#fictober day two

[yohangaontdj]

Imagine Gaon shopping for holiday presents to give Elijah, Jinjoo and the colleagues at the agency he and Yohan owned.

And here comes his soon-to-be husband to join him. Late because he had been held up in the office due to some last minute work.

An AU where neither were judges but had started out as friends at first - courtesy of Jinjoo who knew Yohan when they were in university together. And who knew Gaon through his sister, Soohyun - her best pal since the two of them were in high school.

And Jinjoo had introduced Yohan and Gaon to each other when Yohan was branching out on his own. Needing a partner who was just as talented as he was in the area of graphic design and advertising.

Gaon was exactly what Yohan was looking for. And as the two of them worked their butts off to get to where they were now. Their modest agency having clinched several awards for the advertisments they had created.

The two of them had also discovered how much in common that they shared. Both growing up in single-parent homes, and both believing that nothing should be taken for granted, appreciating all that they got while they could.

And that was how they had, over the course of several years, ended up being in love. With Yohan proposing recently on the date the two had started working together. And Gaon had accepted it eagerly, making their hearts full and their smiles huge and big.

(Images found on Pinterest. And credits go to whoever who had created it.)

[scully-loves-ruthie]

Fictober Day 2

Prompt: I guess no one told you about me

Fandom: The X-Files

          Scully smoothed down the back of her hair one last time before heading to the payphone.  She took a ragged breath before reaching for the receiver.  She wouldn’t be calling her mother.  No, it was Monica’s voice she was hoping for on the other end. With each ring of the dial tone, she could feel her heart beating in her throat.  She hadn’t been able to get ahold of her the last 3 times she tried.  She spent days rolling it around in her brain, convincing herself that if she wasn’t answering it was because she had found a promising lead, she had found William.

          Hello” Monica’s voice chirped “Dana is that you?”

          “Monica” Her name came out with a rush of air, relief spreading down her spine.  “It’s me.  Have you found anything?”

          “I can’t talk long Walter is here cooking dinner.”

          “So, you two are still,” Scully searched for the right word to describe Monica and Skinner’s newfound love.  Something that truly made all the sense in the world and absolutely no sense at all.  She supposed it was like she and Mulder, the wrong person for your head is always the right person for your heart.

          “Yeah” Monica offered with a chuckle in her voice, “We are.  Listen I have three leads, each very promising.  I can all but guarantee you that by the end of the week I will know where William is.”

          Scully dropped the phone as fear, exhilaration and doom surged through her at once.  Monica voice echoed from the fallen receiver, “Dana are you there!  Dana?!”

          Scully snatched the phone back up shacking a tear off the tip of her nose she forced herself to speak.  “I’m here.  My God Monica, I can’t believe you found him already.”  The tears were dripping down her cheeks spilling against the uncontrollable smile spreading across her face.

          “I guess no one told you about me.  Once I’ve got a lead, I don’t give up till I’ve seen it through.”  The sound of Skinner yelling dinners ready in the background echoed through Scully’s ears.  “Listen Dana I’ve got to go.  Give me a week then call.  Stay safe.”

          The call disconnected. Scully was now a lone woman crying by the payphone the smell of sweat and sex sticking to her skin like a brand.  She wiped her eyes, pulled all the air around her slowly and deeply in her lungs before releasing it with a low sigh.  She had to go have breakfast with Mulder now.  Had to act as though she was not just dealt life altering news.  She knew if she told Mulder he wouldn’t let her go to William.  She knew that once Monica had found him, the choice she would be faced with was simple, run with Mulder, or go home with William.  She hadn’t thought Monica could find him this quickly, but she had.  The choice was hers; it was always hers.  She just didn’t know how she would tell Mulder. 

@fictober-event @xffictober2022 @today-in-fic

[captainsophiestark]

Guyssssss the first two of my Fictober fics alone are 14k words combined helppppp 😭😭😭

[captainderyn]

Fictober Day 1: “I Chose You”

Fandom: LOTRO

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: None

Relationship: Wulfwryn & Aragorn (Friendship)

Posted to AO3

---

Wulfwryn thought the day the Nazgul stole Amdir from her was the day her world crumbled. Finding Amdir laid, bloody and sickly, on that altar, watching him writhe and rise again in untold evil, ruined her worse than she thought she could be. 

    With the loss of Amdir also came the loss of Strider, as he rode for the Prancing Pony on his own business, leaving her to tie up her loose ends in east Bree-land. 

    Buckland hummed with the soft noise of nightfall. Insects buzzed, fish darted to the surface of the pond she trotted by in a symphony of natural harmony. 

    Lenglinn’s camp rested on a hill above the pond, the dark shadow of his tent alerting her to his exact location despite the darkening sky and deepening shadows. 

    A report was already flowing from her before her horse had fully halted, “Strider says the hobbit with him is known as Underhill, not as Baggins. He sent me back to you to aid however I can, sir.” 

She slid off of her horse, exhaustion taking root in her bones as her feet hit the ground. As she undid the buckles and straps of her horse’s tack, she listened halfheartedly to what she wrongfully assumed would be an acknowledgement and some instruction for the morning. 

“You say that Underhill is with Aragorn?” Lenglinn pulled himself up from the ground, the injury he’d sustained in Chetwood still healing slowly, “I know of no Underhills…I was sent to watch over a hobbit named Baggins. I must assume that is who Aragorn spoke off…” 

His words washed over Wulfwryn, fading into static after that name. That name.

Her fingers fumbled on the straps, sending her saddle’s girth flopping to the ground.

“Who do you mean, Aragorn?” she asked numbly, “Strider gave you those orders.”

Lenglinn trailed off, blinking owlishly at her for a long moment. 

“Who do you mean Aragorn?” she repeated with more force, “The man I know has gone only by Strider!” 

If he was…if that name. Cold was washing over her despite the heat of the fire pulsing beside them. If for two months now she’d walked right beside the very man she’d abandoned everything to find. Abandoned her posting, her family, her life on the desperate rumor that he still lived. 

“Strider is his name to the common-folk around here.” Lenglinn said slowly, “He has his reasons for secrecy.” 

Wulfwryn slowly nodded, covering her saddle with the saddle blanket and placing the bridle and martingale alongside it with controlled neatness. 

“What else do you have for me to do?” she asked, pressing her lips together. Filing away the news that shook her deep into her bone marrow to deal with later. 

For now, finding the pattern of the Nazgul was what she understood. What she knew. 

Even if she felt like she didn’t know anything at all. 

---

Barlim Butterbur must’ve seen something in Wulfwryn’s face as she breezed through the door of the Prancing Pony, for he didn’t offer her a lick of food or drink. Instead he gestured towards the stairs and muttered, “Strider’s up there.” 

 As she stormed up the stairs, pausing at Striders familiar door, Wulfwryn couldn’t decide what emotion caused her hands to quiver and her mind to run in circles. 

She pushed open the door and made sure it closed tightly behind her. 

“Wulfwryn!” Aragorn greeted her, pausing when he saw her stormy expression. 

“You knew.” Her voice wavered despite her best attempts to keep it steady, “You listened to me talk about where I came from and you hid from me.” 

Understanding dawned overAragorm and he squeezed his eyes closed, “Tell me, did Lenglinn slip?” 

“You’re Aragorn, son of Arathorn.” Wulfwryn’s voice dropped, drifting somewhere in the gray between awe and pain, “My rightful king. And you hid.” 

“I am not!” He was quick to respond, but grit his teeth at the bite in his words, “I do not embrace that side of my history, my so-called destiny.” 

All of the time she’d questioned whether abandoning her post, her duty, her people, was the right decision was finally falling into place in sweet validation. She realized then that it was not an emotion that caused her to shake, but sheer emotion. A culmination of years worth of hopeless wandering and barely reputable leads. 

It didn’t matter if he threw away the crown, refusing to bear the weight that it carried. 

    Her knee hit the ground and she bowed her head, hands coming to rest on the pommel of her sword. She hadn’t taken this fealty pose since she’d been sworn on to the guardianship of the White City. 

    “Wulfwryn,” Aragorn insisted, a flustered edge taking hold of his words. He backed up a step, “This is unnecessary. I am no king to Gondor.” 

    She shook her head, “I don’t care about that.” she clenched her fingers tighter to stop their quaking, “If I had known…I left the place I was sworn to protect, on the desperate hope that somewhere you were still out there, a hope that one day the White City would gleam again.” 

    Aragorn’s hand was gentle on her arm, tugging her until she stood.

    “I cannot be that.” he said softly, “But your dedication is admired, my friend.” 

    “I don’t care about Gondor.” Wulfwryn repeated, though it wasn’t exactly true, somewhere in her heart she still cared deeply for the White City that had raised her.     She continued, “I looked at the corruption running rampant in the city and I chose to pursue rumors and hope that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was still out there. And you are. I chose you, as your loyal soldier, your loyal guard, and now, upon pure accident, your friend. I intend to hold that same loyalty through whatever murky path lies ahead.” 

[baronessblixen]

I just realized that I completely forgot to make a master post for my Fictober fics this year.

[aditublog]

my writing - dota - fictober day 14

"Yes. No. I don't know."

Dazzle grinned, an unsettling sight with the wide mouth painted onto his face. "How eloquent. Do you want to go out with me or not?" Seemingly relaxed, he leaned against the fence next to the training area, where the Legion Commander had been practicing her skills only a few minutes ago.

Tresdin sighed. "I want to, yes. But at the same time I don’t because I don’t like tight spaces with lots of people. I can’t wear my armour and I’m supposed to leave my weapons. So a clear maybe."

