#and when she coaxed him out of it after two or so hours of effort

[existencebringsonlypain]

thinking about how hunter never got a fucking break until thanks to them. he goes from failing at eclipse lake to doing anything he can to male up for it to betraying new friends to learning he betrayed new friends to risking a fucking beating to make up for betraying his new friends to attempting to capture some criminals to his entire reality crumbling in front of him to mortal danger and near-certain death to protecting someone else to running in a panic to homelessness and starvation and never leaving that mindset to Oh Shit It's Him He's Gonna Kill Me to Please Don't Let Him Kill Me to needing to save a friend to immediate retraumatization he needs to put aside to soothe the friend to having to explain how they're all gonna die to joining the rebellion and fruitlessly planning how to save the world to Don't Tell Them to not-homophobia-orb to Why Am I Luz (also fighting) to Oh God She's Been Captured And It's My Fault to having his life source drained gradually through a sigil to YOU'RE LYING to Uncle Just Fucking Died to being stranded in another realm and needing (thinking he needs) to protect his kin from the authority figure.

Not ONCE in that stretch of time did he get to stop and process anything. He still has to come to terms with his uncle being evil, and by now he's been splatted by a star child. He has to have been so tightly wound the entire time. The moment he felt safe at the Nocedas' house, I have no doubt that everything just fucking CRASHED into him at once. my guy probably went catatonic for days on end. When there's no threat of death to keep you driven, there's nothing to stop the absolute terror and betrayal, and I'd be shocked if he wouldn't be paralyzed by fear.

[daycourtofficial]

Ferocious beasts with soft bellies

Pairing: Eris x Rhys’s sister!reader | WC: 2.5k | warnings: mentions of pregnancy, some violence from dogs

Summary: Eris’s hounds know you’re pregnant before either of you do, driving the two of you wild with their newfound devotion to you.

Author’s note: hi everyone!!! Thanks for joining me this week, I hope you had a great time!! This one ends on a note I didn’t expect it to, but I do have plans to write follow-ups I kinda wanted to break this up into two. Also this is part of my gingerfucker series, but can be read as a standalone okay love ya bye 😘

Eris’s hounds were incredibly well-trained. He spent thousands of hours when they were pups instilling in them commands, tracking and hunting skills, and alerting him to intruders on the property.

At least, they used to be well-trained.

These days Clover, the leader of the pack, would not allow you out of her sight. All twelve hounds wandered through your house as they pleased, often keeping you company in Eris’s absence. They would lounge about, finding warm sunny spots throughout the house to take afternoon naps in. You’d usually have one or two lazily trail you around the house, staying in the beds you had placed in several of the rooms.

Lately their attachment and sudden devotion to you was getting out of hand. Clover was practically sewn into your side the way she followed you around - she hardly let you out of her sight, keeping an eye on you at all times, following you as you moved through the house. She was even beginning to ignore Eris’s commands, opting to stay at your feet, following you around the house, or with her head curled on your lap.

When you and Eris publicly began your mateship, you had begged him to allow the dogs into your shared bed. “Just one,” you had pouted, “I don’t like waking alone.”

Despite his grumbling, Eris had obliged your request. Things with your family were still quite rough - it had been almost a year by now since you left the Night Court, being unceremoniously abdicated from the throne. You had been in contact with most of your family by this point except for Rhysand, who was still refusing to speak with you since he forced you out of ‘his court’, as he had called it.

Despite your best efforts, Eris still felt guilty over it, the rift in your family caused by the discovery of your mateship. You usually tried to soothe him, not wanting him to feel guilt over the decisions you made. You would choose him over and over again, and problems with Rhysand or any member of your family were not going to stop that from continuing. Besides, his guilt would be better suited as ire towards Rhysand.

Sometimes you did use his guilt to get what you want.

Which is why it initially did take Clover much coaxing to jump into the bed at all, a notion she thought ridiculous at first, but once her paws melted into the mattress, she was quick to lay directly on your side of the bed, placing her head atop your pillow.

“Traitor,” Eris had muttered as you cuddled up to her, petting her soft head.

After getting her into the bed, Clover spent most nights curled up at your feet or by your side, your nights often spent squished between her long body and Eris’s. Soon enough, you were back to asking Eris for another one to sleep in your bed.

“So Clover doesn’t get lonely.”

He spent ages debating with you that no, she doesn’t need a companion in bed with her. It was ridiculous. The three of you were enough for one bed, and he hated to think of how a second hound would complicate things.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he did quite enjoy it when he’d throw an arm around you in the middle of the night and his fingers would meet Clover’s soft fur from the other side of you.

It also soothed some minor worry in him to have you protected from all sides, despite your being more than capable of defending yourself. The mating bond was a precious gift, but it was also a minor curse with the way it coursed through his veins, needing to protect you, to keep you safe, and to keep you both satiated.

“Er, our bed’s plenty big enough for more hounds.”

“Yes, but they’ll get too spoiled. You’ve already turned Clover rotten.”

“I have done no such thing,” you cross your arms, trying to look utterly appalled at his accusation. He gives you a pointed look, then turns his gaze behind you.

Your gaze turned to the hound seated behind you, her long limbs spread across your bed, her little leg kicks and soft snores bringing a small chuckle to your lips that you quickly turned into a scoff.

“That proves nothing.”

In the several months since allowing Clover and Cinnamon in your bed, they were still obedient. They left the bed without disturbing you in the mornings, they rotated who laid next to you and who slept at the foot of the bed, and they would never go to bed without either you or Eris prompting them to.

That all stopped a few weeks ago.

Eris’s hounds had always been fond of you - Eris had spoken of them for centuries before you were able to see any of them. The way he had spoken of them had helped you see he was capable of caring about something that wasn’t himself.

That was its own revelation.

Meeting the hounds was quite nerve-wracking for you - he told you they were quite cold to new fae, and they had detested Lucien’s overeagerness to befriend them - a grudge they still held many centuries later.

“I believe they smelled the desperation leaking from his pores, tainted their perception of him,” he quipped.

Despite Eris’ warnings, you were not prepared for them to warm up to you as much as they had. He brought out his most trusted hound, Clover, to meet you, and you’re not sure if it was the way Eris’ scent was forever entwined with your own, but she warmed to you immediately. She circled your legs before sitting directly next to you, placing her head beneath your hand.

“What does this mean?” you whisper to Eris, not wanting to scare her or set her off.

“She wants you to pet her.”

Your confused expression makes his eyes dance with amusement.

“Surely you understand that means to stroke her head.” He raises his hand in demonstration, petting the air with a bemused look on his face.

You huff, “she could bite me, I apologize for wanting to wait a moment before touching a creature you’ve told me is dangerous.”

“She is dangerous, but surely she’s capable of being more than one thing.”

Nowadays she was capable of such a feat - she was not only beloved by you, but she was also a constant thorn in your side.

It started with subtle things, conversations with Eris where you tried to express how odd they were behaving one night while you sat in Eris’ study, helping him sort through correspondence from his brothers about the lands they oversee.

“Clover followed me into the bathroom.”

“Perhaps I should put some cushions for her to lay down while you bathe. I’m fond of the sight, perhaps she is too.”

You roll your eyes, “I’m serious, Er. She’s behaving strangely.”

Eris set the letter from Moros down, his attention fixed on you. “You spoil her, she is merely being affectionate. You’ll get used to it.”

Eris was wrong, Clover’s behavior only getting worse as the days went on.

“Clover, stay.”

Clover’s brown eyes observed you, your finger pointing toward the floor indicating for her to stay, tone full of finality - a princess’s tone, a high lady’s tone. You were determined to get the hound to listen to you, commanding her to stay in your chambers.

You passed through the door, heading down to speak with one of your advisor’s who insisted he speak with you as soon as possible. You rolled your eyes just thinking about his current issue with one of the trade routes that flows into Spring and how last time he wanted to speak to you, you enjoyed watching the vein on his forehead throb at your reluctance to take his ill advice.

Perhaps during this meeting the vein will pop, at least then the meeting would come with entertainment.

You look down and are startled when you see Clover’s body in step with yours, her fur shimmering in the light as if she were smoke rising from the ground.

Cauldron boil me, Eris is going to kill me if I’ve ruined all of their training.

You stop, pointing in the opposite direction, whispering, “go, shoo Clover.” You don’t even want to consider how she got through the closed door.

Clover just sits in front of you, her gaze piercing, seeing something you can’t. You blow out a breath, hands running through your hair, “okay, you may come with me.”

You’d regret those words.

Clover strode into the room before you, sniffing the air as her nails clacked across the floor. Her focus shifted to the male in the room, Flint’s eyes narrowing at her. She moved her body closer to the floor as she stalked towards him, the hair along her spine raising into the shape of a fin. Her ears were pulled back, a low rumble emitting from her chest.

“Clover!”

Your voice is chastising, but Clover does not let her guard down as she slowly approaches Flint. His eyes are full of fear as she approaches, her feet circling him. He spins in a circle, not letting her eyes leave his.

“Clover!”

You whistle her stop command, but she ignores it. She circled Flint the way she circles mice and rabbits.

She always loved playing with her food.

“What is this? Control your hound.” Flint’s voice is annoyed as Clover raises her head, baring her teeth at him.

“I’m trying.”

You move forward, reaching to grab Clover’s neck, instead missing and falling forward towards Flint. His arms catch your forearms, but Clover was not a fan of his touch and her teeth swiftly sank into the leg of his trousers. Her grip was strong as she tugged at his pants, and he began stammering, shaking his leg trying to rid his pants of her. He backed away toward the door, and once he reached the threshold, Clover let go of her grip, almost causing the male to fall over.

Her growls echoed down the hall as she watched him run down the hall before scampering back towards you, confusion and shock on your face at all that just transpired.

The hound just licked your face gently before laying next to you, her head in your lap.

You sighed, certain that Eris would kill you for ruining Clover.

Later that night, Eris made hisbway to your shared chambers, a bit surprised to find you already asleep. The hour wasn’t too late, however he had caught you dozing while reading over some requests regarding equipment for some farms.

He stripped his clothes, the finery being replaced by some loose trousers before moving towards the bed to find that the hounds had placed themselves on either side of you, Cinnamon occupying his spot on the bed.

“Cinnamon, down.”

The brown hound does not listen to the command, the only response a long sigh of her breath. He stared at the hound - a seventy year old beast who was one of the easiest hounds he’d ever trained, knowing how he expected her to behave from an incredibly young age.

Cinnamon was no Clover, but she was second in their chain of command. Clover was on your other side, soft snores coming from her snout.

There was plenty of room in the bed for the two of you, the two hounds, and, truthfully, several more hounds. Your preference for larger beds from when you had your wings never left after you lost them.

Eris laid in the bed, determined he could outmaneuver his hounds. He moved a hand out to your face, stroking your hair before a soft growl cut him off.

His hand stilled, eyes wide at such a response from Cinnamon. His nostrils begin flaring, heat rising to the surface of his skin in anger. He could feel the roar of the bond in his ears, frustration boiling within him at the defiance and aggression at him touching his own mate.

He tried to swallow it down, refusing to erupt in his own bed while you slept peacefully next to him. His fuse was a short one, his temper always loosely held back by a quick tongue that allowed him to loosen the reins ever so slightly.

He watched them, their bodies curled around your own and thought about your complaints of them following you around, believing it to be a consequence of your softness towards them.

You were spoiling them rotten. You were a few weeks away from giving them table scraps, for Mother’s sake. But then his thoughts veered into Flint’s description of what occurred, Clover guarding you from Flint’s touch like a mother hen-

His heart stalls in his chest, a heavy realization settling over him as he sits up, Sierra growling softly at his abrupt movements.

You were pregnant. You had to be - it was the only logical conclusion other than all twelve of his hounds losing their minds simultaneously. They must be able to scent it on you before fae senses could pick them up.

He wonders briefly if Lucien’s magical eye could see it.

Eris lay frozen on the bed, his thoughts swirling with what to do, how he was going to handle this. He was still quite new to his tenure as high lord - the work wasn’t unexpected by any means, however his position was still quite vulnerable - new power always attracted violence attempting to see how far that power extended.

Things were still difficult in your personal lives - he and Lucien were on tenuous speaking terms, you and Rhysand were not on speaking terms. The two of you hadn’t spoken in almost a year.

It was all so damn complicated - you hadn’t had a coronation as high lady yet, wanting to wait until Rhysand would show up to have the ceremony. The logistics of a babe at such a crucial turning point politically could open Eris up to glaring vulnerabilities.

Long fingers tap at his chest, trying to keep himself somewhat grounded in reality. He had no confirmation for this - his reasoning behind such a theory were founded on the strange behavior of his hounds. He was being a ridiculous fool to get so worked up over unconfirmed theories.

Yet the image of a swaddled little thing kept gnawing at his mind - tiny toes, a tiny nose, tiny fingers wrapping around his. He had adored his brothers when they were much younger, when the world under Beron could be disguised as a good place. Perhaps he could do it.

Eris laid awake for several hours, your soft breathing calming him as he sat and thought about all the possible ways he could ruin all of this.

A tiny part of him let himself hope that, in spite of it all, he wouldn’t.

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Eris taglist: @secret-third-thing

Thanks for reading 💕

[stuffeddeer]

I GOT A SILLY IDEA AND IT WONT LEAVE ME ALONE

IMAGINE LIKE DAZAI AND S/O LIVE TOGETHER AND BOTH WORK AT ADA BUT S/O DOES NOT WANT TO BE LATE LIKE NOT EXACTLY KUNIKIDA SHE WOULD LIKE TO JUST SLEEP AND HATES GOING TO WORK EARLY BUT JUST DOESN'T WANT TO BE LECTURED BY KUNIKIDA AND SHE LIKES TO LIKE WAKE UP EARLY SO SHE HAS TIME SO SHE JUST HAS LIKE AN ALARM 4 HOURS BEFORE THEY SHOULD EVEN LEAVE, JUST FORCING HER EYES OPEN😭😭😭 AND DAZAI IS IS NOT HAVIN IT HOLDING ONTO U IN BED FOR DEAR LIFE AND TRYING TO GET YOU TO GO BACK TO SLEEP😭😭😭😭 AAAAAAARCTKVGRJVKTKVT

He turns off your alarm once you’ve fallen asleep.

The operation is covert, sneakily unwrapping his arms from around you to try and not wake you up. It takes a bit of effort, forcing his mind to let go of the comfort that comes from embracing you, but it’ll be worth it when he’s able to do so for longer when the sun comes up. Slowly, he’ll twist out from underneath the covers and away from the fluffy mattress you occupied, tiptoeing quietly over to your side of the bed.

Dazai slips your phone off of your charger before quickly (and yet still quietly!) fleeing the bedroom you two shared. You weren’t a light sleeper, but if you caught Dazai you’d probably banish him to the couch for the next few nights. Once in the hall, he’d input your password (your birthday, how cute dumb!) and open up your alarm app. Two alarms graced Dazai’s vision, one for nearly four hours before your shift starts and another for 15 minutes before, which is when you two leave for the Agency.

With a grin, he slides the on button to off for the four-hours-before alarm, deciding to benevolently leave the 15-minutes-before alarm on. It was most assuredly out of the goodness of his heart and not because he knew you’d be angry learning he shut off one of the alarms, much less both.

Maneuvering quickly back into the bedroom, he plugs in your phone and sets it back on the nightstand before throwing himself on top of you.

“’Sssamu..?” You murmur, your words slurred from sleep as you shifted beneath him.

Feeling proud after a job well done, Dazai peppers kisses along your cheeks before climbing back under the blankets. “Sorry, go back to sleep. Just am excited to hold you.”

“You were already holding me,” you pout, eyes still shut as sleep starts to take over once more.

The brunet says nothing as he pulls you back into his arms, eyes shutting easily as he thinks about tomorrow morning.

Used to your usual alarm clock, your body wakes up around four hours before naturally. Dazai coaxes you into staying in his arms, mentioning several times that you’ve never forgotten to turn on your alarm before - you must’ve just awoken earlier than normal. But that's fine, you two can just stay in each other’s arms until the actual alarm goes off, right?

[sushiwriterhere]

it’s not rotten work (not if it’s you)

summary: Four times you, Jake, and Javy danced around the truth, and the one time you confronted it.  rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x f!reader x Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado word count: 4.2k warnings: idiots pining, mmf PiV (unprotected), m/f oral (receiving/giving, face sitting), cockwarming, hangman being hangman, light angst, dacryphilia a bit, mention of violence (stabbing), no use of y/n.  notes: companion fic to my 'a little bit of fun' drabble. thank you to sana and amelia (@laracrofted @theharddeck) for the inspiration! this one's definitely more heavy on the emotion, so please let me know what you think!! tagging: @sebsxphia @sometimesanalice @waklman @joaquinwhorres @gretagerwigsmuse @lewmagoo @genius2050 @seresinsweetie @teacupsandtopgun

one.

