand. As he walks away, you begin to wonder what it would feel like to have his lips pressed against yours; what would he feel like, what would he taste like. The thoughts swirl around your mind for so long that you do not hear your mother call you to the drawing room. Instead, you wander to your bedroom where such thoughts plague you for the rest of the day and night.

Four:

Each season the richest families in London society gather together for a picnic in the park. To outsiders, it is a display of their money, of their status in society. To mothers, it is another opportunity for their daughters to be showcased to the many eligible men who flock to the families in need of a wife or perhaps, some free food.

Your mother and you had been invited by the Bridgertons; an excuse by their matriarch to better get to know you and your mother. Violet welcomes you both with a warm smile, asking you to sit and drink tea.

“How are you?” Violet asks, reaching for one of the many biscuits.

“I’m well, Lady Bridgerton. And yourself?” You reply, wanting nothing more than to be accepted by the mother of the man who had caught your attention so readily.

“I’m very well, dear,” Violet answers, soon falling into conversation with your mother.

You’re distracted by the sight of Colin playing with his youngest siblings; a hoop game that leaves them all laughing loudly when the hoop is dropped on the floor, rolling away from them with great speed. There doesn’t seem to be any logic to the game other than pure enjoyment when Colin suddenly looks up, as if he sensed your eyes on him.

It’s as if everything else melts away as your eyes meet. For you, there was only him. There was no sound; no distractions – just Colin and the smile of his handsome face.

“I think they will work well together,” Your mother admits to Colin’s, glancing between the soft look on your face and the happy smile on Colin’s.

Violet hums her agreement, catching sight of the way Colin’s eyes light up when he notices you sat with his family. Gregory soon pulls his brother’s attention back to him, but Violet doesn’t miss the glances he throws in your direction every chance he gets. Yes, Violet thinks to herself, you would match very nicely.

Laughter rains all around you as you continue to sit with the Bridgerton family; now having been introduced to its matriarch but also to Anthony, its head. A kind man and very devoted to his family; you felt welcomed by his smile and happy to find that he already knew of you.

Stealing a glance at the sky, you sigh in relief when you see that the fine weather was going to hold and that the picnic was going very well. A shadow crossing your eyeline has you frowning in distaste, but your frown doesn’t last long when you find that it is Colin standing over you.

“Shall we go on a walk?”

One:

Taking his outstretched hand, Colin begins to lead you down the winding paths of park, away from your families.

“Colin,” You laugh, “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise,” He laughs, holding onto your hand tighter as he pulls you round a corner.

“Surely you can give me a little hint,” You plead, curiosity beginning to get the better of you.

Colin shakes his head; an infuriatingly handsome smile on his face as he remains quiet about exactly where he is leading you. At this point, the both of you have wandered away from your families and the rest of London society. Instead, you walk through a quieter section of the park, one where paths are travelled but are not often frequented. Despite the nerves rattling your gut, you feel completely safe in Colin’s presence.

“I wanted to steal you away for a little while,” Colin says, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you.

“Steal me away?”

He nods; his grip on your hand tightening. “There were so many eyes watching us; my family and your family. Did you not feel even a little suffocated?”

Thinking back to the picnic and the shared looks between your mother and Colin’s, you would happily admit that you did start to feel the strain of their expectations. “I did start to feel our parent’s gaze,” You confess.

“Exactly. At least here we can be honest with one another without the pressure of our beloved mothers.”

“Honest?”

Colin nods, “Honest about what we feel.”

“What do you feel?”

“I see a future with you,” He admits, “I know that we have only begun courting, but I truly see it all with you. Do you see the same thing?”

“I see it all,” You confess, your voice hoarse with unspoken emotion.

“You do?”

Nodding your head, you answer, “I do. I see everything with you. When you left after we visited the museum, it took everything in me not to chase you down to ask you to stay.”

“I didn’t want to go,” He whispers, “I wanted to stay. I knew then.”

Through the confessions uttered by both parties, you have made your way closer to the gentleman. Your hands remain tangled by your sides; Colin’s fingers fitting comfortably with yours as he smiles softly down at you. His free hand raises slightly, brushes through the strands of hair that became loose on your quick getaway from your families. His eyes beg a silent question; the question that has bene on your mind since he left you on your doorstep last week.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks; verbalising his thoughts, handing you the power.