"But you want to?" Dazzle understood the Commander and he didn’t want to do anything where she was uncomfortable. Yet he wanted to go out with her, do something together. It had been an idea of his, because they almost always were here, at her home. Usually he didn’t mind, but sometimes he felt like doing something, anything. Sometimes he itched to move and this time he didn’t want to leave for a few days, this time he wanted to have Tresdin with him.

"Yes. But..."

The pink troll interrupted her. "I’ll think of something." He tapped against her chest armour. "Something where you can wear this if you want to. Trust me."

Trust didn’t come easily but over the time they had been living together she had learned to trust him. As he had learned to trust her. Still she seemed to be suspicious so Dazzle changed the topic. "Dinner is ready, are you hungry?"

"Starving."

Two days later, in the evening, Dazzle leaned against the same fence and waited for Tresdin to finish her training routine. When she did, she came over and pulled the helmet from her head.

A drop of sweat ran down her temple and she was breathing heavily. Her hair was either sticking to her head, sweat drenched, or it stood in every possible direction. She braided it ever morning into a tight plait but in the evening it was always this mass of curls around her head. Understandable, since she was wearing a helmet all day long.

Dazzle loved her hair and he loved Tresdin’s expression when he told her that, pure disbelief in her eyes. When the troll had first met the Legion Commander she had used to crop her unruly hair short to the head but she had eventually stopped and had let it grow out. The troll suspected it had something to do with the fact he liked to run his hands through her hair though Tresdin would never admit that. Therefore he never asked.

"Come on, we are going out today."

The smile fell from Tresdin’s face. "Now? I am sweaty and tired."

"Don’t worry." Dazzle grinned. He could see the 'yes. no. maybe.' on Tresdin’s features and he was amused. He ignored it and simply led her to a waiting griffon.

The flight was relatively short but when they arrived Tresdin’s sweat had dried and her cheeks weren’t all red anymore.

They hadn’t landed at exactly the spot the troll wanted to go. It would’ve taken the surprise away, if they had seen it from above. But after another five minutes of walking through a dense forest, they stepped onto a clearing. On the opposite side of them was a small waterfall that ended in a lake. Or rather a pond. The air was warm and filled with the sounds of creatures all around them, humming and singing, and the rustling of wind in the branches of the trees. The steady crashing of water onto rocks.

Next to the pond, Dazzle had prepared their dinner. He had set a table with two plates as well as food and drink.

But first, they would take a dip in the pond. The water was cold, but not freezing and the troll pulled the Commander with him.

She was still looking around, at the waterfall and the table and the clearing. "This place is nice. That is what you meant when you said you wanted to go out?"

Dazzle laughed. "Not exactly but it wouldn’t be any fun if you had no fun so I thought this might be better." He stopped and started to take his clothes off. When he was finished and Tresdin hadn’t moved, he stepped behind her and opened her armour.

That snapped her out of it and she helped him. It took some time, she had so many layers on, but as soon as she was as naked as the troll, Dazzle ran a hand down her back. Her skin was sticky and he pushed her towards the lake.

He knew quite well that he would never be able to actually push her anywhere if she didn’t let him but she was nice enough to take step forward.

Not waiting for her, the troll ran into the water. His breath caught for a second due to the cold but then he was inside. The pond was just deep enough for the water to cover his shoulders, which meant Tresdin, being human and therefore smaller, would have to stand on her toes to be able to breathe. Now it was easy to push her and Dazzle laughed as she spluttered, trying to remain standing.

He should’ve known that this small advantage would gain him nothing. The Legion Commander narrowed her eyes, then she went for the troll. A few minutes later they were dripping wet and Dazzle suspected the paint on his face was a mess.

Usually that would’ve made him uncomfortable but he was alone with Tresdin here. It was fine.

Before they sat at the table, he wiped his face with one of the towels he had stashed nearby. Tresdin ran it across his cheeks a few more times to get the remaining specks of paint.

Then she dressed in merely shirt and pants, didn’t even bother to bind her breasts and Dazzle knew he had done this right. She was comfortable enough to drop her armour. He smiled, pleased with this idea of his. He wasn’t yet sure if it was enough for his itch to move but it might just be.

Tresdin slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. She kissed him on the cheek. “You are the cutest troll ever.”

Dazzle blushed, no paint hiding how his cheeks turned bright pink.

“Cute”, Tresdin murmured against his skin before giving him another kiss.

[lady-ashfade]

Day 2 Of Fictober

Poison

Yandere! Rhaenrya Targaryen x Daughter!Reader.

Ask: Can you write a platonic yandere mother Rhaenyra fic where she secretly gives her daughter non fatal doses of poison so that she is to sick to leave Dragonstone when its time for her to marry her betrothed.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Over protective, over bearing parent, being poisoned. Poison, family full of yanderes, daemon being included because it fits.

The day you were born Rhaenrya swore she could hear the gods sing in harmony together. Your cries sounded like heaven to her ears, the little girl who belong to her. Y/n, the first daughter of Rhaenrya Targaryen. “Beautiful,” she brushed the hair and blood off of your forehead and placed a kiss.

“My sweet girl.”

You had stoped crying when you came into contact with her skin and warmth, she was safe and familiar. Rhaenrya had blessed with a boy and she was grateful to have two beautiful children. But her first born had dark hair and fair light skin, you had her features of paler skin and silver hair. Your mother knew she needed to protect you from the darkness of the world and keep you innocent.

Each day you were at the queens side or in your own room. She would take her younger son to see you and get you both comfortable with one another. Jace couldn’t stop smiling and clapping when he saw you, he’s such a good older brother. As the years passed by you grew to need your mother or your brothers, being dependent on her. Where the princess went you weren’t far behind in a small dress and coping her.

But now it was the day she had dreaded for your whole life. You being betrothed to a lord far away and not with her.

“But mother, I need silver.” You huffed as you pressed the dress to your body. A smile on your cheeks as you swing yourself from side to side in the mirror. “Silver will match his clothes.” She cringed at your giggling and delighted to be married off, to leave her behind. A daughter should want to stay with her mother as long as she could, even cry when leaving her mother.

“You are stressing dearest,” her hands stopped your hands and looked at you through the mirror and smiled. “No need not to change for a man, not when you’re already perfection.” Her lips met your cheeks and you laugh at her sweetness and affection. You turned around and took her back into your arms and hugged her close.

“Only because you’re my mother and taught me every I know. I will make you proud, mother. This marriage will help our family with the whispers,” a hushed tone of the mention of rumors spreading around the realm of you and your brothers birth. “Promise.” Her chest loved how you smiled and wanted to help her, her sweet girl.

But it was foolish to think she’d let you go. And that’s why she needed to keep you by her side since you were so naive.

She watched as you laughed with your brothers at the table and ate your favorite meal. How could she let this go? As soon as you lifted your cup to your mouth she was ready for the moment to happen. Daemon by her side keeping a eye on you too as he help with the poison, a maester waiting outside the door. A few seconds later you began to cough and play it off for a few seconds until it became hard for you to breathe.

“Someone help her!” Rhaenrya acted the part of a scared mother and it wasn’t all a lie. Seeing you so panicked and scared, grabbing ahold of her as if it was the last time. Of course she hated it but this was for the best. No one would ever expected the woman who loved her children above all else to poison them. Daemon had a “search” for the person who did it, and a servant was kill for the crime. A innocent life was worthless to them when it came to you.

A few days later you awaken from your rest and saw your mother beside your bed as she hummed. “Mother?” You called out with a horse voice and she jumped up to take you in her arms. The relief spread on her face as she kissed your head repeatedly and whisper prayers to the gods. “I was so worried.” You held onto her but she got a cup and lifts it to your lips. The first thing was to clear your throat and get it back.

Sipping the drink you smile and lean back down, looking at her loving. “Please tell me I wasn’t out to long, Sir Roderick will be saddened at my lack of letters.” It went unnoticed that she gripped the sheets and a quick smirk that she turned into a smile. He will have to find another bride to have because you’re never leaving the castle.

“I’m sure you will recover soon.” The cup was set back down as she smiled at the bottom where a powder was seen. Rhaenrya kept you on a small amount of poison every week to keep you from getting around on your own or to long. Something to make your body weak without her help.

“Now rest up, my sweet girl.”

[curiouser--and--curiouser]

"If you don't stop-" | James Wilson x Reader

Fictober 2023 Day 14 - "If you don't stop-"

James Wilson x gender netural!Reader

Warnings: flirting, some sexual references, no use of Y/N, James being a simp

A hospital reception isn’t a most thought-of setting for a flashy poker tournament, but the gathering of hospital staff and supporters alike dressed to the nines in suits and gowns certainly helped create a little slice of Vegas.

You were no exception; your own evening wear clung delightfully to your body as you strolled around the room. You clutched two glasses of champagne as you peered through the sea of faces: Chase was lounged against a table as he attempted to chat up his newest conquest, Foreman was hiding his laugh behind his hand at Chase’s romantic desperation, and Cameron had already walked back into the crowd with exasperation at her colleagues.

But none of them was who you were looking for.

Somewhere among the crowd of happy poker players was your boyfriend, James Wilson. Any opportunity to play poker with House (and raise money for charity, of course) Wilson would take and so you scanned over the green tables until, eventually, you found him.

James’s brow was furrowed more intensely than during one of his consults as he glared down at his cards. And his brow furrowed further has House leaned over with his trademarked childish grin with some devious attempt to put his friend off. A shout from Lisa Cuddy broke the two apart, her impressive stack of chips more than signifying her eagerness to play. They all looked so charming in their bow ties and dress respectively, James the most so: he was alluring in his fitted tuxedo, entirely at home in suave and sophisticated finery. He’d been looking forward to this night for weeks and you couldn’t wait to spend it with him.