Neither Javy nor Jake really reacts when you’re the one to initiate conversation in your group chat.

Bad day. Someone pick me up?

Javy responds with a thumbs up and then a simple-Hangboy’s in the air. See you at 5.

Neither of you speak on the ride to their place; Jake’s usually the one to fill those silences. Javy just places his hand palm side up on the center console and wraps his fingers around yours when you place your hand in his. It’s the sort of companionable silence that stirs feelings you don’t really have the energy to identify.

An hour and a half later you’re settled in Javy’s lap, one of Jake’s old Navy shirts falling loosely around you, Javy’s cock inside you. It brings you a rare type of peace.

He’d made you shower and eat, guiding you through the motions with a tenderness somehow not at odds with his broad shoulders, the military uniform he’d removed when he climbed into the shower with you. You’d talked in low tones over a recipe of his grandmothers’, him coaxing you to tell him about your day. They already had a half-empty pint of your favorite Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer.

He’d undressed you from the waist down the same way he’d dressed you after your shower—gently, slowly, like you were something precious and fragile. You very pointedly did not cry. He took you apart on his tongue once, kneeling between your legs as you melted into the couch.

When he slid into you, your mind finally went quiet.

Javy’s got some game on in the background, the lull of the commentary giving you something to tune out as you drift. He’s solid and warm below you, inside you, a constant like the rate of acceleration due to gravity. Occasionally, he’ll shift or smooth his hand down your back or adjust the blanket that’s draped over you, but otherwise the two of you are still.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been napping til you hear keys in the door. You recognize Jake by footsteps alone, the way his keys jingle as they drop in the bowl by the door, the sound of him sliding his boots off til they land on the floor with a soft thump.

“Hey, thanks for getting her.” Javy nods against you, his chin bumping the top of your head where it’s buried in his chest, “She tell you what happened?”

Javy smooths your hair so his hand comes to rest over the ear not pressed into him, but you hear their conversation anyways, “Boss yelled at her in front of everyone for something that wasn’t actually a mistake. He didn’t apologize.”

The way Jake scoffs is muffled but your mind can picture his face, “I’m gonna give that asshole what’s coming to him one day. I keep telling her to quit. We’ll take care of her while she looks for another job. ”

Javy laughs gently, jostling you despite his best efforts, “And what? Get us dishonorably discharged in the process?”

It makes your chest clench when he says 'us' instead of 'you', as if Javy would be right there alongside him on your behalf. A pause, and Jake says something you don’t catch.

Javy’s response gets drowned out by the buzzer sound from the game, by the way his hand is still covering your ear. You only catch “never agree”.

Jake is apparently unsatisfied with Javy's answer because you can hear it in the way he leaves the room. You drift off again.

The next time you come to, it's because your dream had you squirming in Javy's lap, reminding you of how he still had you nestled on his cock. Then, there's a kiss being pressed to your forehead. You open your eyes to see Jake’s face in front of you, his hair dripping wet onto his shoulders.

"Hey baby," He murmurs before pressing your lips together.

It's heated, it's possessive, like he's trying to convey everything he feels he's unable to say through the way he licks into your mouth. Javy grabs the back of his neck so he can peck Jake, the kiss so chaste in comparison to the way Jake was just devouring you. It warms you beyond just the way Javy's body heat does.

They've been doing that more often, like they're discovering something beyond years of longing, beyond years of ribbing on each other to try and relieve what they didn't realize was sexual tension.

When you three finally make it to Javy’s bedroom, they take you apart the way they always do. But somehow, it’s infinitely more tender.

Javy fucks you first, rocking into you as you sprawl on his king size mattress. Jake’s there the entire time, kissing away your tears and petting over your stomach to press down on your lower abdomen.

Neither of them stops talking the entire time.

“So beautiful and smart, our girl—”

“I can feel Javy in you baby, you’re taking him so well—”

“God where would we be without you—”

You sob as you cum for the second time that evening, and Javy fucks you through it all. You’re so overwhelmed by the way their words wash over you like the sun on a summer day. The baritone of Javy’s voice murmuring “our girl” rattles around your mind til he finishes inside you.

Then it’s Jake’s turn. He’s just as, if not more, gentle than Javy.

Javy slips off the bed to go clean himself up. When he rejoins the two of you, Jake is already so close. He pulls out at the last minute, fisting his cock til he finishes on your stomach and chest, a punched out moan leaving him.

It’ll never cease to amaze you the way they manage to make you finish with such ease as Jake’s fingers find your clit and he plasters himself all over you so he can kiss you. It should be gross, the way his cum makes him slide a bit against you, but it grounds you instead. You can feel where the mix of you, Jake, and Javy is running down your thigh.

You’ve got Javy’s hand in a vice grip. They’re here, they’re real.

When it’s all said and done, Jake appears with a wet washcloth to wipe down your forehead, between your legs. Eventually, he carries you to the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth (“Javy got to carry you earlier while he was inside you, mind you, so it’s my turn.”).

Laying between them, you start to feel human again. You have half a mind to ask what they were bickering about earlier, but sleep is dragging you under before you can act on it.

two.

Jake's been irritating you all night. He begged you to come to the Hard Deck, claiming lonely since Javy was out of town for the weekend, some trip to DC neither of them wanted to discuss.

Distantly, you know this is how he shows affection. Like a teen boy, he’s poking and prodding at you. In between his turns at pool, he’s pulling you into his arms, grabbing at your waist, yanking on the ends of your hair. Something about Jake just requires he’s touching you at all times when you’re within his general proximity.

Natasha sets a beer down in front of you, before settling in across from you, “I don’t know how you put up with it.”

Your thing with Jake and Javy isn’t exactly a secret, but no one addresses it. It’s just sort of, there. The rest of the Dagger Squad seems to have just accepted the dynamic, brought you into the fold.

“Put up with him?” You nod at Jake, who’s trying to show Rooster some pool move that apparently requires one leg on the table. The tension between the two of them has eased considerably these days.

She laughs, “Either of them really, Hangman and Coyote. They feed off each other’s energy in the worst way sometimes, I think I’d go crazy.”

You’re silent, trying to figure out a way to respond. The three of you haven’t defined what this is, haven’t talked ‘feelings’, despite the amount of time you spend at their place, the way your days are filled with each other. You’re not sure how to explain that it just works somehow—on the outside it might seem like you lean into Javy more, but the reality is more complicated.

Jake and Javy are bonded by years in the Navy, nothing quite like constant near-death experiences to foster love. They do feed off each other, but in the way that they’re so familiar they’re almost one. Javy does steady you—but he also riles you up like no one else. Jake brings out the livelier side of you, but he’s also fiercely and openly protective of you.

You're stubborn and unmoving where Jake goes with the flow. You're snarky and sarcastic where Javy is calm, at ease. It just works.

Natasha just looks at you expectantly, and you shrug. Unsure of what to say.

You settle on, "They do drive me crazy, but I think I'm not totally gone yet."

Her laugh echoes above the background noise of the bar.

Back at the guys’ shared apartment, you fuck Jake slowly, keeping your lips pressed together. You whine into his mouth when he hitches your thigh up on his bicep, the position hitting something inside of you just right.

In that moment, he doesn't comment on the change of pace from your usual, more intense sex—he leans into it. He presses his lips to your forehead, then leans his against yours. His grip on your hip and thigh aren't as bruising as they usually are, they’re more grounding.

Jake always talks during sex, never shuts up. This time, he’s whispering more than anything else, and you can’t understand him. You want to ask but the way he’s fucking into you makes you lose all ability to speak.

When you finish, you keen and arch your back as Jake licks a stripe up the side of your neck. You shudder as he cums right after you. The two of you lay there for just a moment, taking deep breaths.

Jake presses his lips to your forehead one more time before pulling out and sitting up, "You wanna talk about it?"

Of course he noticed something was up–that's just who he is. A hurricane of a man, but still attentive to every little detail.

You consider him for a moment, his naked form, completely at ease with your eyes roaming over his body. You think of telling him about your conversation with Natasha, about the way it had made you think through the three of you. Instead, you shake your head and curl onto your side, and wait for him to get back into bed.

three.

Surprisingly, it’s Javy’s who’s been pushing you. Jake’s been hesitant to open his mouth on the subject, but you don’t miss the way he perks up slightly when you and Javy start getting into it again.

“I have a perfectly good apartment of my own, Javy!” It’s repetitive, like a swing dance, at this point. “I don’t get why you want me to move in.”

“Sweetheart, if you’d listen to me, you’d ‘get why’. You live in a bad area of town, and I’m laying awake every night worrying about whether to expect a phone call from the nearby hospital.”

Jake focuses intently on the crossword he’s pretending to do as you and Javy both stare at him expectantly. The last time he’d voiced his opinion, you’d threatened to call his mother and tell her he was trying to tell you what to do. Theoretically, he knows she’d be on his and Javy’s side, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with that.

(You haven’t threatened Javy in the same way, and he wonders if it’s because his mom is the only woman in this situation with a more stubborn disposition than you. Maybe it’s just because it’s Javy.)

"Well, maybe you should worry less." You snark. Javy doesn't respond and Jake can hear the way his eyebrow raises.

“Seventeen across, 'unconcerned',” Jake half mumbles to himself, half trying to break at least some of the tension.

“Perfunctory,” you snap at him from where you’re glaring at Javy, because of course you know.

"That's not an option, sweetheart." Javy's using the tone that says his decision is final, that he won't change his mind–it's one that you fucking hate.

Jake barely manages to stand up to intercept you when you turn around and head for the door, sans any of your possessions but your phone. He wraps his arms around you and refuses to release you despite the way you squirm indignantly in his hold.

He eases his grip just enough so he can lean down to whisper in your ear, "Baby, at least consider it?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake sees the way Javy just stares at the two of you. His expression is nearing anguish, and Jake gets it. The way you pull back every time they try to bring you closer feels like ripping barbs out of their skin. The emotional pain is so intense it rivals physical.

It’s not entirely about safety this time, not really.

"He's being a dick." You murmur, finally acquiescing and wrapping your arms around Jake's torso.

"We're not trying to control you babe, we want you here. He just maybe should've led with that. We want you to be safe." A little good cop, bad cop. Sorry, Javy.

To his surprise, you just say, "I know."

There's no fight left in any of you. Not since someone got stabbed outside your apartment building a month ago and the three of you, well, you and Javy, have been arguing non stop about it.

You just want it to stop—the tension every time you leave their apartment for work, the shared knowing that you won’t necessarily return. Jake clearly is getting sick of the arguing and you and Javy aren’t any less exhausted.

Turning around in Jake’s arms you look at Javy, “You—You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Javy’s in front of you in an instance, taking your face in his hands and kissing you fiercely, “I’m sorry, too. We care about you, we want you to be safe.”

There’s much left unsaid, but in that moment, all the words spoken are more than enough.

four.

When you wake up, you're alone in bed. You vaguely remember Jake getting up in the middle of the night and him and Javy talking in low tones as Jake got dressed. He kissed you goodbye and promised to come home safe. Javy had gotten back in bed.

The curtains let the gray of the morning light leak into the room, washing everything in a sort of hazy filter. There's clanking from the kitchen, but for just a moment, you let yourself lay there, absorbing the moment. The sheets still smell like that combination of Jake and Javy that lulls you to sleep every night.

For a second, you're overcome by a fear that one day you'll turn to your right and you won't be able to bury your nose into the pillow and smell Jake. He's only gone for the weekend, but it's that part of you that rears its head every time one of them leaves. Every deployment, every work trip they're not allowed to discuss, every morning they leave for training.

The bed dips next to you as Javy climbs in–you hadn't noticed him come back into the room. He smells like sweat just a bit, and you giggle sleepily when his fingers ghost up your ribs.

"Get out of the bed, Javy, you're sweaty," You groan, turning away from him as he drags you backward into his chest.

"Really," He laughs, "You didn't mind so much last night."

Despite your protests, you snuggle back into him, feeling the way his workout shirt slides against your bare skin. It's the sort of closeness that isn't just physical—it's about knowing your partners' boundaries, about knowing that they don't actually mind that you just came from the gym and then climbed right into bed. The sheets need to be changed anyways.

Javy kisses right below your ear and you hum happily. His lips ghost over your cheek but don't reach your lips.

"Go shower," You murmur as you turn around to kiss him.

He doesn't respond. He can't–not with the way you're flush against him, only wearing a pair of boxers where he’s only in a shirt. Not with the way you lick into his mouth lazily, humming when you taste the juice he drank. Not with the way your hands run down his stomach and grab clumsily at his hardening cock.

If you weren't awake before, you sure are now–especially with the way Javy's warm and calloused hands skim your nipples and lift your leg to hitch over his hip.

He rolls the two of you so his weight is pressing you into the mattress. There’s something so distinctly soothing about the position, the way he’s warm and heavy and everywhere on you. You move your hips in a steady rhythm against his.

When his hands find their way into the pair of boxers you stole from Jake, he finds you already soaking. You can feel the way he smiles smugly against your mouth. That just won’t do.

Shoving at his shoulder, he lets you turn the two of you over again. You kiss his neck, working your way down his body. Making a show of wrinkling your nose at his shirt, he yanks it off in one fluid, yet desperate, motion.

The instant you wrap your lips around him, his hands are in your hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re—”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought, not when you slide your mouth down the length of him, fighting your gag reflex at the way he nudges the back of your throat. There’s something so sensual about the way your nose almost brushes the curls at the base of him.

“Shit, shit, Jesus,” This is the way you like Javy best, all his boundaries down, just letting himself feel, “Your mouth is so fucking good, god, how do you—ugh, fuck!”

You’re pulling out every trick in the book. You fist the base of his cock in tight grip and let your spit ease the twist of your wrist. He shudders when you pull your mouth off him to lazily tongue at the sensitive spot at the underside of the head.

You know he’s getting close when his hips start thrusting, despite the way he usually holds himself back. The groan he lets out when he comes down your throat is guttural.

“You’re a menace,” He gasps out, and the glaze of his eyes is so familiar, so welcomed in the way that it makes your chest clench with pride and something else.

“You didn’t seem to mind just now,” Reflecting his words back at him before you make a show of swallowing deeply.

He drags you up his body while tugging off the boxers, “I mind because I wanted to fuck you.”

You giggle at the way he fakes his frustration, but you’re cut off when he lifts you up and over him til you land on his face. His strength never fails to stun you.

Javy settles you directly on his face. There’s still a part of you that feels overly exposed in the position but he wastes no time. He licks into you without reserve, burying his tongue in you and closing his eyes and humming in satisfaction.

Javy knows your body through and through—he knows what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, how he can drag this out or rush to the edge. This time, he’s savoring the moment, bordering on torture. His tongue is slow, purposeful, as it circles your clit and fucks into you slowly.

You can hear the way you’re whining as if you’re outside of your body. Your voice sounds foreign even as you beg Javy please, please, fuck right there, please don’t stop, please.

When you come you slam your hand on the headboard and moan something deep in your chest. Javy smooths his hands over your waist and ass as you come down, shaking slightly. He slides you off him and down the bed til the two of you are face to face again.

You think he might be murmuring something as he presses your lips together, again and again, but you can’t quite make it out.

plus one.

The Hard Deck seems so far away from here, where you and Javy are sitting on the beach behind it. Jake's only a few feet away, inside getting the three of you a round of beers. The noise of the crowd celebrating the end of another week is dim and distant.

You and Javy are sitting side by side, just barely touching. The heat radiating off him is unreal, as always. The two of you are talking about Jake and Javy's families, having drifted to the subject after recalling the way Jake's mom had squealed at the sight of you when she'd FaceTimed earlier in the day. His mom absolutely loves you.

He shrugs, “Momma and Amy knew about Jake and I before we did. I brought you up once and they figured it out.”

That surprises you. You knew Javy's mom and Jake's mom were perceptive, yet open, women, but you hadn't expected this—them seeing not just Jake and Javy for what they were, but the three of you, too.

You lean into him, snuggling close, "What did they say?"

He presses a kiss to your hair before answering, his words muffled with the way his lips move against your skin, "They said you had to be one hell of a woman to put up with us."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" You pull back from him, and shock paints his features.

He laughs, a bit uneasily, "Who else is saying that?"

"I'm not 'putting up with you', I love you, I love Jake, I love you both." You push yourself to standing, unexpectedly frustrated. The sweetness of the moment seems acidic now. It eats at you.