You just finish uttering your consent when Colin’s lips find yours, pressing against them softly. Taken by surprise, you gasp into the kiss but soon find your rhythm. You drop Colin’s hand so you can wind your arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer to you to feel him pressed so tight against you. Your fingers run through the ends of his hair, only briefly noting its softness before letting yourself fall further into him.

Colin groans softly into the kiss; finally knowing what it is that you taste like – sugar and the tea you recently drank. A combination that only leaves him wanting more as his hands settle on the small of your back, gathering you against him as he tries to repress the urge to take more, more, more. It’s everything all at once; it’s overwhelming but it still doesn’t feel enough. Not as Colin takes control, not as his hands tighten on your waist, and not as you whimper softly.

Breathless and dazed, you pull away from Colin. His chest heaves as he keeps his grip on your waist, not wanting to step further from him. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath dancing over your lips as you try to catch your own. Slowly, a smile breaks over your faces and laughter begins to spill from your lips.

It doesn’t make sense; it doesn’t have to. It’s simply the beginning of your futures.

*******

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ 

My taglist is still open! Drop me an ask if you would like to be added!

[azuls-octobussy]

The Lineup

10/13: Malleus Draconia: Blindfolds

Rated E for Explicit, R18+

TW: Reader-Insert, Fem!Reader, Blindfolds, Vaginal Sex

Malleus gets blindfolded and taken for a ride.

“So, you wish to blindfold me.” Malleus said, looking down at the strip of cloth in his hand. “Remove one sense to heighten another, am I correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Is that ok with you?”

“I see no issue with it. Shall I disrobe?”

“Sure, yeah.”

You couldn’t help openly gawking, biting your lip as more and more creamy pale skin came into view. Your eyes drifted over his broad chest, down his toned stomach, watching as his hands unfastened his pants.

“I assume you’re enjoying yourself?” Malleus asked, one eyebrow cocked and a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You blushed, averting your gaze as he continued to undress.

“I was only teasing you, you know. Regardless, I am ready.”

Malleus had completely undressed and sat on the bed, reclining against the pillows. He had already tied the blindfold over his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. You undressed and climbed onto the bed as well, straddling his legs and bracing yourself on his shoulders.

“How much feeling do you have in your horns?” you asked, tapping the points of said horns. You had always held a fascination with them, and now, with Malleus unable to see you, you felt like you could really take your time with them.

“I can tell when they’re being touched, but they’re not overly sensitive.”

“What would happen if I broke one of them?”

Malleus chuckled. “I would be more than impressed if you could manage to do so. But in all reality, they would simply grow back if that were to occur.”

“Ah. Good to know.” You leaned down and pressed your lips to him, immediately slipping your tongue into his mouth. Malleus groaned, tentatively placing his hands on your waist, sliding them down to rest on your hips. You grasped one of his horns, your other hand sliding down his torso and between his legs, taking hold of his rapidly growing erection.

You stroked it slowly, feeling it stiffen and grow in your hand. Malleus trailed his fingers over your thigh and to your lips, his lack of sight ensuring his fingers never left your body. His other hand went up your side and over your shoulder to cup the back of your neck and pull you in for an even deeper kiss.

After a moment, you pulled away, breathing having become difficult. You could also feel how hard Malleus had become, hot and thick in your hand. Combined with the growing arousal between your own legs, it was making you a little needy.

“Move your hand, Mally. I don’t want to wait anymore.” You said, nipping the pointy tip of his ear.

He withdrew his hand, bringing it back to rest on the small of your back. “I’m getting rather impatient myself, darling.”

You held onto his horn, keeping yourself steady while you lined Malleus’ cock up, and sank back down onto it. You sighed, the feeling of fullness easing the ache you were feeling. Once he was fully inside you, you grabbed onto his other horn, holding onto them as you rocked your hips.

“You certainly seem to like my horns.” Malleus teased, moving both of his hands to your ass, raising and lowering you with ease. You sometimes forgot just how strong he was. Clenching even tighter to his horns, using them to gain some leverage to let his cock hit deeper inside of you. “Not that I’m complaining. Grab any part of me you wish.”