You started walking over to the trio as Dr House looked up at you and nudged Wilson in the side. James’s eyes flitted up to you and he was immediately transfixed. His gaze followed you like a moth to the flame as you walked towards him, as smooth as the swaying jazz in the background. James’s eyes ran up and down your body unabashedly with a small boyish smile to himself. If he could linger in every single inch of your body he would, worshiping the sight like a holy man to his only vice. Slowly, he dragged his eyes back to your beaming smile as your rounded the poker table to his side. You reached down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek and as you pulled away, he followed into your warmth. James’s eyes remained closed for a moment, breathing deeply into your scent. As you greeted him, he replied with a high-pitched, almost pained sigh and a whisper.

“I really hate you.”

You were taken aback for a second. You looked down at your boyfriend with an incredulous smile.

“Oh, love you too, babe,” you replied, sarcastically. James’s brain suddenly kicked out of its daze as he reached up to stroke your hip.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he apologised quickly. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just- you look- you’re absolutely stunning… But I still hate you.” He could be such an enigma sometimes.

“Why? What have I done?”

“You’re being very… distracting,” James’s eyes flicked to your lips for a second. Your head fell back as your let out a laugh.

“You’re usually fine with me being distracting,” you said, faux-innocently, using your height advantage to lean over James as your body pressed into his. Even an untrained eye could see his held breath at the touch of your body against his.

“Yes, I’ve seen you be very distracting through the windows of Wilson’s office,” House teased around the cigar between his lips. Your head whipped around like a flash to meet a wink from House as Wilson coughed and spluttered at his friend.

“What?! I thought the curtains were closed!”

“You did what in Wilson’s office?” Cuddy interrogated with disbelief from across the table as you and your equally-guilty boyfriend blushed a deep crimson.

“Anyway…” you rushed to change the subject from your less-than-professional sex life. But that didn’t have to be the end of your fun. “I got you a drink, James.” You bent forwards to place your second glass of champagne down on the table and unashamedly pressed your chest into James’s face as you leaned in. His eyes closed in a dizzy state of bliss.

“If you don’t stop now-“ James warned, lowly.

“Stop what, baby?” you replied coyly, brushing your fingers through your boyfriend’s coiffed hair just how he liked it.

“Please,” James let out in a whine. Just then, you spotted Cameron waving to you from across the room. Suddenly, you stood up straight, righted your dress and pressed a deep kiss to James’s lips. You ripped a low moan from his chest as you pulled away all too soon.

“Bye, babe. Good luck!” You winked as you quickly ran off in search of your friend, leaving James Wilson knowing this would be a long night.

[ghostofskywalker]

Gorgeous

Loki Laufeyson/Fem!Reader

Fictober Day 31 of 31

Words: 1,220

Summary: Loki moved into the Avengers Compound, but the first time you saw him was at Tony's fancy Halloween party. Your brain stops working for a little bit because he's so pretty.

Note: today is the last day of fictober, happy halloween everyone! this was originally going to be based on the taylor swift song of the same name (one of my favorite songs from her!), but i think the story took control and we lost some of that along the way.

Loki Laufeyson Masterlist

It should be illegal for someone to look that good was the first thing that ran through your head the moment you laid eyes on him from your seat at the bar. You knew who he was, it was hard to ignore the fact that Avengers Compound was now home to not one but two Norse gods, and that one of them had tried to take over New York a few years ago. You hadn’t been part of the team at that point, but you certainly weren’t in the dark about what he had done. However, that apparently didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate how good he looked in a suit, and a lot of embarrassing thoughts were suddenly flooding your brain.

It certainly didn’t help that this was the first time you’d seen him out of his room since he had arrived. He wasn’t bound to a single room (though you were pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to leave the grounds of the compound), but he simply chose to stay away from everyone else.

A voice interrupted your thoughts. “Staring at someone?”

You blinked, slightly embarrassed that Natasha had caught you, but you could tell from the tone of her voice that it was all playful. “Maybe,” you admitted softly. “But in my defense, it’s not like I’ve ever seen him around the compound.”

She laughed. “You do have a point there. I think the only reason he’s here tonight is because Thor is making him.”

You looked back over at the god, catching the expression on his face. “Oh definitely. He’s absolutely miserable right now.”

“He’s just lucky that it’s not a costume party,” Natasha said. “He’d be frowning even more.”

You laughed, an image flashing through your head of Loki wearing a gaudy-looking Halloween costume, with Thor and Sam laughing by his side. “That’s very true,” you said. Although Tony took any excuse he could to throw a party, he hadn’t imposed a costume rule on you all this time, and for that you were grateful, because at least you wouldn’t have to meet an extraordinarily attractive god while wearing a silly outfit.

“Why don’t we go over and say hello?” Natasha said, grabbing from drink from the bar and heading over to the direction where Loki was sulking in the corner. You followed her, the whole time incredibly aware of the fact that you needed to figure out something to say to him, and your brain had apparently taken a vacation.

“What do you want?” Despite Loki’s words being standoffish, his tone was more tired, as if he wished he was anywhere else but here at this point.

“I just wondered whether or not you had met Y/N yet,” Natasha said, gesturing in your direction.

“Hi,” you said, really not sure what else to say. It certainly didn’t help that your brain had apparently not returned from its impromptu trip away. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A normal person might have waited for a response, but your fight or flight response kicked in at this very moment, and it chose the latter of the two options. If you weren’t embarrassed already, you certainly were now, because you just walked away. You could hear yourself mutter something about getting a drink, but you weren’t sure if anyone else had even heard it. And besides, the clearly full glass in your hands gave your lie away completely.

After at least heading back to the bar and lingering there for a few moments, you started to walk back around the party, saying hello to those you recognized. You knew a lot of the guests, so it was easy to flit from conversation to conversation, all the while thinking about how ridiculous Loki must find you. Maybe if saw each other on another day in the compound you could apologize for running off like an idiot and try to explain that you thought he looked nice and for some reason decided to act like you’re twelve about it.

As the hours passed and the party’s energy remained loud and joyful, you found yourself settled on a balcony. The compound boasted a different view than the one you were used to in the tower, and you found yourself missing the lights and sounds of the city, especially because it was almost completely pitch black (other than the lights from around the building itself).

The sound of the door opening behind you caught your attention, and you watched as Loki took one step onto the balcony, stopping as he noticed you. “I apologize,” he said, starting to pull back into the crowded ballroom.

“Wait!” you said quickly, hoping that he would at least be willing to hear you out for a few moments. You never wanted him to feel unwelcome, you just had terrible conversation skills around people you think are attractive, and in that moment your brain had fully sabotaged you.

By some miracle he stayed, and the door closed behind him as he stepped fully outside with you. It had gotten to the point in the year that the night air was bitingly chilly, but you didn’t mind the way it nipped at your face if it meant getting away from the chaos of the party for a few moments.

“I want to apologize for my awkwardness earlier,” you said, before he could question why you had called him out here. “I don’t want you to think that I’m afraid of you.”

“Then may I ask why you ran away before I could even say hello?” His voice didn’t sound like it held any malice, but there was still an emotion in there you couldn’t quite read.

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to talk to new people,” you said softly. “Especially ones that are dressed as nicely as you.”

It wasn’t an all-out confession, but it still seemed that he understood what you were implying. “I understand,” he said. “I also get nervous in this realm now.”

“I can help you if you need any kind of Earth Guidance in the future,” you said, immediately worrying that you sounded eager or overly-annoying to him before tempering the statement with an “if you want.”

He smiled, and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at the sight. “I will keep that in mind,” you said.

The sound of your phone’s ringtone going off popped the moment’s delicate bubble, and you looked down to see a text from Natasha asking for your help with something. Loki understood this time why you were leaving, and he said that you that he was going to stay on the balcony for a few more minutes.

As you took a step closer to the door, you heard him say your name. “I think you’re dressed nicely too,” he said before turning back to look out into the darkness outward, and two things happened the moment you stepped back into the party and closed the door to the balcony behind you.

One was that you had to physically push down a giant grin from spreading across your face.

And the other was that your brain took (yet another) impromptu vacation from its duties. If you were going to spend more time with him in the future, you would really have to get a handle on that. 

- the end -

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[allzelemonz]

Boys’ Night: The Van der Linde Boys X Male Reader

Dutch Van der Linde, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, Sean MacGuire, Kieran Duffy, Javier Esquella

Fictober Prompt: Day 31, Orgy Pronouns: None Mentioned Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Orgy, threesomes, kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, oral sex, blow jobs, rough sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Sean’s drunken mind, marking, viagra-esc tonics, almost everyone is passed around to everyone else, Reader takes both top and bottom roles Summary: Sean has an idea that leads most of the boys in the gang to a damn fun time.

Sean, in his mildly drunken wisdom, decided that a boys’ night needs more than just poker, five finger filet, and songs. With most of the older folks and women out of camp for a special con, Sean knows his only hindrance might be Dutch. So he enlists the best sycophant he’s ever met.

“Can’t tell me it won’t be fun.” Sean grins. “All a’ us-“

“I ain’t gonna be a part a’ some invert orgy.” Micah mutters.

Sean leans closer. “Oh, really? Even if a certain cowpoke’s involved?”

Micah glares up at Sean from his seat by the scout fire, then follows the Irishman’s eyes to the filet table. There you stand, arms crossed as you watch Morgan and Marston play. And Micah might be able to turn it down, let his senses say no again, but then Dutch leans a little closer and whispers something in your ear. Micah’s head swims with lewd images of the two men he finds himself pining for in his alone time despite his best efforts.

“Fine.” He snaps, holstering his gun and glaring at Sean. “But ain’t no one ta know ‘bout this, understand that?”