This was hard enough for you to accept. Hard enough to rationalize, to try and understand what it meant that marriage certificates were for two names, that it was 'partners' and 'couples', that the world generally worked in twos. That's enough to try and deal with–much less with those closest to you pointing out how difficult it must be for you.

Javy can't even savor the fact that you've just said you love him, that you love Jake–not when your lower lip is wobbling and your chest is starting to heave in that way when you cry.

"Hey, hey," Javy's voice is steadying, as he stands next to you and takes your hands, "Look at me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry."

It didn't even register to you that you're crying, but you feel it now. The telltale itch in your nose, the way your throat feels tight, your eyes watering. You rip one of your hands from his to wipe at your face messily.

"Woah, woah, what's going on?" Jake materializes next to you, the three beer cans dropping in the sand, forgotten in the instant he saw you crying.

"Everyone keeps trying to tell me it must be hard for me to love you, and it's not." Jake's mouth only drops a bit when you say love, an admittedly muted reaction in comparison to what you'd been expecting.

"I mean–" Jake starts, but he stops when Javy shoots him a look over your head. It's not the time for jokes.

He tries again, "We fought with you for a month to try and get you to move in with us, it's not hard for us to love you at all either."

For some reason, that just makes you cry harder as they pull you into them, "I didn't fight with you, I fought with Javy."

At that, the two men can't resist bursting into laughter.

"I'm-I'm sorry, sweetheart," Javy says as his laughter dies down, "We're not laughing at you."

You wipe at your tears hastily and giggle just a bit, "It is kind of funny."

“You love us?” Jake’s smile is cheeky, as much as it can be when he feels like you’ve split his chest open with your bare hands and are now holding his fluttering heart in your palms.

Fighting the urge to run or lie, you simply nod, “Unfortunately.”

Old habits die hard.

Later that night, when you’re pressed up against Jake’s chest with Javy at your back, they chant the words to you like a sacred prayer. They say it while they take you apart with their fingers, their tongues.

Jake says it in the way he curls his fingers inside of you, searching for the spot that makes your back arch and your thighs try to squeeze together. Javy says it in the way he inches ever so slowly into you, in the way that he tilts your hips so he can fuck your just so.

You say it in the way you trust them to see you so vulnerable, tears streaming down your face in pleasure, eyes rolled back. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[jasmines-library]

Spellbound Sickness

WHUMPTOBER 2023: Day two, prompt ‘thermometer’ Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: A long and cumbersome witch hunt turns much worse when you begin to develop a high fever; a side effect of the curse she managed to spit out at you. Will the Winchesters find the cure in time?

Warnings: sickness, fever, cursing, pills, ice baths.

Word count: 1.7k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You had never been more glad to see a shitty motel sign in your life. The hunt had been long and restless and your body was begging for a hot shower and a bed to collapse into. The witch you were hunting had been smart. She had used a set of illusions to keep you and the Winchesters at bay whilst she made her get away, although that didn’t stop the three of you from taking her down, but it took far too much effort for your liking. She had also managed to get the jump on you, blasting you with a puff of purple smoke before you managed to shut her down. There was a knot in your stomach at first, but after the drive home, it had settled once you realised that seemingly the spell hadn’t worked, you felt fine, besides the hint of a cold lingering in the back of your throat, though you suspected that was from spending the night in the rain. You did make a mental note to check for extra limbs as soon as you were out of the watchful eyes of the Winchesters, just in case.

The hard rock came to a stop as Dean pulled the Impala into park. You gathered up your few belongings and slipped out of the car, dashing towards the motel door to call first dibs on the shower before the two boys used up all of the hot water. After patting yourself dry and ensuring you had no unwanted appendages, you returned back into the main room of the motel, sighing contently as you sunk into the covers of the nearest bed.

Sam, who was sipping a beer on the motel table chuckled, a grin spread across his face. “You ok there, Y/N?”

You grinned up at him and nodded, glad to see him relaxed after being so tense for so long. “Man, I am so ready to get more than three hours of sleep.”

Dean raised his bottle in agreement and took a swig offering it to you, raising his brow when you declined, coughing into your elbow.

“You sure you’re okay there Y/N?” Sam queried, leaving forwards in his chair. “You are looking a little pale. Do you think it was the witch?”

Once your coughing subsided, you gave him a thumbs up and shook your head. “Yeah, I’m all good, ‘tis just a cold, that’s all. It’s probably from being out all night. I’m sure it’ll pass by the morning.”

Dean nodded. “You’re probably right. Why don’t you get some rest?”

~

“Y/N?”

…

“Y/N?”

A hand was resting flush against your forehead. You had begun tossing and turning in your sleep, sweat beading down your forehead. Your body was warm to the touch. The cold had gotten worse. His voice sounded distant, far away. You couldn’t make out who it was; their tone was familiar but no matter how hard you wracked your brain, you couldn’t figure out who it was.

When you didn’t respond to his calls, Dean shook your shoulders firmly. You peeled your eyes open groggily, and they settled on the tall man before you. Blinking slowly, you realised that it was the eldest Winchester who stood over you.

“Hmm?” You sounded, confused as to why he looked so concerned. That was when another round of coughs racked your body and you sat up abruptly. Dean’s hands rubbed circles on your back until the fit stopped.

Your nose was all stuffy and your head throbbed. You shivered beneath the covers, your whole body aching as you moved. Perhaps this was more than just a simple cold.

“Sweetheart?” Dean asked, tilting his head toward you.

“I don’t feel good .” You grumbled, burying yourself impossibly further into the covers and sniffling.

“I know baby, ” Dead coaxed, trying to get you to turn back towards him. “But we gotta check your temperature.”

He pressed his hand against your forehead again and turned to his brother, frowning. Sam disappeared from the dingy motel room for a brief moment, before returning with the small first aid kit they kept in the car.

“Open.”

Dean slipped the thermometer beneath your tongue and waited. It was cool and smooth on your skin, which felt nice, but you struggled to keep your eyes open against the fatigue which began to take over again. When he took it out and read the number on the dial, he furrowed his brows.

“101.” He stated.

You had rolled back over to face the wall, cocooning yourself within the blanket. Dean placed his hands on your shoulders and rolled you back over. You groaned impatiently and glared at him through half open eyes. He held out a glass of water and a round pill which Sam had handed to him.

“Sweetheart, you gotta take this. Your temperature is too high.”

Sitting up slowly, you popped the pill into your mouth and took a sip from the glass. The cold water worked wonders on your sore throat and chapped lips. Dean began to remove the cover from you, you whined at the loss of heat.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He replaced the blanket with a thinner sheet he found stored under the head. “You try to get some more rest, it’ll be easier to break the fever if you’re sleeping.”

You didn’t really register what he said, but your eyes were already slipping closed anyway. When Dean turned away, your arm reached out and caught his sleeve.

“Stay with me?” You asked.

Dean cast a look at Sam who gave an encouraging look. “Of course sweetheart.”

He slid onto the bed behind you, wrapping you up in his arms, waiting for your breaths to dip into a steady rhythm.

Swiping the hair from his eyes, Sam watched the two of you tenderly, Dean pulled you closer to his chest as though you were going to vanish any second. His heart broke at the disheveledness of your appearance; dark and tired eyes, cracked lips. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“This is definitely more than just a cold.”

~

Your breaths came in short, shallow wheezes as your body wracked itself with shivers. Sweat rolled down your face, collecting on the thin sheet you were trying to pull impossibly closer to your body. You were hot, but you were also freezing at the same time. Awake, but unseeing though sticky, heavy eyes you shook, jolted by a dry, chesty cough.

Both Winchesters would have agreed that you were too pale and that your skin was too hot to the touch. You could practically see the way it radiated from your body, but despite that you were still a writhing mess in Dean’s arms; tossing and turning to try and find some sanctuary in this mess. Your hair was dishevelled from the rustling of your head against the pillow. He could sense you were awake, he knew all too well the way that your breathing pattern changed once you woke up, from spending many restless nights together. It was usually followed by a greeting or some sort or snarky remark about the way that Dean was lying, but you had yet to make a single noise besides the chattering of your teeth. He ran his fingers through your hair, his stomach twisting when it brushed against your forehead which was probably hot enough to boil a kettle. Slamming his hands down on the desk, Sam huffed out an agitated sigh, the dragged his hands down his face.

“Nothing?” Dean already knew the answer. It was pointless asking it. The witch was already dead, shot straight in the heart with a well placed bullet, leaving the Winchesters high and dry in trying to find a curse.

“Nothing.”

The room returned to a pregnant silence for a while. Sam’s slender fingers tapping against the keypad was the only thing you could hear. That was until you bolted upright and doubled over into the worst coughing fit you had seen. Gasping desperately for air, you tried to greedily suck it into your lungs. Sam was up in an instant, pushing the chair away and sending it squealing across the wooden floor. When it finally stopped and you let out a weak whimper, it was Sam’s turn to pale at the flecks of blood that had splattered on your hand.

Hugging you closer, Dean took a hold of the thermometer that had been discarded on the nightstand next to the bed. He slipped it under your tongue and watched in horror as the numbers skyrocketed. You didn’t resist the gesture, which was yet another indicator that something was wrong, you just started vacantly through heavy eyes, dazed and pained. When Dean pulled the stick back out, his eyes widened at the three digit number.

“104.”

“Shit.” Sam cursed.

“Alright Sammy. You find that cure and you find it fast. Okay?”

Sam nodded at his brother, forgiving the harshness that slipped out in his worry.

“Y/N? Sweetheart?”

There was no response.

“Y/N/N?”

Again, you were silent. Too silent. The shuffling had stopped.

Rolling over so he could face you, Dean scanned your face. Your eyes had finally drooped shut and your body had gone slack, plastering against the bed.

~

You sat up with a gasp, sloshing the water out of the tub and clinking the ice against the porcelain. You scrambled to get away from the cold, to find some release from the cold which dug into your skin, but your fingers slid against the white tile and a pair of hands plunged you back into the icy water.

“Easy. Easy.”

You whined, pulling your knees to your chest and trying to cling to shreds of warmth.

“Cold…” you chattered.

“I know. I'm sorry.” he cooed “But we gotta get your temperature down.”

Hazily you scanned the room, peering through the open door and into the dingy room. The lights were on, though there was no sign of the other Winchester.

“Sammy?” You asked meekly.

“Sam’ll be back any minute now, I promise. He’s found the cure.”

As if he had been summoned by the mention of his name, the door slammed open, rattling on its hinges and bouncing loudly off of the wall behind it. Sam stumbled in, out of breath and with a bag clutched tightly in his grasp.

“You’re gonna be just peachy Y/N. I promise.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY ONE ⛤ DAY THREE ->

🏷️ taglist

[phillippadgettwrites]

Amateur

Rated X / 2402 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Getting to this point took quite a bit of convincing on his part. Not in any way that could be considered coercive, more that he could tell there was a deeply buried part of her that wanted to say yes, and he gently coaxed it to the surface over the course of a handful of months. 

He’s asked a few times in the past, usually not very sincerely, and her answer has always been an immediate and firm no. But times have changed, as has she, and the ever advancing technology of cell phones has lowered the bar for effort while increasing the options for privacy. What previously seemed so beyond the pale outrageous that she never gave it any serious consideration started to sound more and more within the realm of possibility, and he clearly sensed a shift in her. One by one he alleviated her concerns, and on a cool October evening after two cocktails and a string of increasingly explicit text messages sent from opposite ends of the house, she tells him to go ahead and do it. 

You’re sure? He asks, and while it’s difficult to read tone into two little words in a text, she feels his excitement radiating towards her through the walls that separate them. 

Assuming that all aforementioned conditions are met, yes she replies, her belly churning with nervousness and gin. 

In response he sends back two emojis—a camera and a little flame—and that’s that. 

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about the act itself. She tries her best not to think about it and just focus on what he’s doing to her, but she does maintain some awareness of the sounds she’s making and the way she’s moving her body. He does what he does best, which is to make her come so hard she forgets what planet she’s on—much less that there’s a camera in the room—and when he’s done with her she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

-

Do you want to see it?

Scully quirks her head at her phone, her brow furrowed. 

See what?

She gets distracted and forgets to read his reply until over an hour later. When she does, it takes her several seconds to understand what he’s referring to. 

The video.

Days have passed and work’s been busy, and she’d honestly forgotten about it. She looks around her empty office, just in case someone is somehow reading over her shoulder, before she sends her reply. 

Have you watched it?

She immediately sees the little dots that indicate he’s typing, and she waits for his message to come through with a disorienting mix of fear and excitement. 

Several times. That’s okay, right?

Her clit throbs, just once, in light of this information. Mulder has always been somewhat of a porn connoisseur, but it’s decidedly different knowing that she is the star of what he’s been watching.

Is it…good? Okay? Tolerable?

She realizes it’s a silly question and that his definition of “good” will have completely different criteria to hers, but she figures he knows her well enough to say whether she would find it watchable. 

I like it a lot. And I don’t think you’ll hate it.

She gets up from her desk and closes her office door. She has no intention of watching the video here; it just seems safer this way. 

Okay, you can send it. Not sure when or if I’ll watch it, though. 

The next text that comes through is a thumbnail of a whitish blur that she would guess is her thigh. She saves the video to her phone, relegates it to her hidden album, and then deletes the entire thread of texts for good measure. 

The next time she thinks about it, Mulder is on one of his long runs and she has the house to herself. She pours a glass of wine, curls up in her favorite armchair, and glances furtively around the empty living room before pulling up the video and tapping the play button. Immediately, the sound of her own voice fills her ears and a hot flash of embarrassment shoots through her. She quickly minimizes the video and relocates to the bedroom, picking up a pair of headphones on the way. Somehow the second floor feels safer, though she only puts the headphones in one ear to be sure Mulder won’t sneak up on her when he comes back. After taking a gulp of wine and a deep breath, she hits play. 

Again she hears her own voice, mid-moan, and the image on the screen goes from unfocused flesh of an unidentifiable body part to a close-cropped shot of her vulva. She gasps at seeing her own cunt on screen, plump and shining with arousal and saliva. The camera shifts around a little, which makes rustling sounds against the sheets, and then Mulder’s profile enters the side of the frame. 

It’s a tight shot, which means she can only really see from his eyes down to his chin, but the way he glances toward the camera when his mouth is poised inches from her body tells her that he’s watching himself on the screen while holding the phone in his hand. His tongue darts out and flicks playfully at her clit, and she watches her opening flutter as she hears herself murmur a breathy, “Oh.” 

She pauses the video, her heart hammering, and listens to the quiet of the house. It feels like she’s doing something wrong, though she isn’t; if Mulder were to walk in right now, he’d likely be thrilled and want to watch it with her. But despite the fact that they made the video together, it feels incredibly private. She can hardly bring herself to watch it, much less entertain the idea of a viewing party. 

When she’s summoned courage again she hits play, and Mulder begins to drop wet kisses down her swollen lips until his mouth is covering her opening. His jaw shifts forward and she hears herself suck in a breath before letting out a long moan. 

Scully squirms where she is seated in the middle of their carefully made bed. While it’s not entirely clear from the video itself, she knows exactly what he’s doing to her. She can feel the heat of his tongue sinking into her cunt. She glances at the open door, aware that Mulder could be home any time. She could lock it, that would buy her a few seconds if she doesn’t hear the front door opening or him coming up the stairs. It’s only at this moment she recognizes that she is extremely aroused and very much wants to touch herself. 

On the screen, Mulder’s eyes are closed and he’s suckling at her clit, his lips carefully pursed around her hood. Her hips are wiggling and arching off the bed, pushing her face more firmly against him, and the movement causes the camera angle to shift so that she can no longer see her own body, just the side of his face. She watches the flex of his jaw and listens to the way her voice rises and falls in time to it, and when her embarrassingly gratuitous wailing is approaching a crescendo he pulls away and smiles, his eyes aimed up toward her face. 

Seeing him enjoying her this way, watching the unabashed pleasure on his face as he eats her pussy, is hypnotizing, and she’s almost disappointed when he notices the camera has shifted and tilts it back to show the slick mess between her legs. He puts on a show for the benefit of the video, coming in at an angle in order to capture a full view of his tongue gliding up the valley of her pussy lips before skirting just past her clit, teasing her. And she feels it all as she sees it: the anticipation, the wet heat of his mouth, the need for him to touch her more fully. Her eyes are glued to the screen, waiting for him to do it, to make her come, which she of course already knows that he’s going to. Her clit beats a steady rhythm under her cotton lounge pants, keeping time as the seconds tick by and Mulder makes her whine with frustration. 

“God, just do it,” she whispers out loud, piqued and panting. 

“Do what?”

Scully startles, and the phone leaps out of her hands before landing face-down on top of the comforter, tugging the headphone out of her ear in the process. Mulder is standing in the open doorway, shirtless and shining with sweat, his breathing still labored from his run. 