“I intend to, don’t worry.” You replied, tilting his head back and kissing him once again. You never could get enough of the taste of his lips, running your tongue along his fangs. Malleus brought his legs up, pulling you closer into his body as he continued to help you ride him. A familiar heat was growing low in your abdomen. You could already feel yourself growing close to orgasm.

“H-hey… I’m getting close, Mally…” you said as you pulled back from the kiss, brushing your nose against his.

“As am I…” Malleus replied, squeezing you tighter and bouncing you on his lap even faster. It was almost painful, but the feeling of being so close and his skin on yours was a powerful distraction. The stimulation was overwhelming, sending you into an orgasm before long, your muscles clamping around him as he thrust into you a couple more times before slamming you down a final time. He held you still as he came, his cock jerking with each release of cum.

Your death grip on his horns finally loosened as you slumped against Malleus’ chest, muscles strained and weak. You could feel the ridges of his horns on your palms from where you had held onto them so tightly.

“Well, that was rather enjoyable.” Malleus said, pulling the blindfold off. “We’ll have to do that again sometime.” You nodded, already dozing off.

“Oh dear. Looks like I’ve worn you out again. No matter. We can stay like this for a while. At least until you get some rest, anyway.”

[veliseraptor]

Okay I'm new to this fandom and I'm a bit confused. Did Xue Yang and Meng Yao know each other? Did Meng Yao free him?👀Do xue yang know he has a parentage that dabbled in demonic cultivation?

congratulations, anon! you have hit the nail on the head of one of my perennial aggravations about cql-canon specific details, which is to say ‘what the hell is the deal supposed to be with meng yao and xue yang in qinghe?’

there is no real indication that they might have known each other except some meaningful side-eyes going on that don’t make a lot of sense in context other than, maybe, pre-flagging the idea that meng yao is ~problematic~ and ~untrustworthy~ I guess? (which, ask me how I feel about the idea that everything jin guangyao does forever is bad and sinister, regardless of timeline, effect, or motivation). but there’s no real, substantive indication (up until the empathy flashback in ep 41, I’ll get there) that they are familiar with each other, or that they actually do any collaborating at that point.

you could definitely headcanon them as knowing each other previously based on the fact that they both grew up in less than ideal circumstances, shall we say, but I don’t think there’s any evidence for it in-text other than aforementioned meaningful side-eyes. in fact, canonically we know where they both grew up locationwise and it wasn’t in the same place. but like, seriously.

(and holy shit this got long, I’ll spare you all with a read more. also: I have broken my usual ‘referring to jin guangyao as jin guangyao always’ rule for the sake of this post given that it is specifically about the era where he is going by meng yao, but it did feel really weird.)

speaking specifically with what we see in text (in episode 10), we see meng yao argue against executing xue yang, but only after wei wuxian has done so first. the next explicit link between them is when meng yao leaves the fight between wen zhuliu and nie mingjue saying that he’s going to go check on xue yang; following that, we’re told that xue yang has escaped and meng yao claims he saw the captain free him.

which is, considering the fact that he’s killing the captain at the time, a highly suspect statement to make.

there’s no reason for meng yao to be working with xue yang at this point! there’s just not! it doesn’t make sense for him even from a purely self-interested standpoint and, again, at this point in canon there’s no actual reason to believe that they have any prior familiarity.

(’but lise what about the flashback-’ yes I’ll get there.)

if you want my personal reading, which I think is compatible with the text as we see it, it goes like this:

1. xue yang quickly notices meng yao as a potentially interesting person. I don’t think it’s about seeing him as an ally or knowing him from anything beforehand - I think it’s about seeing him as interesting and kind of funny.