Sean grins with a little chuckle. “Ya mean ‘side from the boys fuckin’ ya?”

Micah’s fists clench at his sides, but he stops himself from punching Sean. He’s in too deep at this point, half hard in his pants and more frustrated than he’s ever been. “Shut yer damn mouth, cowboy, ‘for I decide ta leave ya with blue balls.”

Sean puts his hands up, giggling to himself. “Got it, big man.”

Micah stomps off and Sean watches him carefully. The blond makes his way over to Dutch, coaxing him away from the table and back to the fire. This might be easier than he thought.

Dutch is skeptical at first, concerned about how the gang might take such a proposition. But with Micah’s easy words, Sean watches the gang leader become so much more comfortable with the idea of the gang doing this for bonding and morale.

And the word spreads fast.

Folks are a little nervous at first, shuffling and unsure. Plenty of pining goes around camp on the average day, but being given the green light is a little daunting. So, Dutch being Dutch, he makes the first move. Shedding the hat from the blond’s head, Dutch pulls Micah into a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Most of the gang watches as he walks Micah back into the filet table and lets his hands wander. Sean gets the next burst of confidence, practically lunging to kiss Lenny. John bursts out laughing when they fall onto the ground together, but he’s silenced quickly by Javier. Then Bill sheepishly cups Kieran’s face before the former O’Driscoll puts his arms over Bill’s shoulders and kisses him as if he’s been waiting to for years. It’s only yourself, Charles, and Arthur left standing in the midst of the mess, looking around at the others of the gang in various states of intimacy and undress.

Arthur clears his throat, the red of his face only getting worse as he glances around. “Well… suppose…”

You look over at him, those pretty eyes staring back at you. “You…uh, you wanna…?”

There’s a weight on your shoulder and you turn to see Charles, his other hand held out towards Arthur. The workhorse dips his head, his hat hiding his face as he steps forward and takes Charles’s hand.

“We could go somewhere a little private.” Charles suggests, nodding towards Arthur’s tent.

The thought is comforting, making your pounding heart calm a bit. Most others have simply started at their partners where they happened to fall. Only Bill and Kieran have moved behind the chuck wagon. Sean nearly has Lenny out of his pants on the ground, Javier is shamelessly grinding into John against the tree, Dutch has Micah surprisingly whimpering at the attention he gets, Charles simply leads you and a bashful Arthur away from the others.

Arthur sits on his cot, rubbing a hand down his face as he takes a breath. You don’t blame him given the circumstances.

“We don’t have to.” Charles says, sitting next to him with a kind hand on his shoulder. “Just because Dutch said it would be a good idea, doesn’t make it true.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No… I been…” He sighs. “Been wantin’ somethin; fer a while.” His hand reaches up to hold Charles’s on his shoulder, his eyes finding yours as they scrunch from a smile. “Guess I got a dirty mind.”

You chuckle lightly at the joke, happily taking Charles’s hand again as he pulls you into his lap. Charles kisses you softly, one of his hands on your waist. You gasp, pulling back slightly, when he starts to rut against you with a half-hard dick. Arthur has moved behind Charles, kissing at his neck while his hands lift up his shirt. Charles’s chest is broad and built, firm to the touch when you rest your hands on him. You watch Arthur’s hand move, twisting into your shirt to pull you forward. You’re pressed flush against Charles as Arthur kisses you over the other man’s shoulder. It’s Charles’s turn to give neck kisses now, his hands firmly holding your hips so you grind down into him.

“I want ya.” Arthur mutters against your lips. “Ya wanna fuck me, partner?”

You nod, kissing him again.

“What do you want from me?” Charles asks, his hand tilting Arthurs head so they can look at each other over his shoulder.

Arthur’s breath hitches as he looks at the man. “I… I wanna suck ya off, Charles.”

Charles smiles and that in itself is a slight. “Of course you do.”

The three of you move, hands guiding and wandering as clothes are shed. In the distance, Sean can be heard begging and groaning, there’s some curse shouted in Spanish, and the camp echos with skin slapping skin and the slurping, popping, and smacking of spit. It’s all overwhelming and you try to focus on what’s in front of you.

Arthur’s on his back, Charles nearly sitting on his chest as his dick is sucked. You’ve already spread Arthur’s legs, the tube of gun oil feeling heavy in your hand. You open it quickly, spilling half of it before getting your fingers covered and entering Arthur. In front of you, Charles throws his head back with a deep groan as his hips begin to stutter and fuck into Arthur’s mouth. You can’t help your free hand pumping yourself as you watch, your other scissoring Arthur open. It’s premature, you know it is, but you can’t take it anymore. You should stretch him more, but your dick aches in your hand and you retract your hands to grip Arthur’s hips instead.

You press into him and hear a muffled moan as Charles shivers from the vibrations it brings. Both of you still, giving Arthur time. You watch his hand grip at Charles’s hip, pulling him forward. Charles sits up, propping himself on the box behind Arthur’s cot so he can get the proper angle to fuck down into Arthur’s mouth. You start your pace, rough and fast like Charles. Arthur’s legs shake as he wraps them around your waist, his hand squeezing at Charles’s ass. You wish you could see their faces, but you can imagine. Charles’s is likely twisted in pleasure and concentration, Arthur’s might be slobbery and tear stained.

It’s Arthur that comes first, his dick untouched as it releases a flood of cum onto his stomach, a few spurts hitting Charles’s ass. Arthur’s body goes still as he whines, being used as a set of holes by now. Charles is next and you watch the bounce of his ass lose its nice rhythm as he shoots his release down Arthur’s throat. Charles seems to bury himself deep and Arthur grips his hips as he swallows what he’s given. You double your efforts, wanting to fill Arthur from both ends. You gaze falls downwards to watch yourself fuck into Arthur’s tight hole. Charles catches you off guard, tilting your head up for a kiss as he straddles Arthur’s stomach. His hand reaches down, passing your furious thrusting to fondle at your balls as they bounce off of Arthur. The heat builds fast and you release just as Charles bites at your lip.

When you let go of Arthur’s hips, he falls back down to his cot completely. Charles continues to kiss you as you pull out, smiling into it. You can hear Arthur’s labored breaths beneath you and you’re so in your own head that you don’t register the footsteps.

“Mind if I try somethin’, fellas?”

You turn from Charles to see Micah leaning against Arthur’s shaving stand. He only has his red shirt on, half buttoned, and a smirk rests on his face. Charles’s hand has yet to leave your balls and you feel him squeezing slightly as his other turns your head back to him for another kiss, silently telling you to ignore Micah.

“Aw, come on, Smith.” Micah drawls. “Lemme have a turn.”

Charles pulls back, his lips wetted and dark from all the kissing. “A turn?”

You hear Micah take a step forward and Charles moves fast. He leaves you and you nearly fall onto Arthur, only just catching yourself before collision. You look over your shoulder to watch Charles push Micah down to bend over Arthur’s weapon’s chest. A new pool of heat starts when Charles sucks on his fingers before shoving them into Micah, eliciting a moan from the older man.

“Shit…” Arthur mutters under you.

You turn to look down at him, chuckling. “Don’t think it’s what he had in mind.”

Arthur smirks. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

His hand finds the back of your neck and pulls you down for a kiss. Micah’s whimpers and curses fill the tent and you feel yourself getting hard again. Arthur grunts against you, pressing up until he brushes his dick to yours.

“‘m gettin’ too old fer this.” He mutters, blushing at his still soft dick.

Behind you, Micah gasps and you look back to watch him bury his face in his arm as Charles enters him roughly. Charles thrusts like a beast, fucking every last pathetic noise he can out of Micah. Kind of serves him right.

“C-Charlie…” Micah gasps, his voice light and breathless. “Ah! Fuck…”

Arthur hisses, his hand wrapping around his dick and trying to get himself going again. You trail your hand down, helping him stroke himself, but to no avail. After a few seconds a bottle lands beside Arthur on the cot, a tonic bottle. You look up as Arthur cranes his neck in the same direction. Standing to the side is Bill, a timid looking Kieran right behind him. Both of them are bare besides a blanket draped over Kieran’s shoulders.

“It helps.” Bill mutters, his eyes trailing over to watch Charles and Micah for a moment. “Works fer whiskey dick at least.”

Arthur looks the other outlaw up and down strangely. “Thanks.”

Bill clears his throat. “Ya wanna trade, Morgan?”

You look down at Arthur who glances between you and Kieran. He catches your nod before looking at Bill. “Sure.”

Kieran steps forward, a sheepish grin on his face. You give Arthur a final kiss before standing. As you pass him, you chance giving Kieran a kiss and he accepts it, melting into you for the few seconds it lasts. When you pull away and turn to Bill, the large man has taken himself in his hand at the sight. Your eyes catch on that motion, swallowing thickly at the size, nearly as big as Charles. You find the sense to step closer to Bill and kiss him. Behind you, Kieran squeaks from something and Arthur mumbles an apology. Bill’s hands find your hips, pulling you against him well enough to smush your dicks together between your stomachs.

Charles practically growls behind you and you hear Micah gasp again. “How’s that for a darkie, Micah?”

There’s a thud and you imagine Charles let Micah go or maybe even threw him on the ground. A few beats later, Sean calls out to Charles with a drunken shake to his voice. Bill pulls you with him, keeping his lips busy on your neck until he turns you around to bend you over Staruss’s little table. Bill fumbles, finding a tonic on the ground and pouring it over his hand before he pushes his fingers inside. You spread your legs for him, raising your ass a bit now that you’ve lost whatever care for shame you had at the start of all of this.

“Gentlemen.” Dutch greets, settling himself against the tree behind the two of you. “Don’t mind me.”