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug and a thin-lipped smile. “How was your run?”

She forces herself to keep her eyes on his face; if she gives her phone so much as a millisecond glance, he’ll know she’s hiding something. 

“Good,” he says, crossing to the en suite bathroom door. “I’m just gonna grab a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

The door closes behind him and she flips her phone over to see that the video is still playing. She drags the cursor across the bottom of the screen and watches them fuck in reverse until it’s to the point where she left off, then pops the headphone back in her ear.

“Oh, please,” she hears herself groan, her hips canting towards Mulder’s smiling mouth. She doesn’t remember begging. 

Upon hearing the magic word, he presses his entire face against her cunt, obscuring her body in the video. She hears herself gasp just before her hand flies into the frame, grabbing the back of Mulder’s head to hold him captive while she makes sounds that are at once embarrassing and insanely erotic. 

Scully scoots back on the bed and leans against the headboard, then pauses the video and listens for the rush of the shower and the wet slap of water against tile as Mulder moves around inside it. She starts the video again just as she’s coming down from her orgasm, and Mulder makes a point of pulling away to get a good shot of her still-throbbing pussy before the video bounces around and lands on a static image of their bedroom ceiling. 

She slips one hand under her pants and then her panties, listening to the running shower with one ear and the muted murmurs of her and Mulder changing position in the background of the video with the other. Unsurprisingly, she’s obscenely wet, and she wastes no time in setting about getting herself off before Mulder is out of the bathroom. 

On the screen, Mulder’s face appears from a low angle before he switches to the rear camera, and she sees herself on all fours at the head of the bed, waiting. The video pans down her body until it’s trained between her open legs, and she winces a little at just how prominently her asshole is displayed in this position. Mulder seems to take no issue with it, dragging the head of his cock down her ass crack and back up before he pushes against her opening. 

Scully fucks herself with her fingers as she watches him slide into her, watches her hips flex up to welcome him and hears both their relieved groans. He fucks her slowly at first, pulling all the way out so he can watch himself enter her again and again, and she almost feels jealous that he gets to see this every time. He pulls the camera back a bit, widening the shot to show the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips, then picks up his pace to the degree that their skin slaps loudly on each thrust and the wet slick of her cunt is audible when he withdraws. 

She didn’t expect to like this, but as she swirls her middle finger furiously around her clit with her eyes glued to the screen, there’s no denying that she does. When the on-screen version of herself begins to alternately round and arch her back and Mulder whispers an expletive, she knows she’s close. She’s close in real-life too, hovering near enough to take herself across the finish line whenever she’s ready. 

“Oh, shit,” Mulder sputters, and the room tumbles around on the screen before the video goes dark.

She can still hear the wet snap of his sharp thrusts and her own voice devolving into wails and moans. Mulder says things to her that she doesn’t recall hearing, things that might make her blush if she weren’t as turned on as she is. If she weren’t coming in tandem with the video, her mouth open in a silent scream and her cunt throbbing against her own fingers. 

As she returns to awareness, she realizes that the shower is off. She scrambles to pull her hand free of her pants and close out of the video, and is just opening Instagram when the bathroom door pops open and a cloud of steam wafts into the room. Mulder stops in the doorway and considers her for a moment, and she does her best to act casual. 

“What do you want to do for dinner?” she asks, giving him a disinterested glance, and he crosses the room and lays down beside her. 

“There’s some leftover lasagna in the fridge, I think,” he says. “Whatcha lookin at?”

“Nothing in particular,” she says, her eyes on the screen. “Just browsing.”

A pause. Gooseflesh breaks out on her arms, and she hopes he doesn’t notice. 

“I’ll go reheat the lasagna, then?”

“Okay,” she answers in a hopefully neutral tone. 

Mulder gets up and heads for the door, but just before he passes through he turns back to look at her. 

“Did you like it?” he asks, and she quirks her head at him, a questioning wrinkle in her brow. 

“The lasagna?” she asks. 

“The video,” he says, jutting his chin out to indicate the phone in her hands. 

Scully feels her face grow hot immediately. She opens her mouth to speak, but can’t think of anything to say. Mulder’s mouth breaks out into a wide, delighted grin. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says triumphantly. “Dinner will be ready in ten.”

“...Thanks,” she forces out, her cheeks burning, and he mercifully leaves the room. 

After a moderately awkward meal, she manages to overcome her embarrassment enough to film a sequel later that night. 

[real-jane]

best kept

[bucky barnes x baker!reader]

This is for Birdie's Birthday Bash Writing Challenge!! Happy happy birthday, @buckysbirdie ❤️❤️❤️. This was such a fun way to pull myself back into the creative roll! You're a gem and you deserve to have a beautiful birthday fest.

For my prompts, I chose:🍦 Waffle Cone: Bucky Barnes |🧁 Birthday Cake: Baker | 🍭 “You deserve pretty things.” | 🍑 Secretly dating | 🍓 Mutual pining

warnings: idiots in love, miscommunication, fluff, mention of sex. no body descriptions, no use of y/n.

--

She didn’t mean it the way it came out–you deserve pretty things–like a plea. She intended for the sentiment to land like an observation, based on their few-and-far-between conversations across the register, like the brew of the day is Breakfast Blend or it’s supposed to rain around three o’clock.

But damn him… he flushed. He didn’t smile, quite, but his eyes flicked away and he cleared the embarrassment from his throat, handing over a bill too large for the small black coffee and the intricately frosted cupcake which had nearly given up the whole gambit to his companions, who hung at his elbow with an urgency which could only come from a post-mission adrenaline rush. 

He was expressly forbidden from dating anyone inside the compound. He had made that abundantly clear as he fished the buttons of her baking uniform through the holes in the storage closet the day that pull between them became too much to bear. He had still kissed her like he had all the time in the world, and every moment they squirreled away thereafter was precious, but the longer they had to hide in the shadows… the harder it became to keep her tongue from whetting his plush lips where anyone could see. Especially when he picked out a cupcake he knew she had agonized over that morning, thanks to the hastily sent photo he received from the kitchen in the wee hours.

The way lavender buttercream would taste in a forbidden kiss… she ached for it. 

He did deserve pretty things. He deserved much more than that, too. But he wouldn’t let her say it. She tried, with her legs tangled in his, to tell him sincerely what he meant to her, how lucky she felt that he would even look her way–but he had shut her down with suffocating kisses and stole all coherent thought. He went another day without knowing she loved him, without her trying to make him listen to her say it.

Maybe that’s why the comment burst out. When she couldn’t say I love you, what could she say? You deserve pretty things, like the cupcake I created because all this love has no place to go, because chamomile is your favorite tea, because it’s one part of you that belongs only to me.

Bucky motioned for her to keep the generous change from his bill, and hastened to the far end of the caf to admire her work from a safe distance. She watched him walk away for only a split second, before turning her attention back to the red-headed woman with a cold brew addiction.

Just wait, his text said. The message had pinged from her back pocket while she ascertained whether or not Captain America wanted a savory scone, so she didn’t see it until he and his cohort departed from the caf. 

Clutching her phone over the stove long after the other staff headed home, she stared at the two little words from ‘Jamie.’ No punctuation to hang a hope on, ever. He wasn’t one for soft sentiments. Bucky Barnes touched her with urgency, but he didn’t speak her name with the reverence of a lover. He barely spoke at all, except to coax pleasure from her. She was starting to feel less like a choice, and more akin to a tool he used to blow off steam. It clawed at her heart, making her skin crawl with longing for just one fraction of the effort she was devoting… to a man who had never hidden that he wasn’t supposed to be fucking her. 

She couldn’t take much more of such an empty arrangement. How could someone so enmeshed with her bones leave her so devoid of affection, even in the slightest? How could she love someone who stumbled away from a tryst like he’d been stung?

He never showed up before the night shift cleaners did their rounds, but he always showed. 

Wait, she did. She jumped when cold vibranium fingers wrapped around her elbow, swiping furiously at her reddened eyes. 

“Christ,” she breathed. “You’re a fucking phantom.” She hazarded a glance at him, but his expression was hardened and unreadable. He was frozen at the sight of her persistent tears. She rolled her eyes and eased her arm out of his grip, putting the island between them. Despite the way every hair on her body stood on end in his presence, it was no use hiding the way his silence inspired more tears. She let them streak down her cheeks. When still he said nothing, anger stirred behind her ribs.

“How was your cupcake?” she whispered.

“Um. Good.” Bucky leaned against the counter and folded his arms. The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened. “Chamomile?”

She nodded. “Your favorite. I, um. I sifted loose leaf tea in with the flour, I wasn’t sure how it would go.”

“It was good.” 

“Good.” She gripped the butcher block countertop so hard, her fingers ached. 

Bucky let an agonizing minute pass. “You’re crying,” he muttered. “Why?”

She snorted. “Tim’s wearing his big headphones while he does the floors tonight, if you want to risk it out here–if you can stand to fuck a woman while she’s sad.”

He was intelligent, she knew it. It hadn’t taken long to see how his mind whirred to strategize around every possible obstacle to the opportunity to take her in a dark corner, and she couldn’t dismiss the way his compatriots spoke about his work on assignment, even if she only overheard snippets of their conversations in the caf. It came as no surprise, then, when he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 

“You wanna be alone. I’ll get out of your hair,” he said tersely.

“No–god.” She laughed, but it stabbed. “I want you. Here. I thought I had made that abundantly clear by sticking my hand down your pants at every opportunity.”

He blinked. “You’re angry.”

“Yeah. Yes, I am. I’m–I don’t know how to say this,” she struggled. “We’re better at the not-talking part of this arrangement. But if I don’t get it out, I’m going to pop!”

Bucky, to his credit, made no move to leave, though every muscle in his body seemed to tense up with the need to flee. Instead, he braced his hands against the counter behind him and nodded for her to say whatever was on her mind. It was then that she noticed that his hair was damp; he never came to her smelling of motor oil, or blood, or sweat, or any hint of whatever duty had demanded of him during the day. It made her want to sob. He came to her clean.

She studied the way his jaw flexed anxiously, and it gave her enough comfort–knowing he was uncomfortable–to make some sort of explanation come out. 

“I’m selfish,” she started. “I thought that I could just be content sneaking around, because I’ve been clinging to every bit of affection I can get from you. It was fine for a while. More than fine, Jamie–god, I’m addicted,” she said sheepishly. “But it’s not fun anymore, it’s like I need a fix of you, or I can’t function. I hate that I can’t kiss you where people can see. I hate that you don’t say anything to make me think you want me half as much as I want you. I invented a fucking cupcake based on your kiss after a cup of tea. I–fuck.” She looked up at the ceiling to hold back a new wave of emotion.

“You never promised me anything, so I have no right demanding more from you,” she said. “So. I don’t think I can continue with my part of this arrangement, given that–well, considering that you can’t even show interest in a person without creating a coup with Human Resources–”

“Hang on,” he said softly. “What do you mean a coup?”

“You’ll get in trouble. Especially for sleeping with the cupcake woman–”

“I’m not following,” he said. Then, it dawned on him. “Doll…” Bucky chuckled. From the depths of his chest, a warm and wooly sound that brought heat to her cheeks. He smiled even as he swiped a thumb across his bottom lip.

“I see what this is,” Bucky said. His blue eyes flicked up to meet her gaze and her stomach flipped. Gone was the frown from his expression, and instead, a strange and unfamiliar lightness took its place. “You should’ve told me.”

“What?” she breathed.

Bucky pushed off the counter and walked around the island slowly, until he caged her back against the wood. The scent of his soap–sandalwood and cedar–filled her nostrils. He tipped her chin up. 

“You seem to be under the impression that I come here to get my rocks off, and not because I have a sweet tooth. And I’m kickin’ myself for not seeing it sooner. God help me, doll: when I’m around you, I lose all rational thought.”

She wound her fingers into the front of his sweatshirt, a soft and well-worn thing with a faded SHIELD logo over the left pec. “Pardon my French, but those are the most words in a row I’ve heard out of your fucking mouth, maybe ever.”

“‘M a shy guy,” he said. 

“I have tried to talk to you about this for months–”

Bucky winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah! You shut me up every time! Hey–stop staring at my mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow as if to say well, go ahead. For good measure, he sat on the stool at the lip of the counter, and bracketed her between his knees. She sighed.

“I don’t know how long this can continue if it can never be more than a secret,” she admitted.

Bucky cleared his throat.“...Are you under the impression that SHIELD has a stake in my personal relationships?” 

She blinked. “You said it did.”

“When?”

“Um. The first time. In the pantry.” 

He frowned again and looked at the pantry door like it might project the exact conversation they had, amidst a feverish tryst. “I don’t think I did,” he said.

“‘They’ll grill me and everyone in the compound will know–’ You were pretty clear that nobody could know about us. You kept saying it. ‘They can’t know. They can’t know.’”

“I’m not sure I was thinking about anything but putting my head between your legs,” he said frankly, which made her shiver. “Nick Fury doesn’t care about interpersonal relationships as long as they don’t interfere with our work. The guys, however, already give me shit for how often I miss my mouth with coffee because I’m watching the cupcake woman and her damned smile. I was probably talking about them. But I don’t remember, and I’m sorry you’ve been losing sleep over it.”

“I haven’t been losing sleep,” she said bashfully, though her lip slipping into her mouth revealed what a lie that was. 

“Don’t you see how messed up I am over you?” The question came out of his mouth like a blessing. She stared at him in astonishment, which made the tips of his ears turn pink. “I may be bad at sayin’ it, doll, but I’m acting up like a lovesick man.” Bucky tucked his fingers into the back pockets of her jeans to pull her closer. “You’ve been hurting. Haven’t you?” When she nodded, his face fell. He huffed. “That won’t do.”

“Tell me,” she asked. “Please, Jamie.”

“You really been thinkin’ about something I said in the heat of the moment… shit, a year ago?”

“Words are precious, where you’re concerned.”

Bucky looked up at her like the sentiment struck a raw nerve. He shook his head. “I’ll be better.”

“You’ve already tripled your usual output,” she teased, letting her hands slide to his jaw. “It’s no wonder you’re good at keeping secrets.”

“What would people say if they knew?”

“Stop. You’re trying to save me from compound gossip?”

He studied her well-loved shoes and the flour which adorned the toes like a deliberate style choice. “Am I a coward?”

“Yeah,” she said, but she brushed his cheek. “For the sake of clarity… SHIELD doesn’t care, but your friends will tease you, and people might gossip, so that’s why you’ve never actually taken me to your room, and why we’ve been sneaking around for the better part of a year?”

Bucky cringed. “In my defense, I thought you got off on it.”

“I did–I do. But I spend about thirteen hours a day on my feet in this damn kitchen. It would be nice to have sex horizontal for once, and not bent over the sink I wash dishes in! Maybe even laying down on a mattress, as crazy as that sounds.” 

“You wild woman, you.” He laced his fingers behind her knees. “I’m sorry. All this because I’m afraid of people thinkin’--it doesn’t matter, right?”

“Oh, you’re just now realizing that?” She swatted him on the shoulder. “We should’ve had this conversation eleven months ago!”

He didn’t say anything for a while, but he leaned into her fingers where they dug at the knot in his shoulder while he pondered where they had gone wrong. He gripped her wrist so he could entwine their fingers and study the raised veins on the back of her hand with a curious thumb. 

“I always buy whatever pastry you made special for the day,” Bucky said, as if it was a revelation he was making at that exact moment. “I tip you like Rockafeller. I can’t stand the thought of stinking in your presence, so some days I shower twice. I scan the personnel report every morning to make sure you’re on the premises. I check my phone seven hundred times an hour on the off chance you text me. I dream about you. I wake up smelling your perfume. I’m–I’m your damned satellite, woman.”

“Then why are you so worried about people knowing?” she asked it, but she gleaned the answer the moment it left her lips and she pressed her fingers to his to stop him from saying it. His lips pursed behind her hand. She shook her head. “No. You’ll break my heart.”

Bucky waited until she removed her hand before attempting to say a thing. “You don’t know what I’ve done, doll–”

“I’m sorry–you think I didn’t google you within an inch of your life, old man?”

He smiled, despite himself. “My mistake.”

“Please. I would be so proud if people knew”

“Of me?” he asked, incredulous. “Why?”

She leaned in and took the softest drag from his lips, eliciting something like a gasp of amazement from the man. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense, does it?” she murmured against his mouth.

Bucky growled. “If I could have you, I would shout it from the rooftops.”

“You like me.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He stood, looming over her hungrily. “Could I, doll?”

She would have descended into tears again if her heart wasn’t bursting with happiness. “I would love that, Jamie.”

His eyes sparkle. “People will talk.”