2. meng yao registers that there’s a distinct possibility of nie mingjue dying and/or the wen sect attacking the nie in force and decides to short-circuit that by just freeing xue yang himself, because he knows nie mingjue won’t do it but if xue yang’s gone then that (at least temporarily) solves their wen problem.

my evidence for this is based around the timing of when meng yao leaves to “check on” xue yang (mid-fight, specifically after wen zhuliu, inarguably a greater threat, takes over from wen chao), the fact that he looks definitely concerned when he does so, and the fact that, given where he is at this point, letting xue yang out otherwise makes no sense.

this does not strike me as the face of a person who is a-plottin some sinister business, and this isn’t a face he’s making at anyone, either; this is pure ‘ah fuck this ain’t good’ expression.

(yes, yes, I know, episode 41 flashback, I told you that we’d get there.)

3. meng yao frees xue yang, probably hoping he can make it as bloodless as possible; xue yang, in xue yang fashion, makes it as bloody as possible; meng yao sees his chance to do something about the guy he has always hated and who has repeatedly undermined him, and who probably also caught him in the middle of an incriminating action that nie mingjue would absolutely not accept as justifiable.

4. xue yang bounces, leaving jin guangyao caught holding the sword and surrounded by several dead bodies.

and then they don’t see each other again until xue yang ends up at jinlintai at some unspecified point down the timeline.

regarding the episode 41 flashback (see? I promised!), the view we get of meng yao talking with an unspecified person heavily implied to be xue yang doesn’t make sense in some very critical ways that also align with the selective editing that nie mingjue’s memories seem to have done on incidents we previously saw from a (presumably) omniscient perspective. many people other than me (see here, here, and here for some examples) have written eloquently about the disparities between the scenes as we see them in earlier episodes compared to what we see in the flashback, and how that suggests at least some unreliability of nie mingjue’s memories despite their presentation, since they are visually coeval with the rest of canon, as equally reliable. 

(what would be different if the empathy flashbacks were in some way visually demarcated, I wonder? it’s a thought. I like that they’re not because unreliability of narrative/narrator is such a theme, but.)

ANYWAY, regarding the section where we see that conversation between the captain and meng yao, now with bonus mysterious feet (implied to be xue yang) - a few things stand out to me.

one: nie mingjue has no way of having seen this - no personal access to what he’s supposedly seeing in his own memory. this suggests the possibility, at least, that this is a fabricated assumption of a memory. (”I believe this happened, and this is how I would reconstruct it happening.”)

two: possibly more significantly: the scene as played here doesn’t fit with canon as we see it in episode 10 itself. the scene with the captain and meng yao, as we see it earlier, includes here several additional lines of dialogue. considering the other discrepancies within the empathy flashback with previously seen canon, episode ten’s version, by virtue of not taking place within a (flashback of a) flashback and within the pov of an extremely biased character, could be read as more reliable.

see also: the flashback with the captain seeing meng yao talking to someone (implied to be xue yang) is placed directly after nie mingjue accuses meng yao of plotting with xue yang - an accusation he doesn’t make in the scene as it originally plays in episode 10. this is another place where there are several lines of dialogue that weren’t present in the earlier version of the scene, inserted apparently seamlessly into the record.

taken together, with the above where it does not make sense to me that meng yao was ~plotting~ with xue yang prior to freeing him as a way of getting the wens off nie mingjue’s back, I’m inclined to think that moment in the episode 41 flashback is a nie mingjue-generated presumption of what must have happened, rather than a factual account of what did.

meng yao’s choices in episode 10 make much more sense - as someone who, if nothing else, is definitely interested in preserving his position as part of the nie sect, but who also values nie mingjue’s life at that point enough to take a sword to the chest for him - if you don’t take that at face value.

regarding the second part of your question about the xue yang/xue chonghai connection - cql seems to indicate that he has some awareness maybe, based on his conversation with wei wuxian in episode 37? at least, he has access to Lore involving the yin iron that others were unaware of

and had one piece in his possession apparently pre-canon.

but honestly that’s a bit of cql canon that I pretty much ignore completely and sometimes forget about, though there are certainly interesting things that can be done with it.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting. 

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition. 

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something. 

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus. 

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold. 

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?” 

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket. 

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?” 

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy. 

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier. 

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him. 

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?” 

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before. 

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes. 

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare. 

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus. 

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice. 

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked. 

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs. 

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound. 

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly. 

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping. 

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark. 

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead. 

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it? 

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”