Bill’s finger’s stall for a moment, likely nervous about fucking someone in front of his boss, but he continues after a few seconds. You try not to think about Dutch watching you, feeling that same set of performance nerves. Bill fumbles more as he moves, spreading your ass cheeks apart with one hand as he guides himself inside. Both of you groan as he enters and pushes himself in fully. Bill leans forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he starts thrusting. You fix your feet steady on the ground when the table under you shakes from the combined weight. Bill’s thrusts are moderate and steady, hitting deep and brushing heavenly every time.

There’s a small groan, sounding like Kieran, that makes you shiver when you think about what Arthur is doing to him. A few more thrusts from Bill makes you grip the table tighter as your legs feel shaky. Then there’s a shout of Spanish with Charles’s name mixed in. Bill’s hands wander up your body a bit, caressing your sides as he keeps up his steady fucking. A low groan reminds you that Dutch is watching and you have half a mind to look back at him, but Bill picks up his speed and you bury your face into your arm instead. Bill’s climax pumps you full, the trickling feeling distinct as his dick already starts to push the excess out with a few final thrusts.

Only a moment after Bill has stepped back there are hands on your hips. Sean pulls you to him, falling to his knees in front of you and taking you in his mouth too fast for you to think. Your hands go to his soft hair and he relents immediately, letting you fuck his mouth without question.

“Arthur!” Kieran cries somewhere in the background.

Behind you, hands grip your hips as kisses are pressed to your neck. The tickle of a mustache tells you it’s likely Javier, but you’re too occupied with fucking Sean’s willing mouth to think further. You release for the second time, letting Sean take everything you have. In the midst of your high, Javier presses inside of you and starts fucking without inhabition. His hands on your waist hold you still, his lips beginning to suck in a mark to your neck. Sean stands, grinning at you before he runs over to Arthur and all but jumps on the older man’s dick. Javier wraps his arms around you, filling your ears with mumbled Spanish that is slurred by ecstasy.

Your eyes move around camp, finding several things to admire. Bill has Micah in his lap, stroking him with one hand and fingering him with another. John and Lenny each have each other in hand as they kiss, Charles watching them from the campfire. Dutch has Kieran on the ground, fucking him roughly as he mutters about O’Driscolls but Kieran moans all the same. Arthur stares from afar, Sean bouncing on his dick as he watches the sight of Javier finally burying himself deep and mixing his cum deep inside of you with Bill’s.

“You’re so warm, cariño.” Javier mutters in your ear before he chuckles. “Who’re you seeing next?”

“Not sure.” You take a few breaths. “Haven’t seen half of them yet.”

Javier pulls himself out, causing the mixed cum to leak out. “John’s a good hole, dirty mouth too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You turn in time for Javier to kiss you before he heads over to Arthur, teasing words spilling out as he climbs onto the older man’s lap to replace a spent Sean. When you turn back, Dutch is a few feet away. He beckons, gesturing to the ground and some part of wanting to please your boss makes you sink to your knees without question. Dutch guides his dick to your lips and, once again, you don’t hesitate. You only get a few bobs in before Dutch clutches at your head, beginning to use you without care.

“Shit!” Bill yells, not sounding pleased. “Wagons!”

Dutch pulls you off and you turn your head to peer through the trees. Glimpses of horses, a few colorful dresses… shit indeed. Everyone scrambles, hiding in tents, pulling clothes back on, trying to clean up cum from various surfaces. You all but fall into your tent, rummaging for at least a union suit or some kind of underwear. Pants, you find pants and pull them on.

“Dutch…” Hosea calls. “What’s gone on here?”

From your tent you can see Bill hiding behind a tree, not a thing covering him. Dutch comes out of his tent, somehow fully dressed, and greets Hosea as if he hasn’t fucked half of his men in the last hour. Miss Grimshaw looks around, sniffing with a crease in her brow for a moment. She’s distracted by Tilly asking a question and you take the opportunity to grab the union suit you know to be Bill’s on the ground in front of you before running over to him in the trees.

“Owe ya.” He mutters, pulling on the covering.

You nod, turning to leave, but Bill catches your arm and pulls you closer to kiss your cheek. You give him a smile before circling around the trees, acting like you’d gone out to piss. Passing Lenny and Sean hiding out by the lake with a single fishing pole as an excuse, you sneak as best you can to Arthur’s tent. As if expecting you, a half dressed Arthur with a bulge in his pants, hands you the clothes you’d shed earlier. You dress the rest of the way next to the munitions, eyes checking for onlookers on occasion.

The camp settles, the secret kept. Everything is well and most of the boys have elected not to bring it up, others whisper and snicker about it. It’s dark when Micah sits next to you and you look at him, finding flushed cheeks for only a moment before he kisses you. It’s surprisingly soft despite the chapped and bruised lips. He pulls back, glancing to see if anyone saw before looking back at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Didn’t get the chance, cowpoke.”

[lovebugism]

Hello there! For a blurb, could I request either Steve or reader making a mixtape for the first time for the other? Also, hope your brain is able to get some good rest!

ty for your request anon! — steve's shy gf loves to spoil him 'cause he deserves to have nice things (established relationship, fluff, shy!reader, 1.1k)

fictober (���(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

When you first started dating, Steve learned two things about you, very quickly.

One, you’re not great at expressing your feelings. And two, you love giving him gifts.

Both are equally hard for him to stomach.

He hates when you don’t tell him how you feel — when you choose to suffer alone rather than let him in on your suffering. It doesn’t matter how many times Steve tells you that you’re not burdening him or that he’d swim oceans to appease you. You keep to yourself most times, very rarely vulnerable.

What you lack in your ability to communicate, you make up for in gifts. And not the “here’s something shiny because I’m trying to buy your love” kind of gift his parents always got him. What you give him is far more sentimental. The full-blown, hand-made, holy-shit-this-took-a-lot-of-effort sort of gift.

You paint things for him when you have the time. He’s got a dozen tiny, vibrantly colored easels decorating his desk and dresser. You make him jewelry, too, out of pretty pastel beads. Steve wears your initial, along with various hearts and stars and circles, on his wrist every day. 

You wear his, too — on your pulse when you visit him at Family Video. 

Closing shift, Saturday night, a billion other things you could be doing, and you’re spending it with him. It makes suffering the graveyard shift a lot easier on his heart.

You’re there for half an hour before you work up the courage to pull your latest present from the pocket of your jacket. “I made you something,” you tell him, finally, somehow quieter than the already quiet store.

Steve’s smiling before he knows what it is. His rosy lips curl into a crooked smile. His tired honey eyes blink up at you. “Yeah?”

He sits behind the bulky computer, slouched in his swivel chair and barely focused on the catalog he’s supposed to be mining through. You’re sitting on the counter beside him, legs hanging off the edge. His right hand lazes on the computer mouse while his left idles on your leg — long fingers curled around your calf, thumb rubbing absentmindedly along your shin.

You nod sheepishly and motion to the cassette tape in your hand.

“What’s this?” he wonders as he takes it from you.

“A mixtape,” you answer with a curt shrug. ‘Cause it’s easier than telling him, “Oh, it’s just tape I spent hours making you so I could compile every song that could maybe come close to describing how much I love you, but even that came up short.”

Steve’s still grinning when he reads what you’ve written on the front of it. 

best songs ever for the best person ever, you’ve scribbled on a sticker you decorated with pink and red hearts. The bottom reads, everything i can’t tell you.

“Babe…” he hums quietly, lovesick eyes flitting up to you. “This must’ve taken you forever…”

Again, you shrug and duck your warming face down to your lap. “It wasn’t that hard…”

Steve’s hand is still caressing your leg, squeezing softly along the back of it. He knows it took work. He knows you won’t admit to it. So he just smiles — a tiny, tight-lipped thing that makes his dimples peek out.

“Thank you,” he mutters with a honeyed fondness. “You know you never have to give me anything…”

“I like doing it… You deserve to have pretty things,” you answer sheepishly.

His grin widens. “Well, I got the prettiest thing right here, so…”

He rises from the cushioned seat to stand in front of you, back aching and legs groaning in protest. 

Your nose scrunches in disdain at his words.

“Too cheesy?” Steve squints and positions himself between your legs. His palms are wide and warm as they settle contently on your thighs.

“A little.”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though he doesn’t really mean it. He just uses it as an excuse to press a kiss to your burning cheek. When he pulls back again, he’s still nose-to-nose with you — still smiling and sparkling at you. 

“I get off in, like, thirty minutes. Maybe I can drive us to Lover’s Lake, and we can listen to the tape and stargaze or whatever. You know, all the stuff people disgustingly in love do.”

“Then why would we do that?” you quip, still shy in your way.

“Very funny.”

You conceal your grin by pursing your lips to the side. “I don’t know… I wasn’t really expecting to listen to it with you.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not!” he protests, almost offended you would even say so. “What’s gonna be real embarrassing is when I sing all the songs at the top of my lungs to you.”

“Oh, god…” you groan quietly to yourself. 

Sometimes, you think social anxiety is scared of Steve. He’s not afraid to get stared at, especially not when it comes to you. It’d be way too easy for him to roll down all the windows, turn up the radio, and belt all the cheesy love ballads you’ve compiled for him.

Steve grins, pink and crooked. “Exactly, baby.”

“Just promise you won’t make fun of me,” you murmur, gaze turned down to where your anxious hands fiddle with a rogue thread hanging on the hem of his shirt. You say it in a lilt like you’re joking, but you’re still sort of serious.

“When have I ever made fun of you?”

“You know what I mean…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he echoes tenderly in return. 

Because he does. 

You’re trying to tell him that you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want him to analyze all the lyrics and make jokes when one of them is particularly cheesy. You want to pretend like you’re just listening to the radio and not like every single song is handcrafted specifically for him and the way he makes you feel.