“Good.”

“I’ll… I’ll kiss you over the counter!” He gestured to the very counter which separated them daily. “Other people will see me do it.”

She snickered. “I hope they do.”

“Sam will tell you about every time I’ve made a fool of myself watchin’ you–”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’re not ever gonna question me again, because I’m gonna just come right out and say things. All the time.” For the first time in her memory, Bucky fully smiled. Beamed, even. His eyes were lively with excitement and he reached for her hand. He laced their fingers once more. 

“I’m going to walk outta here right now, holding your hand.” He backed slowly towards the door of the kitchen, tugging her with him. “Because I want to.”

“Okay,” she laughed. He was giddy, almost, at the prospect of getting to tell anyone who would listen that he was with her. Being seen together was a dream he didn’t know was within reach. It made her heart clench. 

“Wait–” She held up a finger and released him so she could dash back into the pantry. When she emerged from the kitchen with the little pastry box in hand, Bucky raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Saved a cupcake for my personal pity party,” she said. “I blew through three dozen of these before noon.”

“Hmm… my cupcake is a best-seller, huh?” Bucky tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow so he could draw her closer.

“Um. Every pastry I make is yours.” When he couldn’t speak in shock, she nodded. “You’re sort of my muse.”

“You’re jokin’.”

“God, it’s embarrassing–”

“No, no, no! It’s the sweetest thing I ever heard, doll, I promise you.” Bucky stopped in the vestibule where the hallway forked west to the parking garage (where her car was parked), and east to the residential wing of the compound. 

“Well.” She shrugged. “I take how you’re making me feel, and I say it in flour and sugar. Everything I couldn’t tell you got baked into pastry. They all have names, too, but I’m not quite ready to mortify myself by admitting some of them.”

He cupped her cheek. “What’d you call it today?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.”

“‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake.’” She braced herself for him to cringe, but he didn't.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. “I am an idiot. Never let me forget it.” He turned on his heel and hastened down the east hall. She had to practically skip to keep up. 

“Do you hate it?” she panted.

“What–no!” He punched the up arrow to summon the elevator. “I love it.”

“I love you.” The sentiment flew from her tongue like it had been waiting for that very moment to spread its wings.

The elevator dinged to punctuate her admission, effectively squashing an otherwise perfect moment… made awkward by Sam Wilson on his way back from the gym, standing in the elevator and grinning. Bucky glanced between Sam and the woman who just admitted to loving him, and pulled her into the car.

“Sam,” Bucky acknowledged. “You remember–”

“The way you poured dark roast in your lap when she laughed? Sure do. Hi. How are you?”

“She loves me,” Bucky said. She nudged his ribcage. “What? You do. I’m in love with her, also.”

“I’ve gleaned that prior to now,” Sam said smugly.

Her cheeks were hot, but she leaned into Bucky’s side in disbelief. “Hi Sam. I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. While we’re all sharing our feelings, he’s one of the best people I know, so. As far as I’m concerned, this is a fantastic development. Which I’m suspecting isn’t a new one.” Sam smirked as Bucky scratched his head guiltily. 

“Wow. Thanks, man.”

“Whatcha got there?” Sam pointed at the little box in her hand.

“That’s ‘Jamie’s Best Kept Tea-cake,’” Bucky explained proudly. 

She squeezed his elbow. “It’s chamomile with lavender buttercream.”

“Oh shit, the magic cupcake! He force-fed us all a bite at lunch. Five stars.”

“Thanks.” She shared a smile with Sam. The elevator arrived on Bucky’s desired floor. Sam said little else, but offered a sly salute to the retreating form of his giddy best friend and the woman he couldn’t stop talking about.

At Bucky’s door, he paused. “I didn’t–is this okay? Do you want to come in? You can use my on-suite shower. Water pressure is amazing. I have a very comfortable bed–”

She pressed up on her toes and kissed him quiet. “You love me,” she murmured, “so I’d like to go in.”

“I’m making a fool of myself right now, aren’t I,” he breathed.

“Nah. You’re just… chatty.”

“I don’t think I can stop.”

“It’s okay. 'S pretty cute.”

He smiled dreamily. “Cute is good. I can work with that.” He let them into the room, but the moment the door shut behind her, he tensed up again. “Um. This is it. I don’t have much.”

“Jamie,” she soothed. “I’m so happy to be here, but I’m exhausted. I’ll take you up on that shower, and we can talk more in the morning. Yeah?”

“Oh–of course, doll, there’s towels…” He babbled on, but she temporarily ignored him in favor of unwrapping the little box on his desk. She grabbed him mid-sentence by the front of the sweatshirt. Something had to be done to dissipate his adrenaline, which was hammering away full-throttle to force every little thought which crossed his brain to traverse his tongue, too.

“C’mere.” She held up the small cupcake and offered him the first bite. His lips grazed her thumb and forefinger, but her own chased them to capture the sugar of a kiss. He groaned into the flowery sweetness. She giggled when he dipped the tip of his finger into the frosting, only to drag it over her cupid’s bow. Warmth pooled between her thighs as he licked the purple sugar from her skin.

“Shit,” he breathed. “I’m. I–doll.”

She laughed. “That, James Barnes, is what you taste like after a cup of tea.”

“If I wasn’t already… I am, now.” He peered at her through half-lidded eyes, drunk on sugar and arousal.

“What?”

“In love.”

He said nothing else. Every sentiment which she inspired in him paled in comparison to the feeling of her. The alphabet of her body was language enough to describe the utter terror of exposing every chamber of his heart, and still come up short for the measure of awe. And as for her… 

She had kept him locked away in a neighboring vein for so long, that letting the flow of Bucky Barnes through her senses overwhelmed her with the knowledge that yes, she loved him… and yet loved him more as he exposed his vulnerabilities–like his 3-in-1 shower gel, and his pleasant striped pajama pants with frayed cuffs. He would be best kept at her side, of that much she was sure. Not a dirty secret in the pantry, but softly snoring against her shoulder, with no question of whether or not he wanted her, and an abundance of pretty things… many of which came frosted.

--

Thanks for reading! :)

my masterlist - my bucky barnes masterlist

bucky tag list: @peterhollandkait @nahthanks @honeywithemoney @dracris33

[dreamfyrie]

Heart of the Sky (Part 1)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Your relationship with Aemond was strong, and he felt that it was time to take the next step. He wanted to introduce you to Vhagar. It wasn't that you were against meeting her, but you were from Dorne and grew up hearing horror stories about dragons. Especially Vhagar. Aemond assured you that as long as he was there, she would never hurt you. You didn't want to insult Aemond, but you trusted Vhagar as far as you could throw her. It didn't matter that they had some mystical connection, you had a bad feeling in your gut. Sometimes Aemond told you you looked so good he could eat you, hopefully, Vhagar wouldn't feel the same.

Aemond insisted that you wear pants and a shirt.

"You're not going to try to get me to ride her, are you? I swear to every God if you even suggest that I'll take your other eye."

"I'm not going to ask you to ride her, it's just best you wear something comfortable. You don't want to accidentally trip on your dress while you're meeting her and scrape yourself. She might smell your Dornish blood," he said with a cheeky grin.

"She can't actually do that, can she... I'm on my moon blood," you said, terrified.

"No, she can't. At least, I don't think so." He said the last sentence more to himself.

"Gods Aemond absolutely not. You're mad if you think I'm going anywhere near that old woman now."

Aemond could see that his joke landed very badly. "I promise you, you'll be fine. Do you think that I'd ever let anything bad happen to you? I'll hold your hand the whole time, if she eats you, she'll have to eat me too."

"You're very annoying, do you know that? Maybe she will eat you to teach you a lesson for bringing a Dornish woman around her," you said.

Both of you went back and forth before you finally gave up. You knew you would have to eventually meet Vhagar someday but thought you'd have a while longer to mentally prepare yourself. No amount of time would be enough to calm nerves, though, so you might as well get it over with.

The Dornish learn to fight and ride before they can even walk. You never went anywhere without proper pants and shirts. If an occasion arose where you could fight in a tourney or go riding, you were going to join. You were a princess of Dorne after all, no one could tell you no.

A couple hours later, you were begrudgingly getting on a horse, and Aemond looked at the defeated look on your face.

"I'm just going to introduce you real quick, and then we can leave. It'll be fine, you'll wonder why you were ever nervous in the first place," Aemond tried to convince you.

You rolled your eyes and followed behind him. There was no need to wonder why you were afraid, you knew exactly why. It was as if Aemond didn't want to acknowledge what Aegon the Conqueror had done to your people. You weren't sure if he just didn't care or if he wanted to ignore the past, so you wouldn't realize that a Martell being in a relationship with a Targaryen wasn't a very good idea. You were well aware of what your relationship with him looked like from the outside, but you didn't care. Aemond was intelligent and sensible, he was ambitious, but he wasn't power-hungry.

He had already gone to the dragon pit earlier and brought Vhagar out so she was ready to meet you. Aemond had a feeling that going in the pit to coax her out wouldn't be something you'd enjoy very much. She was waiting outside when you two rode up the Hill of Rhaenys and approached the daunting building. You hoped Aemond hadn't woken her up from a nap for this, but you knew he had. What else would a centuries-old dragon be doing with her time?

Aemond hopped off his horse first and walked over to help you down when he saw you making no effort to get off your’s. You sat there staring at Vhagar, waiting for her to smell your blood and decide she didn't take kindly to Aemond having another woman in his life. Staying on this horse was your best chance of escaping and not being burned alive. You greatly enjoyed not being dead.

You were too busy being frozen in fear that you didn't even notice that Aemond was pulling you off the horse by your waist. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, stopping you from jumping back on the horse and riding away as fast as you could.

"I got you, relax. I won't let go of you, I promise," he whispered, trying to soothe you.

You had his arms in a death grip, making sure he wasn't able to break that promise even if he wanted to.

"If I'm going down, you're going down with me. I hope you know that," you told him.

Aemond chuckled. "Dying in the arms of a prince is a privilege that would have most women feeling honored."

You smiled sweetly at him. "The only thing I'm doing after death is coming back alive so I can kill you again, my prince." Aemond chuckled at you again. No one amuses him more than you. You hated how much you loved his laugh, he was knocking down all the walls your survival instincts had built up.

He began shuffling the two of you towards Vhagar, keeping his word about not letting you go. You knew what a dragon smelt like, Aemond was almost permanently covered in her scent, but you had never inhaled it straight from the source. She smelt... powerful. It was strangely exhilarating, like a rush of adrenaline was overwhelming your senses. You would never admit that to Aemond though, you'd never hear the end of it. He slowly walked you closer and closer, not wanting to rush you. When the both of you were right in front of her, all of your instincts to run came flooding back into you. Aemond held you even tighter.

He had his left arm tightly locked across your waist while grabbing your right hand with his and putting it flush against Vhagar's face. She inhaled deeply, and you hoped Aemond's familiar scent was stronger than yours. Aemond deciding that you needed to meet Vhagar while you were on your moon blood was the most absurd idea he's ever had, and you've heard a lot of his ideas.

"She likes you," Aemond hummed.

"She's an old lady, all she likes is eating and sleeping, and maybe you sometimes," you whispered.

"Vhagar still has her wits about her, she's aware that you're here. Trust me, if she didn't like you, she wouldn't be shy about letting us know," he said.

That wasn't reassuring in the slightest, but the last thing you needed to do was be negative. You didn't want her to sense that you were annoyed at her rider. Gods knows what she'd do to defend him.

"Do you think you're ready to leave the dragon pit now?" Aemond asked.

"I've never been more ready to leave anywhere in my life," you said, relieved.

"It'll feel like a long climb your first time, but it gets easier," he smiled.

"A long climb where?"

Aemond started pushing you further down the length of Vhagar where the ropes lay to climb her.

"No, no. You promised you weren't—," you started frantically shaking your head.

"That was before you met her, don't you feel different now that you know she likes you?" Aemond said charmingly.

"No! I feel very much the same, actually!" You whisper-yelled at him.

"Just trust me, please."

He had so much hope and warmth in his eyes. You knew this was a big deal for him and probably one of the biggest moments of his life. There's no one other woman in the world that he would ever think to bring to meet Vhagar, let alone invite to ride her. That was a very intimate bond to intrude on, and you knew it.

You look between him and Vhagar hesitantly. Aemond looked so sweet, you knew he loved you and wanted to share not only his life but his dragon with you.

"Aegon the Conquerer was wrong for what he did to your people, and there's nothing I can do to make up for his actions. He and his sisters might have used their dragons for destruction, but they're not monsters. They're beautiful and loyal creatures, they cannot help what their riders ask of them. Let me give you something. Let me give you a gift that only a select few have gotten to witness. I want to give you the sky," he said with passion.

Everything in your mind was telling you to say no, but your heart couldn't help how much you loved him. You had never been more scared in your life, but you agreed. As much as you distrusted dragons, you trusted Aemond with your life.

"I don't want to be up there for too long, please bring me down when I ask," you said.

"I will, I promise," Aemond kissed you on the forehead.

Aemond instructed you on how to climb up Vhagar and was climbing up below you to catch you in case you slipped.

"Are you actually below me because you care about my safety or because you want a view of my ass?"

"Why can't it be both?" he smirked.

You kicked the top of his head with your boot.

"Oops, I must've slipped, sorry," you said, your voice laced with sarcasm.

"She can feel my pain, try not to slip again," he said slyly.

You stilled, looking at him with wide eyes. He laughed at you and motioned for you to keep climbing. You didn't slip again.

Once you were up there, you didn't know what to do.

"Just walk over there and sit in the saddle," he said from behind you, almost at the top.

There was more than enough room to stand up and walk on Vhagar's back to get to your destination, but there was no way in seven hells that you'd trust your balance that much. You didn't care how coordinated you were, you drew the line at taking a relaxing stroll on the back of the biggest dragon in the world. Aemond laughed at you as you crawled to the saddle, but you didn't care. You didn't make it this far to have your death be pathetically falling off her. If you were going to die because of Vhagar, it at least needed to be exciting, like getting eaten or burned alive, or maybe falling off once you were in the air, not before.

Aemond walked behind you with perfect balance while you crawled into the saddle, and he joined you, sitting with his chest against your back and arms wrapped around you.

"That was the hardest part, things can only go up from here."

"Yeah, literally," you grumbled.

Aemond smiled to himself, and you listened as he gave Vhagar a command in High Valyrian. You were suddenly moving, she was moving. Aemond grabbed the reigns while keeping his hold on you secure. You were holding onto him like your life depended on it, which it sort of did. When Vhagar was finally standing up, she started stretching her body, getting ready to fly. You hoped she took her time warming up, the last thing you needed was for her to pull a muscle in her wing or something during the flight.

"Are you ready, or are you still nervous?" Aemond whispered into your ear.

"Why can't I be both?"

Aemond gave you that heart-fluttering laugh again and sent his final command to Vhagar. The three of you were flying.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

First date

Lan Xichen feels - nervous. Anxious, to be more precise. Incredibly out of his depth, in fact. With all that he's been through, one might think he's ready for anything and nothing phases him anymore.

Wrong.

The great and mighty Zewu-Jun is downright terrified of - don't laugh - going on a date. It wasn't even his idea - his uncle decided it was time for him to visit some matchmakers so he can "pass on the Lan heritage", or whatever other elegant string of words he used to signal that Xichen needed to have a child - and, after a short meeting, the matchmakers found him a date.

Except, Lan Xichen has never been on a date. Of course, he's read plenty about it (Ouyang Zizhen's not-so-secret black market of romance stories has more clients than he could ever imagine), but reading and doing are worlds apart. And Xichen is a bit too nervous to remember the syrupy stuff in those books anyway.

This is ridiculous, and he knows it. He's neither blind, nor deaf or an idiot - he knows he's highly sought after and that should, technically, mean he has nothing to worry about.

Still, he worries.

Romance is... not something he's generally paid much attention to. Yes, he's had crushes before, but nothing that lasted more than a few months, and with the turn that his life has taken, love was rightfully the last thing on his mind.

And now, freshly out of seclusion, barely able to stand on his own two feet politically-wise, he has to go on a date. He'd rather listen to sect leader Yao yap on about the lack of respect and discipline among the youth or something.

There is a knock on the lanshi's door and Xichen knows who it is without even needing to ask. Wangji walks in, carrying some tea - and Xichen sort of envies him right now. What does he know about the perils of dating? He's only ever liked one person, that person happened to also like him back, and then they got married.

Well, to be fair, there was a bit more to that story, but the point is, they never had to actually date.

"How are you feeling, brother?" Wangji asks, kind and supportive, and Xichen feels like the world has turned upside down. Isn't it his duty to be kind and supportive of his brother's love life?

"I am... well." Xichen lies as he fixes his robes for the hundredth time. "This is new for me, so I am a bit-"

"Scared."

"Nervous."

Xichen glares at his brother in the mirror, but if Wangji sees it, he doesn't comment on it. He better not. Like he's one to talk. When he and Wei Wuxian married, he paced around the room for three hours straight from the nerves.

"You have no reason to be so jittery."

Xichen closes his eyes so he doesn't roll them. Says the man who still gets jittery when he sees his husband after a day being apart.

"I am only trying to help. Hearing encouraging words might ease your worries."

Xichen sighs. "I doubt that is going to work."

"What would work, then?"

"Not having to go."

"Avoiding things does not make them go away." A half smile. "You told me that."

"I should be more careful of what I say to you, then." Xichen finds himself smile as well. "My own brother using my own words against me."

Xichen takes the tea cup his brother has poured for him and sits across from Wangji. The silence is comforting, familiar, and Xichen finds himself remembering how he would try to coax his brother into just admitting his feelings for the man that he's now tied his fate to.

"Wei Ying and I have done research about your date. Lady Ming appears to be a respectable lady."

"Research?" Xichen lifts an amused eyebrow. "Did you and Wei-gongzi stalk her?"

Wangji closes his eyes to avoid his brother's gaze. "...I wouldn't necessarily call it that."

"What would you call it then? Espionage?"

"As I've already said, research."

A laugh is pulled out of Xichen before he can stop it. "I appreciate the effort, though I hope you did not scare my date before I even met her."

"She is not easily startled."

"And you know this due to research."

Wangji doesn't respond, but his ears pink up a little. He isn't going to tell his brother how he and Wei Ying found that out, or how he had to pay for Lady Ming's landscaping out of pocket. In their defense, her garden really is a miniature jungle.

"I know you are nervous about rejection." Lan Wangji says after a while, and Xichen nearly chokes on his tea. Leave it to his brother to not mince his words.

"Everybody worries about that." Xichen tries, "It's part of the process."

"It is. I was too. But unless you take the leap, you will never see what's on the other side."

Xichen smiles. "It's as if I'm listening to myself."

"You would do better to listen to your own advice sometimes."

---

"So, how is he?" Wei Ying asks from his spot lounging on the bed. "A big anxious mess?"

Lan Zhan takes off his shoes and his outer robe, joining his husband. "Expectedly."

A teasing laugh, "Runs in the family, I guess."

"Wei Ying."

"Don't give me that. You know I'm right. You were the same."

Lan Zhan nuzzles into his neck, leaving a kiss there. "Still am."

[lightly-lumiere]

yet another sad and angsty AU where Billy survived post-Starcourt (cw: neil has some choice words about billy’s scars, brief description of the scars)

- he takes months to heal and in that time him and Max become extremely close and finally have a sibling relationship.

- the recovery is long and difficult, Billy becomes much thinner, is covered with scars and he’s very pale. his self-esteem and body image is virtually non-existent. he had to build that back up slowly and begins to accept it with Max’s help (also El’s and maybe Will’s)

- Neil never left, but steered clear of harassing Billy for the majority of the recovery. until one day he just snaps. he’s sick of everyone treating his son like he’s fragile, because what he went through couldn’t possibly that bad. Neil has also never actually seen the scarring and just assumes Billy is being dramatic and weak about how much pain he’s in.

- Max and Susan are out, so it’s just them two. Neil barges into Billy’s room while he’s taking his pain meds.

- Neil then tells Billy to take off his shirt. show him what all this fuss is about.

- Billy tells him he doesn’t want to and Neil tells him again. Billy just goes quiet and stares pleadingly at his father. Neil gets fed up pretty quickly and demands again, only this time shouting and towering over his son.

- “dad please… please don’t make me-”

- “i asked you to do something boy! now get to it before I do it for you!”

- Billy takes off his shirt with very shaky hands, tears starting to fall, his breathing is shallow and fast. he’s trembling all over by the time he drops his hand to his side, unbelievably self-conscious and afraid.

- Neil, looks shocked and for a brief moment, Billy hopes that his father will look upon his scars and realise how badly he had been hurt, that nothing about his injuries and recovery was exaggerated.

- but Billy’s hope is crushed into dust when Neil’s expression morphs into one of disgust.

- “god you are off-putting, i hope you haven’t shown this to anyone.”

- Billy’s heart plummets as Neil walks around to look as his back.

- “there’s not even anything to salvage, you’re just deformed.”

- he can’t stop the tears anymore, rolling down his cheeks as he looks down at himself. the ropes of red and pink scarring on his torso scream at him.

- “cover yourself Billy god, I never ever want to see this again. so ugly and disgusting.”

- and with that Neil walks out of the room slamming the door shut behind him, leaving Billy alone with tears streaming down his face and hyperventilating, contemplating his father’s words.

- off-putting. deformed. ugly. disgusting.

- he puts his shirt back on quickly has his chest starts to heave with sobs. he stumbles back into bed and curls up tightly in a miserable ball, and just sobs uncontrollably for hours. his fathers words replay on a loop in his head the whole time and his self-esteem plummets to below zero.

- when Max gets home sometime later, she finds him still curled up staring vacantly at a wall with bloodshot eyes. she’s immediately worried and coaxes what happened out of him. he starts crying again while he tells her, trembling and hugging himself because he doesn’t want to be touched in that moment.

- Max is enraged. all the time and effort she and Billy had put in together to build up his self-esteem after everything, after surviving the Mind Flayer. she knew his self-worth before he was possessed had been tied to his looks and that had been destroyed after Starcourt. and after months of progress it had been shattered all over again by his piece of shit father.

- Max sits with him until he finally falls asleep and all she can think about after that is how hard she would swing the spiked bat at Neil’s face if she could get away with it.

[badwitch-if]

“I desire you. I burn for you. I can’t sleep at night for wanting you. Even when I didn’t like you, I lusted for you. It’s the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is.”

While she was pregnant Viridian's mother, Tabitha,  swore up and down that she was cursed. In her prophesied dreams, she saw herself in the deep belly of a cave during the Worm Moon. She was laying on a pile of bones and among them were her own, and those of her child. But she also saw herself begging any creature that might hear her calls, to grant her mercy and slay her and the babe she carried, putting an end to her curse. 

When she emerged days later, covered in blood and green ichor and carrying a silent wrapped bundle, her family and the local witching community assumed the worst. But then the raven-haired Poe let out a foundation-shaking cry and all was seemingly well. And soon after all that commotion, Tabitha was spotted back in the company of her academy coven; the very same she'd been trying so desperately to escape. The Witches she claimed had cursed her. But once she’d had Poe, she couldn't be around them enough, especially MC's mother, Keena. 

Because those that knew better knew that the two Witches shared a powerful and vicious rivalry, so whatever was bringing them together must be very important to them both. Whatever it was that had them toiling away in the dungeons below the castle's inhabitants was secret enough that it was kept from the rest of their trueblood coven. 

And so it often was that Viridian Poe was alone, or else in the company of one of the many nannies and other staff. They cried and screamed for nights, weeks, months, until they realised it was all terribly in vain. There was one kindly nanny who took pity on him, a humane named Franklin. Frank had big, ruddy cheeks and white-blond hair; he was quick to laugh and unlike the others, still believed that laughter and good things could be coaxed out of young but sour-faced Viridian. 

The two of them spent countless hours alone, reading or trying various instruments, countless pastimes, until Franklin was invited to a Demonhall match one evening. The sport had only been around a few decades at that point and was still struggling to find its niche. They had only recently started allowing entry to Humanes in an effort to boost ticket sales. Franklin brought Poe a flier, and they couldn't stop tracing their chubby little fingers around the cartoon for covens, so it was settled. 

And entering the Demonhall arena that night,  Viridian Poe came alive. They finally felt the magic in the world, and the same magic, running through their veins; and they felt what happened when they squeezed their little fists, and the magic pooled there until it made their fingers feel funny and they had to let go. But when they finally looked back up and rejoined the action of the game, it was just in time to witness a Witch transmuted into a small boulder. They’d just fallen in love for the very first time. 

The next time Keena and MC returned it was for a much longer stay, and the two young Witxhes were thrown together a considerable amount. MC's mother didn't insist on a nanny for the little Witxh, so Franklin often spent this time catering to both charges. So this often meant afternoons spent [REDACTED] and evenings in the [REDACTED]. Viridian didn't entirely hate their life when it looked like that. 

Mostly, Tabitha had as little to do with them as possible. She tutted in during official holidays and posed for photos, but that seemed to be the extent of her requests. Much unlike MC's mother, Tabitha wasn't knocking down the door every few months to take unknown quantities of Poe's blood. So they had that to thank their mother for, at the very least...

As always, Franklin worked tirelessly to keep their mind happy and occupied, as it was often prone to drifting towards the darker corners of the room and life. They were quickly growing up with a dark, sardonic view on life, even with their nanny's best efforts to keep the grisly at bay. They devoured books at a level and pace that was leagues ahead of most of their peers. 

From the moment Poe arrived at the assessments, it was like all of the anxiety they'd been carrying for the last decade coalesced in the pit of their stomach. They knew something was terribly off, horribly wrong. It didn't feel like they were expecting it to. Not knowing what to do, they desperately started pushing through the crowds of loud kids, looking for MC. 

They don't find MC that morning but when they eventually do, they're already congregating around a small group of kids, and Viridian knows that everything their little hearts had planned together was not meant to be. Those had been the foolish dreams of children stuck under the heels of their mothers. It was silly to think that once they were really and truly free, that those dreams would hold any stock in the real world. That was a hard day in a lifetime of hard days for little Viridian Poe, and so they hardened themselves just a little bit more. 

But as it went, Viridian was placed in Golden Hills [the Golds, isn't it swell?] which, as the name so coyly suggested, was the supreme ranked coven. But even a victory that sweet couldn't quell the anger in their young spirit. And so they recommitted themselves to knowing all that there was to know; to being the absolute best Witxh that had ever existed. Hard magics, especially spells and potions, came to them with an almost natural ease. Poe wrote to his retired nanny at least once a week, asking his advice on certain things and generally keeping him updated on their academic progress. 

For the first few years at the academy Viridian would interact with MC as little as possible, even if that meant having to accept a detention for refusing to partner with them during class. But all of that would change once they both started competing in Demonhall. And just like they'd come alive in the arena all those years ago, a part of Poe changed the first day the Golds really competed against the Silverlakers. The thrill of the game took over, and every little thing they'd meticulously read and filed away, was suddenly being called to service. It was all right there, at their fingertips and they were unstoppable!

There was suddenly an over-confident swagger, an air of bravado that swelled to the surface. What was once a sullen silence had, almost overnight, turned into a mysterious angst, and a lot of the Witxhes around campus took notice. For their part, Viridian enjoyed the feeling of being wanted and pursued; it was all very new to them but it felt right. 

In the final years at the academy Poe would join the [REDACTED] club... along with MC. And as Fate would have it, when the group took a trip to the Montreal Ossuary in their final year, Viridian and MC [REDACTED]. It changed absolutely [REDACTED] and set off a world-shaking chain of events, that ended with the Golds taking the pivotal Demonhall championship. 

Following graduation, Poe was recruited by the current defending champions, the Ocean City Sirens. They went on to win back-to-back championships for the club before retiring from the sport at 23. After that they spent a couple years leisurely traveling the world with Franklin, before finally heading off to university to study Somnosophy, the philosophy of the fabled dream realm. 

Poe favours everything Alexander McQueen, Elie Saab and pieces that exemplify New Gothic, high fashion. Lots of black & dark jewel tones, luxurious fabrics & opulence

Poe has a pale complexion with olive undertones, and enviable bone structure. They're considerably taller than average and especially loves when that's pointed out to them. They have a lean & wiry frame; their arms & legs (at the very least) are covered in a complex tapestry of tattooed runes.

Viridian has long, straight black hair that hung in curtains around their face during school. But now they tend to wear it pulled back from their face, or else in an intricate braid atop their head.

Their eyes are indeed a dark viridian green, as Poe's mother had more irony than she knew what to do with. They sometimes wear thin, gold wired glasses – but only at home (in the early morning/late night).

*disclaimer, as always! I don't own any of these images, and the header quote is from Bridgerton queen, Julia Quinn

[faker-aus]

Roles in THWDLM

Shadow takes on the same role as Paul. He's the guy who doesn't like musicals. He's the first to realize everyone singing constantly is weird, even by Mobius's standards. He teams up with his friends to figure out what's wrong and stop it- except, Sonic is missing. Hmm.

Rouge is Shadow's #1 ally, similar to Emma. However, rather than a romantic dynamic between the two, they're much like siblings. Just an immortal hedgehog and his older thief sister on their way to try to save the world.

Sonic and Amy are the Sam and Charlotte of this situation. Amy realizes Sonic isn't with the group, so everyone sets out to find him. He's saved the world so many times, no reason he can't do it now! Unfortunately, he's dead. He's a singing alien zombie, just like much of the town. He's already taken the Chaotix into the hivemind, and after getting his brain knocked out with a trash can lid by Knuckles, he's taking Amy down with him.

Knuckles is the brawn of the team. As long as he can stay alive, the group is safe, because he can fight the infected off the easiest without weapons. All he's gotta do is survive, and not dwell too much on the loss of his friends.

Vanilla and Silver follow the same role as each other. The day the hivemind infection broke out, Vanilla was out of the house, as Blaze took care of Cream and Marine. With insanely perfect timing, as soon as Vanilla realized the trio were on their own, Silver came in from the future in a panic, demanding to see Blaze. Vanilla and Silver agreed to make sure Blaze, Cream, and Marine were safe, and to take them into the group if they were. Unfortunately... they weren't, and soon Vanilla and Silver weren't either.

Tails and the Chaotix were working separately from each other for the same purpose- research the infection and stop it. They figured they could cover more ground if they were split up, but the Chaotix refused to leave each other, so the three would report their findings back to Tails. But when Sonic got the jump on the team, Tails was left alone to work. He realized that as the alien blood was infecting Mobian blood, the safest way to remove it would be Chaos Control- and even that proved useless. Stumped and panicking, Tails was frozen to his chair as the Chaotix broke down the door to the lab and attacked. Knuckles and Tails were in their hands, and Rouge barely made it out alive with Shadow.

Blaze and Marine had been called by the Sol Emeralds to Mobius a few days prior to the infiltration, much like how Silver's time travel called him because the past was in danger. However, whatever danger was to come hadn't showed its face yet, so the two stayed with Vanilla and Cream. Vanilla left for about an hour to get groceries, leaving Blaze in charge of taking care of both little girls. But in the time Vanilla was gone, she was forced into hiding with the group, as Blaze tried to keep everything under control. Her efforts to keep the infected away were useless, and she and Cream were infected. Marine quickly hid in the basement, locking the door behind her. When Vanilla and Silver arrived, Cream and Blaze attacked them. Now infected, they managed to coax Marine out of the basement and took her into the hivemind as well.

[bippot]

Rhett with daddy kink!!!! Rhett with daddy kink! PLSSS!

Summary: The Abbott's have been working Rhett to the bone for far too long and he's allowed one day off to finally catch up on some quality time with his girlfriend. She, under no circumstances, allows him to get out of bed.

Tags: Lazy Mornings, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Daddy Kink, Marriage Proposal, implied childhood neglect

Song Recommendation: Hey Cowboy by Devon Cole

Full Masterlist - here

└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘

As of late, Royal had been a real grumpy bastard, which wasn't unusual, but it was annoying. He'd broken his ankle when something spooked his horse and it threw him painfully down to the ground. Since then, he'd been moping around the house like some kind of kicked puppy or whatever.

And because Royal was being a bitch that meant that Rhett had to pick up the slack for his father. It had been fine at first. Doing both his father's and his job was a lot but Perry was there to help too, and therefore, Rhett wasn't alone with it all. Then Amelia kept getting in trouble at school so Perry would have to pop off to go sort that out, leaving Rhett to do all three of their chores. One day was okay; he didn't mind it. Two? Still manageable. A week? His steps definitely were a bit slower.

Two weeks? He started sleeping back in his childhood bedroom rather than his apartment because that would cut down travel times and he could get that half an hour of extra sleep. Once a month went by and he got one day off. Finally. It was a Sunday and, although his mother expected him to still go to church, Rhett intended to spend all of it with his girlfriend.

Ring Ring. Cecilia calling.

Awaking to the noise at three in the morning, Rhett went to take the call but his hand was swiftly slapped away. "But, baby, what if there's trouble?" he groggily whined, his voice hoarse and far too sexy for so early in the morning.