“I’m gonna be too busy kissing the life outta you to say anything, anyway,” Steve promises, wide hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs.

Your face flares hot again. You think if he pressed another kiss to your cheek, you’d burn him.

“Promise?” you press.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, almost sympathetically, already leaning closer to you. “You’re gonna have to pry me off of you by the end of the night.”

Before you could promise him that you’d never because you want him to kiss you forever and ever and ever, his lips are already on yours.

He kisses you soft at first — several tender little pecks to warm you up like he’s giving you ample time to pull away and tell him you’re not in the kissing mood. It only makes you go deeper. You get more languid, more confident.

Steve lets you kiss him how you want. His mouth is soft and pink and obedient for you. His hands are warm and wide and welcoming, rising from your thighs to the curve of your waist.

You barely make it to Lover’s Lake that night.

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2024 | Day 1: Angst with a happy ending

,,Me too." | @tami-ryver

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 1,748

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Hunt Gone Wrong, Werewolves, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Major Character Injury, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel's Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Angelic Grace (Supernatural), AngstAngst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood, Fictober 2023

Summary: The silence is unbearable. Not even insects can be heard in the darkness, not even moon shines down on their path. The only source of light they have are the flashlights they took from the Impala. Armed with silver knives and the demon knife, they walk deep in the darkness of the forest, in search of the place where the massacre took place.

I Want You to Know That I'm Awake (I Hope That You're Asleep) | @starstiels

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 2,192

Main Tags/Warnings: depressed!dean (heavily implied), post-canon, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, first kiss, selectively mute dean, mental health issues, panic attack

Summary: Dean Winchester wants to cry. He wants to scream and yell and sob until his lungs give out and his eyes sting like needles.

The Covert Identity (WIP) | @rowanspn

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,623 (22,561 updated)

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Sam Winchester, Florist Castiel (Supernatural), Crime Boss Lucifer (Supernatural), Kid Fic, Kid Jack Kline, Blood and Violence, Graphic depictions of violence

Summary: Dean Winchester loves his job; working as a secret agent has its perks. There is nothing quite like the thrill of saving people and hunting down criminals. And with his baby brother Sammy at his side, it’s a family business. However, when he and Sam are assigned to the case of Lucien Shurley, a suspected crime lord with a rap sheet a mile long, Dean’s semi-predictable life takes a turn for the unprecedented and over complicated. He and Sam must go undercover to investigate Lucien’s own family, his brothers Gabriel and Castiel, and his young son, Jack, to find out just how involved they truly are. As the stakes rise and the body count follows, it is up to Sam and Dean to solve the greatest mystery of their careers; who is Castiel Novak and what does he know?

he's gonna take my files | @autisticandroids

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6,191

Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Saves Cas from the Empty, Afterlife, Triangulation of Desire, Memories, Trauma, Hurt Cas, Canon Divergent, Canon Remix, Warnings in Author's Note

Summary: Dean goes to the Empty, where Cas is floating through his memories.

when doves cry | @watchinghimrakeleaves

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 6,821

Main Tags/Warnings: Human Castiel, Season/Series 09, Not Canon Compliant, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: When Dean asks Cas to leave the bunker, all he can do is hope that the fallen angel is safe and doing okay. But when he reaches out to Cas to check in, he's surprised by the anger he's met with. Forced to consider whether or not he made the right call, Dean must reckon with how to fix things between him and the man he worries he may have lost forever.

Forest Fever | @amaranthhiding

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,586

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Universe, Post-Ep 12x10, Monster of the Week, Hallucinations, Injured Castiel, Protective Dean, (Emotional) Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Praying, Angel Grace, Humor (mostly in the epilogue)

Summary: After the crushing events of episode 12x10 "Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets", Castiel is low on grace and morale. In an attempt to restore at least one of these two, Sam and Dean take him on a hunt. Things start going wrong when Sam gets injured and Cas seemingly disappears. They get worse when Dean turns from hunter to prey for something feeling far more at home in this dark, rainy forest than he does.

Send Me a Postcard | @blessyourhondahurley

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 10,387

Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel is Saved from the Empty, First Kiss, References to Depression, Bisexual Dean Winchester

Summary: Shortly after his rescue from the Empty, Cas hits the road late one night without telling anyone he's leaving. Two weeks later, a postcard arrives for Dean.

whisper your name without making a noise | @deancaskiss

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 12,577

Main Tags/Warnings: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Muteness, Mute Dean Winchester, traumatic mutism, Mutism, Major Character Undeath, Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel, Pining, POV Dean Winchester, Kissing, Boys Kissing, French Kissing, Rough Kissing, Gentle Kissing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Drinking to Cope, Drinking Alcohol, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Getting Together, Dean Winchester is Not Okay, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 15, Fix-It, Character Death Fix, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, The Empty (Supernatural), the handprint, Dean Winchester's Jacket

Summary: Losing Cas to the Empty felt like Dean was losing a piece of himself. I love you, Cas had said; and then he was gone before Dean got the chance to tell Cas how he felt. But Cas might have taken more than just Dean’s heart when the Empty ripped him away. Cas is gone, and so is Dean’s voice. Traumatic mutism: according to Sam and Eileen, Dean had been through a traumatic experience losing Cas and now he was mute. So, Eileen taught Dean sign language, and Sam bought notebooks for Dean to write out his thoughts. But Dean never stopped aching for Cas; praying to him every day and searching for a way to bring Cas home. When Dean finds a way into Empty, it’s a fight like he’s never fought before. Scream, Dean, scream, the Empty taunts. But Dean can’t stop until he’s rescued Cas, kissed his angel breathless, and told Cas the truth about how he feels—voice or no voice.

Taking one for the team | @artichokegarden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16,846

Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Stanford Era, Sex Worker Dean Winchester, Dubious Consent, Voyeurism, Kink Negotiation, Kink Discovery, Praise Kink, BDSM, Spanking, Whipping, Bath Sex, Hair Washing, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Abusive John Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, POV Castiel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Porn with Feelings

Summary: Cas blinked slowly. “Your father sent you to his friend’s sex club as bait for a sex monster. And you want me to find your lost memories of this for you?”

“Don’t you start, Cas. We need to find out what happened, or those women are as good as dead. If I wanted to listen to a load of crap about dad’s parenting choices, I’d have told all this to Sam in the first place, instead of biting his head off for asking. Let’s just agree he wasn’t winning father of the year for this one and let it go, okay?”

When women start going missing from sex clubs, Cas investigates Dean's memories of a Stanford-Era case and finds some secrets there that could help their relationship in the present.

this bitter nightcall | @abi-cosmos

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 32,514

Main Tags/Warnings: Djinn curse, Jealous Dean Winchester, Hallucinations, Unreliable narrator, Heavy angst, Implied Castiel/Mick Davies, Inappropriate smut, Dean doesn't know what's real, Love confessions, Post-season 12, Very brief almost major character death, Hurt/Comfort, Case fic, True love's kiss

Summary: Dean gets touched by a djinn, but it's all cool. Or, is it?

Forced to confront his desires, Dean's grip on reality slips. Leaving Castiel, Sam, and Mick Davies trying to find a way to save him before it’s too late.

If only they knew that the cure is right in front of them.

Gracefully Yours, Always | @thefandomsinhalor

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 39,815

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent, Episode: S09E10, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Temporary Blindness, Angelic Grace, Hurt Dean

Summary: As Dean hopelessly waits for Gadreel and Crowley to be expelled from Sam’s body, he and Castiel are unexpectedly ambushed by Malachi and the remainder of his soldiers, seeking retribution for what Castiel has done to his faction. Because Castiel gets gravely injured in the fight, Dean resists the urge to isolate himself, and instead returns to the bunker with his friend and Sam, determined to put an end to the fallen angel madness, and also, perhaps, try to understand why, after everything he’s done, Castiel still stands by his side.

Still Waters Run Deep | @thisisapaige

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 41,168

Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergent After s15e09 The Trap, Hurt/Comfort, Mute Castiel, Mark of Cain, Aquaphobia, Claustrophobia, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester

Summary: In the darkest depths of the ocean, sealed into the ma'lak box with Chuck trapped behind the Mark, Castiel loses the battle against God's rage. When Sam and Dean find Castiel on a dark patch of highway— the Mark missing and his grace weak— he cannot speak.

It rains. It rains and it rains and it rains. It is a Great Flood.

In order to stop God, save the world, and resolve the issues simmering between them for years, Castiel and Dean need to communicate.

Perhaps they should build an ark instead.

When I Knew You | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 54,272

Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Time Travel, Bartender Dean Winchester, Editor Castiel, Mutual Pining, Minor Character Death, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Incorrect Science, Social Anxiety, Sharing a Bed

Summary: Shortly after moving into his new house, Dean Winchester finds a strange, flickering light in the middle of his living room. When he touches it, he’s transported two years into the past, to the days when a man named Castiel Novak lived in the house.

Dean’s own time pulls him back eventually, but the gateway to the past keeps appearing, and Dean keeps visiting Cas — sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. They soon fall in love, but there is no possible future for them, for one simple reason: in a few weeks, Cas is supposed to die.

As the date of Cas’ death draws closer, will Dean be able to save his life? And if he does… will the two of them find a way to be together in the same time?

On the flip side | Joysprings (AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 64,357

Main Tags/Warnings: Lgbtq, Polyamorous characters, Blood and Injury, Time Jumps, Neurodivergence, Autistic Castiel, Emotional Abuse, Pilot Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Grief and Mourning, Temporary Character Death, Domestic Destiel, Dean and Cas are dad's, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending I Promise,

Summary: A little over a year after airforce test pilot Dean Winchester's plane crashes and goes missing, its finally found. Castiel Winchester, Dean's widowed husband reflects on his grief and his memory re visits the most significant points of their relationship throughout their time together and how they shaped the present. The whole family is left to deal with the resurfaced trauma from the initial accident, and will finally learn about what truly happened, uncovering new and unexpected answers. This is their journey.