"If there's trouble, they'll have to drive here and tell you in person," Y/N replied firmly, pushing his phone further away from him so he wouldn't be able to reach.

They waited until the call rang out and, as soon as it did, Y/N tucked her head back under Rhett's chin where she belonged. She ran a finger through his hair, gently combing out any knots left over from his restless night. Despite how tired he clearly was, it was a task to coax him to sleep and still took a while.

Just as he was about to drift back off, a sudden brightness stopped him from doing so as a single square of light lit up the whole room.

Perry: Roundup?

Y/N leant over, got a quick glimpse of the text and turned his phone off without saying anything. As of two days ago, Royal had proven that he was capable of riding a horse again so did they really need Rhett at this precise moment? No. The answer was no. They didn't.

"What it say?" Rhett asked softly, his eyes still closed.

"Tell you in the morning. Go back to sleep."

"You know I can't do that, darlin." He tried to sit up but she promptly pushed him back down onto the bed before he even got a chance. As his back hit the mattress, she slowly straddled his waist and let her weight drop on top of him, essentially squishing him into staying put. "Sweet thing, you know I can just lift you up if I wanted to."

"You haven't done it, so you must not want to."

True, he didn't. Leaving her and the comfort of their bed would be a sin. In an effort to further stop him, she flopped and became total dead weight to pin him to the bed again. After several lazy and futile attempts, he gave up trying to move and lay still, arms draped lazily around her back and face buried in her hair. Her breath tickled his skin, soft and warm and sweet.

"You're going to take the blame if my parents disown me," he joked, his mouth barely moving. She laughed. A short, quiet chuckle, full of fondness and love and happiness and so many other things that Rhett couldn't possibly name them all. It was music to his very tired ears.

It didn't take long before the sounds faded to silence and all that was left was breathing and heartbeats. In, out, in, out until she noticed his got deeper and more regular. And then, in an instant, she moved to look down on his sleeping face. Her thumb lightly traced the line of his jaw, taking in his relaxed features like it was the most important thing in her life and maybe it was. He always looked so peaceful in sleep.

To be honest, it was the only time he truly looked peaceful. When Rhett slept, he was free and slowed and his features weren't pinched tightly with stress and worry. There was no tension in his posture, no lines on his forehead, no furrowed brow, no frowns. No anger. She knew better than anyone that underneath all the scars and rage and pain, Rhett was still a softhearted man, just as vulnerable as the rest of them.

But sometimes he needed to be reminded of it. Sometimes he needed to understand that he wasn't a hero who could fix everyone else's problems just because he felt like it. Sometimes he needed to feel loved. To know that no matter how strong, or tough, or rough he appeared to be, someone loved him all the same. To remember that he was worth more than what he had to offer. That he deserved more than what his family was willing to give him.

With a soft peck on the cheek, she placed her head on his shoulder and spent the rest of the morning as his weighted blanket. But when he woke up and the sun was streaming in through the curtains, she was no longer in bed. Rhett stretched, cracking every vertebrae in his spine and popping his joints, and sat up abruptly, the covers pooling at his hips as he checked the clock. 11:00. He'd never slept that late before, but apparently, he'd been tired enough to do so.

"Stay there!" Y/N ordered as soon as she heard him stirring. He froze in place, waiting patiently to see if she had anything planned. Tray in hand, Y/N pushed the door with her hip to reveal a big slap up full English breakfast. Eggs. Sausages. Bacon. Beans. Tomatoes. Mushrooms. And toast. His eyes widened and his stomach growled a little louder than he expected.

"Baby…" he breathed in awe, looking at her with so much love it made him dizzy. If she hadn't already fallen in love with him, the expression currently on his face would've done it for sure - he grinned stupidly, his eyes big and round like saucers, his cheeks flushed, and his bedhead standing up in all directions.

"Morning, handsome." She placed the tray of food on his lap and kissed his forehead. "Eat up. I'll go get your coffee." And before he could stop her, she disappeared back to the kitchen, leaving him to stare at her retreating form, utterly speechless and aching for more of her.

He picked up his fork and stabbed at the eggs with it while his mind wandered in a daze. Did he deserve all this pampering? Yes, definitely. What about his responsibilities though? Well, fuck em. It was one day that he could treat himself. He'd earned it. The delicious aroma of bacon and coffee wafted into his nostrils and he dug right into his feast. Somehow when Y/N returned, it seemed as if the food became even better tasting just by being in her presence. He ate with such gusto that she teased, "Slow down, cowboy. You'll get a stomach ache at that speed."

"Tastes too good to waste," he chirped back through a mouthful, his grin goofy and lopsided. He was practically inhaling his breakfast like it was going out of style, devouring each bite. She just smiled and shook her head, placing his drink on the bedside table.

His eyes followed her movements as she sat beside him, gently placing her hot chocolate down in one hand and the other taming the mess that was his hair with her fingers. Once he was sure the mess was settled to her liking, he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, which was quickly covered with a smile. "Thanks, darlin', y'know I love it when you're sweet on me." His words came out muffled due to the mass amount of food in his mouth, yet it had her snorting into her mug and shaking her head.

"You eat like a pig."

"A happy pig."

Throughout his breakfast, Rhett kept trying to feed her parts of his meal, but Y/N would either slap his hand away or laugh and playfully remind him that she made it specifically for him, so he shouldn't be giving her gifts away to anyone (not even to her) unless he wanted to deal with her wrath and a long winded lecture about letting himself be selfish sometimes. He didn't stop trying though.

"Open up," Rhett demanded as he poked her side, a teasing tone in his voice. As she went to refuse, he squished some bacon into her mouth and, ignoring her protests, held his hand over her mouth until she accepted defeat. "Tastes good, huh?" He cheekily complimented after removing his hand.

"Would've tasted better without your grubby hands all over it."

"My hands? Thought you liked them all over you."

"You're too cocky for your own good, Abbott."

"You love me for it."

Y/N didn't respond to that. Instead, she smiled, picked up her cup from the nightstand and took a sip of the drink, her gaze wandering towards the window, now illuminated by rays of sunlight that shone directly at their faces, making everything look a bit softer, a bit sweeter.

Once he was done and possibly couldn't eat anymore food, Rhett gulped down his coffee in on swig, took her drink from her hand to slap it on the table and placed the tray on his lap to the ground, the dish making a little 'clink' sound as it hit the floor. The second his hands were free, he loomed over her and planted both palms firmly against the bed beside her head, leaning into her space, trapping her between his body and the bed frame.

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes, sweetness?" He teased. His eyes roamed her face, taking in her bright eyes that twinkled under the sunlight and her parted lips, plump and inviting. He licked his own dry lips, suddenly feeling parched despite just downing a cup of Joe.

"What's the plan for the rest of our day off?" She asked, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously at him, knowing fully well what he intended. That question was unneeded.

Button by button, he undid the plaid shirt she'd been wearing, teasing as he went, "You know what, I used to have this exact shirt."

"Oh yeah, what happened to it?"

"Stolen. By one of my many, many lovers."

"Wow, you're a real casanova type, eh?"

"Mmhmm, and you, ma'am, have always been my favourite."

Lovingly, she rolled her eyes but couldn't help the blush that appeared on her cheeks. This boy, she thought with a smile. This charming cowboy was hers. All hers. Forever. So, to show her appreciation, she tugged him down to give him a big ol' smooch. His lips instantly moulded themselves into a beautiful smile against hers, the corners upturned adorably.

"Stop smiling, I'm trying to kiss you."

"Stop making me happy then, doll." He nudged his nose against hers playfully and her cheeks grew pinker as she let out a loud giggle, unable to fight the smile that stretched across her features. "And you know what would make me happier, if that's even possible?"

She hummed for him to respond.

"Dessert."

Before she had managed to come up with something snarky to say back, Rhett was dragging his lips down her neck to nip at the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She let her head roll to the side to give him more access to her skin, her hand finding its way to the back of his head to hold him firmly in place.

"Oh Rhett," she moaned, causing him to smirk smugly against her skin. There was a certain type of pride in making her react like that. He loved how she melted for him, he really did. Rhett sucked a mark into her skin, revelling in the feel of her trembling underneath him, in his arms and ever since the first time he'd experienced it, he knew there was no going back. Not for either of them. Not ever. And maybe that was okay with him.

For once in his life, he was content with just being still, and enjoying everything around him without worrying about his family and what they were up to. Just focusing on her. Her scent. Her smile. Her warmth. All of it. He didn't want to move ever again. Ever.

He slowly moved downwards to trail hot, wet kisses along her neck, nibbling gently at the soft skin and sucking small marks on her collarbones, causing her to let out tiny groans of pleasure every time he pressed his lips against her skin. Yet, he'd been taking so long she couldn't help but whine, "Baby, I know we have all day...That doesn't mean you have to drag it out, fucking taking soooo long, y'know?"

It was only when he'd reached the hollow of her throat that she felt his hands sliding up the sides of her open shirt, slowly caressing and trailing feathery touches over the expanse of her bare skin, and all she wanted to do was rip it off and jump onto him. There were a few moves she had up her sleeve to quicken his movements, and knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

She tilted his chin up to look at her and placed a gentle kiss upon his lips. "Daddy, please. Need you to touch me," she whispered hoarsely, her breath fanning over his parted lips. Her words were enough motivation for him because before she even finished her sentence, his hand was sliding into her underwear to feel the effect he had on her. As soon as she said that, he was like putty in her hands.

"Good lord, doll," he muttered as he brought his coated finger to his mouth to lick it, savouring the taste of her on his tongue, his eyes never leaving her flushed, lust filled face. "So wet for me... yet so impatient." He pushed her knees further apart to give himself more access, allowing him full reign over her body and he immediately pulled down her panties to expose her completely to him.

The moment she felt his warm hands slip up from her knees to her thighs, his lips followed their path, kissing and licking his way down towards her centre, sending waves of pleasure through her veins the entire way. His tongue traced a path along her folds to the edge of her opening to tease her entrance before sinking a finger inside with one smooth thrust.

"There we go, sweet thing," he praised as he slid another digit in once she was ready. "Gotta give my babygirl what she wants, huh? How can I resist? Especially when you're so good to me." He gave her a loving nip on the soft skin of her thigh before attaching his mouth to her clit, sucking and swirling his tongue as he continued to slide two fingers in and out of her.

"Fuck, fuck, daddy. Oh god."

Her fingers tangled in his hair as her hips rocked against his fingers, begging and pleading for more, and Rhett took full advantage of that by pumping his fingers in and out faster and harder, until her walls started tightening around his fingers. She whimpered as she threw her head back on the pillow, tears pooling at the corner of her eye as she squeezed her legs closer together and squished his head a little.

As he expected, his dessert was as sweet as ever. If there was a way Rhett could weasel his way between her thighs, he would. The slow crushing of his ears between her legs was a signifier that he was doing his goddamn job, and he was doing it well. It wasn't long before he could feel that the oncoming wave of pleasure was about to reach its precipice, could hear it in her breathless moans.

"Look at you, all red and needy for me," he growled against her, pressing his lips against her heated flesh, suckling and licking at her until her whole body shivered and quaked with desire. "Gonna come for me, pretty girl? Make a mess for daddy? Let go, let it go, baby."

And she did. Her muscles convulsed and jerked, releasing a powerful ode of pure bliss as she came undone with his name on her lips. Her cries vibrated through her throat in the most erotic way. It drove him crazy, hearing her calling his name like that. Hearing her voice laced with so much need and emotion sent an electrifying thrill down his spine, filling him up with fire that burned him alive, scorching his blood and warming every inch of his body.

"Shit, I'll never tire of that sound," he muttered before dropping a kiss to her stomach and watched her regain her breath after her orgasm subsided, her hands still locked into his locks and massaging his scalp as an apology for all the pulling she'd just done.

Rhett grinned up her as he rested his chin on just below her navel, tracing patterns on her skin with the tips of his fingers, relishing in the sensation of her soft skin against his rough fingertips.

"How was your dessert, sir?" she inquired in her best impression of a snotty waiter, but didn't stop the way she was running her fingers through his messy curls.

"Delicious," he murmured, letting his eyelids close, a lazy grin spreading across his tanned face. "Although, and you better tell the chef this, there was a moment when my head was getting thoroughly squashed, made me a little lightheaded, not gonna lie. Yet, I think that adds to the ambience. I like it, now that I think about it."

"Ah, that comment will be forwarded to the chef."

Tenderly, she chuckled, her heart melting at the expression of love and affection that spread across his handsome face as he gazed at her. It made him look younger than he actually was, less tired and more energetic and carefree. His irises sparkled under the golden light from the window, his hair tousled from sleep and the wildness of his passion shining through.

In that very moment, he looked nothing short of divine. Nothing short of perfect. It was moments like these, where he was just himself, a man, not an Abbott. Just Rhett.

"Come up here, I want a kiss," she pouted softly, reaching out her arms to beckon him upwards. He obliged and climbed on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows as their faces met halfway between them, their lips connecting in a passionate embrace.

"You're very demanding," he teased against her lips before capturing them again in another hungry kiss.

"Mmm, yeah, I am. It comes naturally." She wrapped her arms around his torso as she pulled him closer and kissed him harder, only moving away to kiss across his cheek and up to his ear so she could whisper, "And I demand that daddy lets me ride him," and seductively bite at his lobe.

Then to give her exactly what she wanted, as he often did, he flipped them over so she was on top of him, his hands gripping her hips tightly and grinding them against him. The way her bare clit was rubbing against the hard bulge in his underwear caused her eyes to close in bliss, the sensations overwhelming and making her moan and writhe with pleasure and wantonness in his hold.

Practically entranced by the way her hips moved on their own accord against him, her eyes closed and startled open when he decided she was having too much fun just doing this and wrapped his hand around her throat. "You look so beautiful, baby, so fucking sexy and perfect," he growled, pulling her forward for a kiss and squeezing her neck a little. "I need to be inside you. Stop teasing me and start riding my cock, doll."

A shiver went through her body at his order and she nodded her head, eagerly obeying his wishes but - to be a little bratty - she slid her way down his body to pull his underwear down his legs and throw it somewhere in the bedroom. On her way back up, she gave a quick peck to the head of his cock before hovering over and beginning to sink down onto him slowly.

"Oh fuck, baby," Rhett groaned, closing his eyes in utter ecstasy as he felt her warm wetness surround his swollen cock. He held her hips steady, guiding her down with each stroke and soon, they were both moaning and panting.

As soon as she found her rhythm, he let his touch roam all over her curves, his palm stroking and squeezing gently as he felt her pussy clench around his dick. "Ride me. Be a good girl and ride me until you come," he grunted, biting on his lip to keep himself in check from screaming as she was driving him mad with her exquisite beauty, the feeling she created in him so intoxicating that it almost overwhelmed him. Almost. Yet, he managed to hold himself together.

She did as he said without hesitation, leaning back to grasp onto his knees for some of support as she rode him roughly, throwing her head back as she released a string of incoherent sounds from deep within her throat. "That's right, baby," he groaned as he watched her ride him, watching her face while she got herself off, and was thoroughly enjoying every single second of it. "Show daddy just how good you are."

His palms caressed their way up to her breasts, cupping and pinching her nipples lightly in between his thumb and forefinger. Each time her back arched, Rhett tightened his grip on her breasts, making her cry out in ecstasy, the vibrations coursing through her entire frame and setting off a series of explosions all throughout her body.

The pleasure built inside her until finally, she reached the peak, and a high whine cry broke free from her lips as she fell against his chest. He held her tight as she cried out and flopped her head onto his shoulder, yet he didn't stop. He knew she could take it.

Whispering in her ear, "Good job, baby. Let me take over now. Just gotta take it, let daddy use you," and kissing along her hairline as he did exactly as he said. With her pleasured cries next to his ear, he moved her as if she didn't weigh anything at all; she felt feather light in his arms, completely boneless beneath him. He was pulling her onto him faster and faster, taking everything and thrusting even more vigorously as she continued to let him completely dominate her body, letting him control her every move as he pumped her relentlessly.

Tears were pooling at the corners of her eyes as she gazed down at him, her gaze burning with such unbridled passion, and lust, and need that he couldn't help but stare back at her with unabashed admiration. A droplet of salty water slid down her cheek and he was quick to wipe it away with his thumb before pressing his forehead against hers.

"So beautiful, baby...so sweet." He took one of her hands in his, pressing a gentle kiss on her palm as if it was sacred. He was truly amazed, absolutely impressed with the effect she had on him. Every fiber of his being craved her, yearned for her. But more than any other person on earth, she had captivated his entire soul and would continue to do so until the day he died. That was how deeply he loved her and how desperately he needed to be near her. Forever.