(Story will alternate chapters from the present to past time stamps)

the weight of your bones | Chi_Yagami (Ao3)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 66,780

Main Tags/Warnings: afterlife, soulmates (sort of), canon divergent, hunter Dean Winchester, human Castiel, kid Jack Kline, angst with a happy ending, touch-starved, flashbacks/discussions of death, panic attacks

Summary: After rescuing his brother's fiancée from a house fire he doesn't survive, Dean Winchester finds himself in Heaven. He's immediately suspicious—after all, with everything he's done during his time on Earth... there's no way he deserves to be here. He lives in a beautiful neighborhood right down the street from his parents, in an amazing house that he shares with his new soulmate, Cas—a man Dean's never even met. Despite Dean's best efforts to keep his distance, Cas seems determined to make their new relationship work in the afterlife.

However, Cas doesn't understand... he isn't aware of Dean's past. Cas doesn't know that all Dean's good for is destroying relationships and ganking monsters. Cas doesn't know that Dean once got an innocent civilian killed on a case, doesn't know of the cave that haunts Dean's dreams. People are made of memories they bury or live by, and Dean chose to bury his a long time ago.

But as Cas chips away at Dean's resistance... the once-forgotten bones begin to surface.

When Tomorow Comes | @teeparadigm67

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 78,994

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Season 15 rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst, Lots of Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty (kind of), Dean Winchester is Protective of Castiel, Dean Winchester is Saved, First Time, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester, Love Confessions, Castiel's Loss of Angelic Grace, Dean Winchester in the Empty, First Kiss, The World is Saved, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester's Taste in Music, Sharing a Bed, Frottage, Men of Letters Bunker, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Happy Ending, Alternate Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15

Summary: When hunting for the Leviathan blossom, Castiel gets taken. Tired, desperate and wanting to tell him all the things left unsaid before it’s too late, Dean prays to him. But he realises... standing there, in the grey hellish landscape, the portal home flickering just beside them with seconds left on the timer, they're already were too late.

Running himself ragged fuelled solely by caffeine, whisky, and that trademark Winchester determination, he will find a way to stop Chuck and to save Cas. However, this isn't the blaze of glory Dean had always envisioned going out in. But, deep down, he would go out swinging to save a loved one. Those bright shining penetrating tear-soaked eyes are the last thing he sees before his vision is marred, the desperate plea of his name dampened by the black ooze filling his eardrums as the essence of the Empty wraps around him and pulls him pulled from existence into the dark.

All because of that simple prayer, the ending Chuck had always planned was rewritten.

The Unbroken | @casblackfeathers

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 126,551

Main Tags/Warnings: zombie apocalypse, bed sharing, hurt and comfort, angel castiel, protective dean, soft dean, endverse, bamf castiel, bottom dean

Summary: Dean’s life had been made of running. He ran from a curse that had desolated his life ever since he was a child — whenever he got hurt, he turned into a goddamn human-torch, killing everyone around him — and he ran from himself and his own self-loathing.

But managing all that at the end of a world full of Croats lurking around every corner was easier said than done.

Until a mysterious man with tousled dark hair paired with blue eyes as clear as the sky during a hot summer’s day stopped him from free falling, literally. In one fell swoop, the stranger had not only saved his life but also calmed the wildfire threatening to burn everything in its wake.

There was something about Castiel that made Dean want to stop running but also hid something darker — something Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on. And between soft, pillowy lips and feather-like fingerprints, Cas could very well shatter Dean’s world and maybe help save the whole world in return.

Fortunate Son (WIP) | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 128,610

Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Vietnam War, Character Death (but no MCD), Blood and Injury, Counterculture, Recreational Drug Use, Mutual Pining, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Period-Typical Homophobia, Coming Out, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Getting Back Together, Suicidal Thoughts

Summary: The year is 1966, the place is Kansas, and Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak are falling in love. But with Castiel under the thumb of his conservative parents and Dean set to ship out to Vietnam, there is no possible future for them.

As Castiel’s life turns upside down and the hell of Vietnam threatens to swallow Dean’s soul, it will take everything they have to find their way back to each other. But some things are worth waiting — and fighting — for.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Apple Crumble NSFW Alphabets Day 18: Harry Warden

Day 18 coming right up! As always I hope you all enjoy <3, I will be honest though and say it has been forever since I've actually watched my bloody valentine so I'll try my best to do harry justice here.

Notes: Minors DNI, Smut, NSFW.

A is for Aftercare (What they're like after sex):

Soft baby boy. Checks on you multiple times and makes sure you have anything and everything you need. A bath? done, A drink ? done, A snack ? done. Literally ask for anything and this man will run to the store if you don't have it at the house.

B is for Body Part (Favorite on them and their partner):

After years of working in the mines, Harry is pretty fit. I could see his favorite part of himself being a tie between his chest and his arms as both show all his years of hard work to put food on the table.

On you it's your smile, Harry's been through a lot, but with you he feels like he's at home. Your smile brings a comfort to him he hasn't experienced in forever.

C is for Cum (Anything to do with cum):

Harry wants babies (If you have the equipment to make them) so always inside you. If you can't get pregnant he'll probably still cum inside just to avoid a big mess to clean but if he does make a mess it'll be a cold day in hell before he lets you clean it.

D is for Dirty Secret:

If he could get away with it, He'd lock you up in the house and never let you leave. The people outside, the ones who let him sit in that mine and almost die, don't deserve to see you or have you in their presence. Your his baby and he wants you all to himself.

E is for Experience (How experienced are they?):

Harry... isn't the most experienced person. You might have to help him along the first few times. He knows what goes where, and how to make you feel good, But in the actual sex department he's a bit lacking.

F is for Favorite Position:

Even though he hasn't had the most experience Harry fucks like a dog. Doggy style is his favorite by far. He likes bringing you to your hands and knees for him. Knowing he can do that to you and no one else can thrills him.

G is for Goofy (How serious are they?):

He isn't the most serious but he's not really goofy either? He's more so just really soft and fluffy during sex.

H is for Hair (How well groomed are they?):

It's a bit unruly since during his time in the minds he kinda lost the will to care for himself, so you might have to remind him to continue with the upkeep of it. If it gets too bad he takes care of it without reminder but don't be surprised if it slips his mind.

I is for Intimacy (How are they during the act, romantic etc):

Very romantic, He's all about wining and dining you. He's really into foreplay just to get the two of you in the mood but its the most tooth rotting foreplay you'll ever experience.

J is for Jackoff (Do they masturbate and how often?):

He does it every so often. If you were with him when the mine accident happen then he definitely jacked off to the thought of you in the mines to keep himself somewhat sane.

K is for Kink (Their kinks):

Praise kink: Tell this boy he's doing a good job and he'll cum on the spot whether he's inside you or not. You've made him cum in his pants more then once with this.

L is for Location (Favorite places to have sex):

At home in the bedroom. Like I said your his, he doesn't want anyone that isn't him looking at you in any type of way. He would have to end them if they did and he doesn't wanna have to be killing people 24/7.

M is for Motivation (What turns them on?):

The thought of wanting nothing more then to please you is what gets him going the most. He aims to please and wants you to be as satisfied as possible.

N is for No (Something they won't do):

No degrading you, No hitting you or even being mean. He's just not into it and would never even think about hurting you even if it was for fun during sex.

O is for Oral (Oral Preferences):

Major giver. He'll let you give him a blow job here and there but he loves giving you oral. If you ask him what he wants to eat nine times out of ten the answer will be you.

P is for Pace (How fast or slow? Are they rough?):

Slow and sensual all the way. He'll get a bit rough when he gets desperate but he wants to make love and make the most of it.

Q is for Quickie ( Do they like quickies?):

He hates quickies. Why would he go for a quickie when he can give you the actual real full fledged thing. If you like them that's fine but don't expect him to like them.

R is for Risk (Are they down to experiment?):

He'll experiment within reason, Like if it's something that may hurt you or anything, it's a hard no. However if you bring something up he finds interesting then he'll be down to try it out with you.

S if for Stamina (How long can they go for?):

This man used to be a miner, he has all the stamina in the world from doing that for years. He will give you breaks and stop after awhile but he could literally go for hours on end.

T is for Toys (Do they use toys and do they like them?):

He doesn't have much experience when it comes to toys so if you bring up one night you'd like to try them he's all for it. He might not like every single toy but there are a few he does really like and a lot that he loves to use on you.

U if for Unfair (Do they like to tease?):

He thinks teasing is mean, and he's not about to be mean to his baby. If you wanna tease him just a bit to get him worked up then go for it he doesn't mind but don't be too terribly mean to him just some playful teasing.

V is for Volume (How loud can they get?):

He grunts but that's about it, Harry isn't a big noise maker in general and he doesn't talk much either so don't expect sex to be any different.

W is for Wild Card (Random things):

Soft Harry is soft, he loves cuddles and really anything where he can just hang out with you. So after he runs your aftercare bath expect him to sit on the toilet and have him just hang out with you, no talking, just you and him being together.

X is for X-Ray (What are they packing):

Harry's got a big thick dick, About 8 inches and a good amount of girth to it.

Y is for Yearning (How high is their sex drive?):

High as fuck but only for you. He's never felt this way about anyone before and as far as he's concerned the sun rises and sets with you and so does his sex drive.