And then he was surging up into her in a forceful thrust that took her breath away. "Damn it, sweet thing, you're killing me here," he mumbled against her neck, tightening his hold on her waist as he continued to pump relentlessly. "Want daddy to fill you up? Want daddy to pound his come in you? Do you? Gotta say it out loud, doll."

Her throat constricted as the tears kept flowing down her cheeks, and yet a small, content smile curled around her lips. This must have been heaven. Her lover was pounding into her, the bed creaking beneath them, the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands on her body urging her to use all the will she had left to weakly mumble out, "Please...please fill me up...Daddy..."

Rhett held her close as his climax built up once more, his eyes half open, his breaths coming quickly, until finally he reached his pinnacle and released himself within her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he emptied himself, his muscles twitching erratically under her as she lay limp on top of him, her breathing heavy and laboured, still caught in an aftershock of pure bliss.

After he had recovered a little, he lifted his head up and gazed lovingly down at her, tracing the contours of her face with his index finger, running it up and down her jawline before pressing a light kiss to her forehead. With his lips still against her skin, he spoke his thoughts aloud, "I don't know if this is the post nut high talking - I don't think it is - but," he made sure they were making eye contact as he added, "Marry me?"

Now, he had no idea what came over him. None at all. It was spontaneous. On the spot. But, he knew he wanted it.

His question hung unanswered between them as her brain tried to comprehend that, yes, he did just propose. It seemed as if her mouth had lost all functions and no words could form. No matter how hard she tried to think, she couldn't process the idea. It was crazy. Utterly ridiculous. Ridiculous. Outrageous.

Then finally, she let out a confused, "No."

Oh, his smile fell instantly, eyebrows drawing together, lips forming a small circle as his chest sank.

"No?"

"Give it some thought. Just five minutes and ask me again once you've thought it through," she said calmly before lifting her upper body up from his torso, only to be squished against his sweaty chest when his arms wrapped around her back and kept her there. "If I get a UTI, I'm blaming you."

True, he hadn't thought too hard about it. Not really. But deep down, he knew he wanted her to stay by his side forever. He wanted to have a home with her, a family that he could wake up next to every morning, a baby in their arms, and a house filled with laughter and love and affection that could last an eternity.

They'd move away someday. Somewhere they could raise a family and live happily ever after, hopefully in a house with a garden in the backyard and lots of children running around chasing butterflies. They might get a dog or two. Or five. And some cats. Just one big, happy family that had no murky secrets or past or regrets. That's all Rhett wanted for them. A fresh start. A clean slate.

Still, he didn't let her leave. For the next five minutes she was firmly trapped on top of him as he was deadly silent. She could hear him thinking. If she could read minds, it would definitely show a mixed up and muddled (but still sweet) progression of memories from their relationship. Parts were in the wrong order and she definitely didn't wear polka dots on their third date, yet that's how the memory looked in his head.

Finally, he broke their silence.

"Y/N?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Marry me?" he asked, a soft grin appearing on his face. "Thought about it for exactly five minutes."

Ah, why he kept checking the alarm clock made sense now.

Chuckling, Y/N brushed some hair away from his forehead. "Baby...are you sure? One hundred percent serious?" Her eyes began to brim with tears once again, although these were far more innocent. "You're not joking? Just kidding?"

"I'm dead serious." He shook his head softly, cupping her cheek with his free hand and leaning in to give her a quick peck on the lips. "Marry me?"

And she laughed. She laughed! Like, genuinely, fully laughed! Not fake or sarcastic or mean spirited. Honest laughter that echoed throughout the room and sent goosebumps racing up his skin. "Yes, yes!" Y/N nodded frantically. She didn't know where this newfound burst of energy came from, but she did feel energised. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"

Then he found himself being assaulted with an uncountable amount of kisses, causing him to groan and pull her into him even harder, the two bodies pressed together so tightly, he was afraid they might fuse together at any second and turn into one giant ball of fleshy mush. He didn't mind one bit. Not at all. Not one fucking bit. In fact, it seemed right. Like destiny or something. Like they should have been joined together from the very beginning and should always have stayed like this.

While he knew that people might talk, he had no qualms offering, "Can I take your last name?" Admittedly, she was a little surprised. "Think about it, we could move somewhere nice and where it's a big enough town that they have those food delivery apps and we don't know anyone. Nobody would've heard about an Abbott and they wouldn't have to because... because I'll be a L/N."

He paused for a moment, got to his knees on the bed and then added, "We'd get a big home - a home, not a farm or a ranch or any place where our little ones would have to work to the bone to be respected - and -"

Interrupting him with a kiss, Y/N cut off the flow of rambling speech with another kiss. A deep, full, loving kiss that toppled him backwards into the mattress, pulling Y/N down upon top of him. She was giggling uncontrollably by the end of it, which caused him to laugh, too. They sat there, legs entangled, arms thrown around each other, kissing and giggling and laughing until eventually, their lungs began to ache and there was absolutely nothing else either of them wanted to do.

After another few seconds spent simply looking at one another, she smiled shyly, leaned forward and pecked him once on the lips before whispering, "Rhett L/N has a ring to it, don't you think?"

"Sure does."

[strawwritesfic]

Loki Laufeyson x Midgardian!Reader: Firecracker

Summary: Thank Odin he’s only had the one brother and two parents to deal with, that’s all Loki can say.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (Domestic Fluff; Big Family; American!Reader; Fourth of July; Post-Avengers (2012); child antics; not canon compliant)

Challenge: “120 Bits of Random” challenge by SugarLandBabyGirl on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Firecracker

Loki never really felt like he fully grasped the concept of “family.” His one on Asgard seemed intent only on distant judgment; his one on Earth was tentative at best and belligerent at worst–or so he assumed. Whenever the subject of visiting yours got brought up, he tried his best to dissuade you. This plan worked fine, all through Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter. But when the summer after he moved in with you rolled around, you put your foot down.

“We’re going for the Fourth of July,” you announced, before holding your hand up to silence his protests. “No buts.”

It cost him quite a bit of effort, but Loki managed to prevent himself from reminding you that he was a prince and therefore he could voice as many buts as he wanted. He thought it best to go along with your plans for the time being. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity as to how the families of mortals worked. Perhaps they were more supportive than those on Asgard.

“So you’re the alien freak that destroyed half the country and got our little [Name] stuck in Manhattan,” your father said upon meeting him. 

Loki shook your father’s hand, then resigned himself to an unpleasant weekend of loud barbecues. Try as you might to coax him into joining the “fun” over the next forty-eight hours, it never took long for one of your several aunts, uncles, siblings, or cousins to make some remark about him and drive Loki back into terse silence.

It didn’t matter what he did. If he tried dressing more casually, he was trying too hard. If he actually got up to help cook, he ruined the food correctly. If he sat down to play a game, he was obviously going to cheat. By the time the actual holiday itself rolled around, Loki could manage only acidic glowers in your direction while looking forward to finally going home.

As the night fell and the sky darkened, the taunting stopped. He seemed to be ignored rather than derided. Loki didn’t mind. This behavior was an improvement as far as he was concerned. Just to make doubly sure he would be left alone, however, he settled himself at the now-empty picnic table to grumble to himself. 

He had only just got started when a small child ran up to him. She stared at him for a good long while. Loki stared back. This one might have been one of your nieces, he supposed, but she looked the exact same as the other eight Midgardian children running rampant through the backyard. 

He scowled in the hopes that would get her to go away. It did not.

“What do you want?” he asked testily.

The child did not answer. She simply held out one of the items passed out to everyone earlier in the evening. When it became clear that she wanted him to take the object, he did so with a roll of his eyes. “Lovely. A stick. Thank you ever so much.”

“Loki?” His eyes flicked up to see you watching with concern. “What are you doing?”

Talking, he wanted to answer. Was that a problem now, too? 

But too late. The girl had grabbed his hand when he wasn’t looking. The instinct to smack her momentarily threatened to overwhelm him. Had this been Asgard, she might have been a tiny spy capable of injuring him. Given that this was Midgard, however, she probably was just a child, and Loki understood enough of the culture to know that hitting children would not make him any friends. Instead, he got up and followed her at a crouch through the surrounding throng.

“Papi!” the girl shouted–her first words spoken around Loki. 

Your father heard and turned around, beaming. “Sugar bean!” 

As he drew nearer, the girl held out her own stick. 

“Ready to light your sparkler, sweetheart?”

She nodded. Your father flicked on the lighter in his hand and pressed the flame into the tip of her stick. It erupted into silver sparks. The girl let go of Loki’s hand and sprinted, giggling, off toward the rest of her peers. He straightened to watch, only to remember just who she had left with in the tense silence that followed. 

He swallowed, hardly daring to shift his gaze enough to see your father.

“You, too?” your father asked, looking pointedly at Loki’s sparkler. When Loki did not answer, your father crossed his arms across his chest. “Not sure if giving you a weapon is a good idea, even if Mimi did.”

Was Mimi the girl? Loki had no idea, but suddenly the sparkler in his fingers seemed even stupider than before. He was done trying to impress your father, let alone the rest of your family. His mouth opened to tell your father as much. Before he could speak, a warm hand touched his shoulder. Startled, Loki glanced back to see you standing behind him.

“Come on, Dad. Give him a shot.” 

Your father still didn’t look convinced. 

“Dad, do you really think I’m such a bad judge of character that I’d date someone capable of setting our get-together on fire?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’d gone for the bad boy.”

You appeared somewhat cross for the first time since arriving, or at least the first time while Loki had been watching. It was your turn to fold your arms over your chest. 

“Dad, we only came because you told me you missed me and said I could bring Loki. The two of us are kind of item now. If you’re not going to treat him like family, then I’m not going to get to come to family events anymore.”

“But–”

“No buts! I love you, Dad, but I also love Loki. Unless we break up, it’s going to be both of us or none of us from now on.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed in Loki’s direction. Loki, for his part, attempted to wipe his face clean of any emotion. 

After several minutes, it must have appeared to your father that you were utterly serious. He let loose a massive breath, then practically ripped the sparkler out of Loki’s hands to light it. When he gave it back, it was only thanks to Loki’s quick reflexes that the fire didn’t strike his shirt.

“Fine,” said your father. “But only because Mimi likes him.”

With that, your father trundled off. Loki frowned after him, still clutching the sparkler in one hand. He was so focused on feeling dislike that he forgot you were there until he felt your arms wrap around him from behind.

“I’m sorry about that,” you whispered. “And for this weekend. Things’ll get better. I promise.”

He twisted so that you could see him raise a single eyebrow. “And if I don’t want to wait for things to get better?”

“Well…” 

You cocked your head to one side as you snatched one of his hands. Busy as he was waiting for your response, Loki was taken aback when you began to drag him toward the children. The one from before–Mimi, Loki supposed–brightened at his return and came racing up to hug his legs. 

“You’d probably disappoint your biggest fan,” you said.

Mimi shot him an enormous smile, then darted off to rejoin what appeared to be a rousing game of tag. Since Loki’s sparkler had gone out as well, she disappeared quickly into the dark. His chest did feel a little less tight as he wrapped one arm around you and drew you closer to his side. 

“I’m not sure that’s really incentive enough for me,” he said. “But…we’ll see.”

[oldfacesnewdawnoffical]

oh PLEASE tell why it's a mutual scorning

i am so interested in the inter-personal drama

HSIFHJF EVERYBODY’S SO INTERESTED ABOUT THEM I LOVE IT AAHHHH

Born as vagabonds, the two littermates (then known as Rigel and Betelgeuse) were given to the Moorswept shortly after their birth, willingly offered to them by a newly widowed vagabond whose mate had died in childbirth. Initially claimed by the former orator, Rhema Heatherstep, the entire faction was left reeling when she lost her last life almost immediately afterward. The faction labeled the duo as cursed immediately, and they were left to the (very hesitant) paws of the head guardian - barely a moon old.

As such, they grew up very close. Eventually named Runner and Jumper, the two quickly made a name for themselves, even amongst the faction that regarded them with a wary eye (even with Magpietail’s best efforts). Runner was bold and brash, skilled with his paws in a way that many of his faction envied. Meanwhile, Jumper was far less noteworthy, especially on his own; he was somewhat cowardly, always looking for the easier path to take, but still a warm and kind cat that many grew to enjoy the company of. Together, they were the life of the party, and gained a name across the fealty for being as such. Until, one Gathering, in which Runner met Mottle.

It took a significant amount of time for the two to become close, but with Runner’s natural inclination towards making friends with every cat he met, he wouldn’t leave Mottle be until they finally began to grow close - and as soon as they hit that point, they crossed the line and their relationship ran. The two began sneaking away to meet as often as possible, with Runner beginning to neglect his duties more and more; he had never felt as though he fit within the Moorswept anyway, and Mottle’s descriptions of life in the Woodruff thrilled and entranced him, along with the tempting addition of being at one another’s sides all the time. Enraged by his brother’s lack of thought towards him, as Jumper had a tendency to allow his temper to blind his judgment, they ultimately had a heated confrontation, one that Jumper dragged out into the public eye of their faction, and straight to Magpietail.

Horrified and anxious by his brother’s actions, Runner was coaxed into the orator’s den to speak alone. When he came back out, after many many hours, he wouldn’t speak to Jumper - or anyone, for that matter. He stayed reserved, withdrawn, and his newfound personality lingered for the rest of that moon - up until the next Gathering, in which Magpietail and Songfall announced Runner’s acceptance into the Woodruff. Jumper was horrified, and desperately tried to stop his brother, but Runner snapped back at him, laying out his grievances with his brother: how he needed to stop hanging in Runner’s shadow, how he desperately wanted to feel accepted by more than just one cat in a whole faction, how he wished to stand and serve at the side of the cat he had fallen in love with. And how obviously, that wasn’t with Jumper.

Jumper replied by publicly scorning him and severing ties. Runner echoed the sentiment. Both toms cried themselves to sleep that night - with Runner close to Mottle’s side, and Jumper alone.

Upon receiving their full names, moons later, Runningflight requested to keep the prefix of his original faction. Even if he had found a new life, a better life, within the Woodruff, he still held pride in the name he had been given, and thus, wished to keep it. Meanwhile, Onewhisker asked for an entirely new name, one to symbolize that he was alone now, and how he would grow into something great alone, too.

[ensnapemysenses]

You said you would try writing for any character so I was wondering if you could write headcanons for Harry if that’s alright with a female reader, they become friends in his second year and is literally the only voice of reason beside you know Hermione and pulls him away from danger and Harry slowly grows feeling for her

You became a part of the golden trio during your second year at Hogwarts. You fit in quite nicely as a second voice of reason alongside Hermione. Between the two of you, you could keep Harry and Ron in check much easier, though they still ignore you often.

“Look, I don’t care what Sirius Black did, Harry! It is stupid of you to be wandering the castle after hours. He has broken into the castle twice now,” you plead as you snatch his invisibility cloak from him.

“I have to agree with her,” Hermione says with a nod. “We will be confiscating this and taking it to our dorm.”

“Have fun getting it back when boys aren’t allowed in there!” you taunt sticking out your tongue and giving Harry a little wave and wink as you stalk up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

“Did she just wink at me?” Harry questions, a puzzled and intrigued look on his face.

“I don’t know mate, I was too busy scowling at the back of Hermione’s head to notice,” Ron replies with a shrug.

Harry suddenly comes up with a brilliant idea. “You think we could get Ginny to steal the cloak back for us?” 

“Bloody hell! That might just work! I’m sure she would do it since she has a crush on you and all. You are a genius, Harry!”

Due to you having to work so hard to keep Harry out of trouble you sometimes feel more like his mother than his friend. Mommy issues potter? sorry not sorry lol

When Harry does ultimately end up in some sort of trouble, despite your and Hermione’s combined efforts, you don’t hesitate to help him get out of it. You always have his back no matter what.

As you approach your last years at Hogwarts, you start to notice a change in how Harry acts around you. He gets shyer, stumbles over his own feet, and forgets how to speak sometimes. 

“Have you noticed how Harry acts so differently around me now? I don’t know what his issue is! We’ve been friends forever!” you whisper to Hermione as you both peruse the stacks in the library.

“Oh don’t be so silly, (Y/N)! It’s obvious what the issue is! He has a crush on you!” Hermione giggles as she places a hand on her mouth to stifle the sound.

When it comes to getting a confession out of Harry, you don’t know where to begin and it is harder than you thought it would be but eventually, you are able to coax it out of him.

He stutters and can’t keep running his hands through his unruly hair as he finally admits that he has been crushing on you for a few years now, his green eyes locked with yours hesitantly.

It’s a sweet and down-to-earth confession that has your heart racing and your stomach turning flips. You of course acknowledge that you’ve had feelings for him for a while also and agree to go on a date with him to Hogsmede for a butterbeer.