Z is for ZZZ (How fast do they fall asleep?):

He waits awhile. He likes to make sure your entirely ok before even thinking about sleeping. He also likes to cuddle and just hold you for awhile too. If you had any doubts of his feelings for you, you won't after this.

[captainsophiestark]

Bad Timing

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Day 25 Prompt: "Do I look like I knew that?"

Summary: When Eloise needs help with a problem, she knows she can count on her brother and his new wife for help.

Word Count: 1,047

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"You know, lazy days like this are by far my favorite," I mused, curling into my husband's side as we laid in bed together. "No galas, no gossip from the Ton. Just the two of us."

"I certainly have to agree," said Benedict, my husband, as he traced patterns on the bare skin of my back. "Although, I do enjoy watching Colin wade through the swarm of Mamas every time we go out, now that he is the only unwed Bridgerton son. At least until Gregory gets a bit older."

"I'd say you were being mean, but he did ditch you and Anthony for quite a while in his travels."

"Yes, he did. So he deserves this."

I laughed, shaking my head a bit at my husband's antics. A moment later, he pulled me tighter to his side, rolling us so I laid completely on top of his chest. I rose up on my elbows to meet his eyes and found him looking at me with a mischevious smile.

"You know, it's just occurred to me," he started. "There are quite a few ways I can think of that our time would be better spent than talking about my brother."

"Oh really?" I asked, grinning and leaning down closer to Benedict. "And what might those ideas be?"

"Well for starters..."

With that, he brought his hand up to the back of my neck and pulled me into a searing kiss. I rested all my weight on him, kissing right back, until a knock at the door jarred us both out of the moment.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, and Benedict let me. We shared a look.

"Maybe whoever it is will go away if we ignore them," he whispered in suggestion. As if he'd willed it into happening, a voice from the other side of the door called out.

"Y/N! If you're in there, please, I need to talk to you."

Eloise. Benedict's little sister, who I'd become close with throughout the course of Benedict courting me. I gave Benedict an apologetic look.

"No," he whined as I rolled off of him, quickly wrapping a robe around myself and heading for the door.

"I have to," I replied. "I can't ignore her. Make yourself decent."

With that, I turned from my husband and went to open the door just wide enough to see Eloise on the other side, and for her to see me.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she cried, moving to push past me and into the room. I let her, just hoping that Benedict had done as I'd said. Eloise and I had done this a few times as we'd gotten closer, and whenever it happened, I knew she really, truly needed me.

I turned around to follow Eloise back into the room after shutting the door behind me, only to find her frozen just a few steps from where she'd come in. Benedict stood next to the bed, looking tired but resigned to our new morning activity as he laced up his shirt.

"Good morning, Eloise," he said, a little edge of teasing in his tone. "You know, I was trying to enjoy the morning with my wife-"

"Do I look like I knew that?" she cried. I fought back a laugh as I walked forward to wrap my arm around her shoulder.

"It's alright, Eloise," I said. "Benedict and I were about to get up for the morning, anyway."

Benedict shot me a look with his eyebrows almost into his hairline, and I glared right back, imploring him to go along with me. He cleared his throat.

"Right. That we were. What did you need help with, sister?"

She hesitated, so I walked around to face her, putting both of my hands on her shoulders and blocking her eyeline to Benedict. I gave her a small smile, so she'd know everything was alright, then spoke in a low voice that I knew Benedict wouldn't be able to hear.

"If this is a ladies' problem, or one you don't want your brother to know about, El, I'll throw him out of here right now and we can talk, alright? But if you're embarrassed about knocking when you did, then you truly don't need to be. We love you, and we'd both drop far more important things to help you whenever you need it."

Eloise sighed, nodding a little as she did. The bright red blush that had risen to her cheeks started to fade, and she at last met my eyes again.

"Thank you. I... suppose it wouldn't hurt to have Benedict's input as well," she said. I nodded, giving her a bright smile before turning around to face my husband.

"Put your problem-solving hat on, Benedict," I said. I started drifting for the couches by Benedict's turret window, one of my favorite features of his room. "We've got a family matter to deal with."

They both beamed at me as they started following me over to the couch. I'd considered a few of Benedict's siblings as good as family for a long time now, but it felt amazing to be able to say that and have it be completely true.

Benedict and Eloise settled into the couch on either side of me, Benedict resting his arm across my shoulders. Those kinds of casual touches would've been scandalous before we were married, but now we could do them whenever we wanted to, which also made my heart sing.

Eloise gave us both one last look with a raised eyebrow, then launched into her explanation of the problem that had brought her to our doorstep, which had something to do with a boy of virtually no social status who'd caught her attention. Benedict and I spent the rest of the morning, helping her as best we could, in the way only we could.

Although I hated that Eloise had to deal with the problems she dealt with, a small part of me sang the entire morning as Benedict and I worked together, the perfect team, to help his little sister. This was going to be the rest of our lives, with Eloise and maybe someday with children of our own, and I couldn't be happier thinking about that future with Benedict. We made the perfect team.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

[wilbursprincess]

“It Was So Lonely Sleeping Alone”

Superstarbur x Female Reader

Warnings: Just a whole lot of soft, fluffy reunion sex. Enjoy :)

This was one of the blurbs I wrote for my personal fictober this year, with the prompt “Reunion Sex”. First of 5 blurbs from my fictober I like enough to post, haha! This one is inspired by my own Bursona invention, whom I call “Superstarbur” after my favorite Taylor Swift song Superstar! I know, I know, quite the mouthful lol.

Smut under the cut!!!

I sigh, stretching out my legs on the empty, empty sofa. Wilbur’s been gone for just over two weeks, playing multiple sold out shows all over the country, and I was happy for him. No matter how many cute little videos of him slipping my name into songs during soundchecks, half-asleep selfies in his bunk on the bus, or dirty texts detailing every little thing he wanted to do to me, I still missed him. A lot. I missed Wilbur so much I could almost feel his absence, like an aching hole in my chest.

In the absence of him in our house, I’d taken to wearing his clothes. Obviously, they didn’t fit me at all, hoodie sleeves draping far over my hands and almost tripping on the hems of his sweatpants. But I didn’t care. They smelled like him, a familiar mix of his aftershave, deodorant, and shampoo, which was the closest I had to Wilbur himself.

A car door slams outside, making me jump, phone plopping screen-down onto the rug. I shake my head, silently chatising myself for being so jumpy at such a small sound. Retriviving my phone from the floor, I get up the sofa, heading into the kitchen. Maybe tea would calm my nerves.

Setting the kettle on to boil, I rummage through the cupboards, setting Wilbur’s favorite mug down and dropping a chamomile tea bag inside, adding a generous squirt of honey before topping off the mug with the freshly-boiled water.

I hear a key slide into the door, snapping up my head.

It’s just Tommy checking in on me.

The door flings wide open, bringing with it the chill of night air and a spray of rainwater, and the thunk of a suitcase.

A suitcase?

Socks sliding on the wooden floor, I run into the front hallway, just as an achingly familiar voice speaks from the doorway.

“Baby?”

“Will?” My breath catches in my throat as Wilbur steps into the light. “You’re home?”

He smiles, looking absolutely exhausted. “I am. I decided to surprise you by coming home a day early-”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, I run into his waiting arms, not caring how the water from his raincoat soaks into my clothes. “I missed you so much, Will,” I murmur into him, and he nods, hugging me tighter.

“Fuck, I missed you so much too,” he replies, tipping my chin up and kissing me. It’s deep, slow, and soft; making my heart swell with love.

“Do you need anything?” I ask when we pull back some time later. “You look exhausted.”

Wilbur smiles, somewhat-wearily. “That’s quite an understatement. I feel like I haven’t slept the entire tour.”

I press my mug of tea into his hands. “Have this, Will, you’re freezing, and go change,” I tell him, ushering him into our room. “I’ll make you some food, ok?”

While he changes, I get to work in the kitchen, frying eggs, popping toast into the toaster, and mashing up the remnants of an avocado I found in the fridge.

“That smells amazing.” Wilbur’s voice makes me jump, looking up from where I’m flipping the eggs. He’s changed into flannel pajama pants and an oversized hoodie, the silly matching cow slippers I bought us last Christmas on his feet. “Fuck, I haven’t had a proper cooked meal in ages.”

I slide the eggs onto the avocado-laden toast, topping it with a sprinkle of red pepper flakes and my favorite bagel seasoning. “Here you go. It’s not much, but-”

Before I’ve even finished my sentence, Wilbur’s shoved a bite of toast in his mouth.

“You could maybe try not to choke on your first night home in over two weeks,” I tease, and he swallows the mouthful with a smirk.

“That’s the best meal I’ve had all tour,” he says, smiling. “I’m so glad to be home.”

I perch on the counter while he finishes his toast and tea in record time, entertaining him with stories from when he’s been gone.

“Do you want to sleep now, Will?” I ask, rinsing off the plate and putting it in the dishwasher.

Sleepily, he nods. “I didn’t sleep great on the bus,” he murmurs, looking like he’s about to fall asleep at the table. “I have a lot of sleep to catch up on.”

“You go get ready for bed, I’ll finish cleaning up,” I tell him, leaning up to plant a kiss on his forehead.

Wilbur’s already in bed when I get into our room, dozing while I turn off the light and snuggle up to his side.

I close my eyes, expecting him to be asleep already, and I’m not expecting him to stir, groaning and pulling me closer into his chest. “I missed you so much,” he whispers, lightly planting kisses all over my face. “It was so lonely sleeping alone on the tour bus.”

“It was so lonely sleeping here alone too,” I murmur my reply, playing with his hair. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

Groaning, Wilbur rolls on top of me, slipping his hands up my shirt and kissing me so hard it shocks me for a second. “I need you,” he breathes, squeezing my hips as his teeth sink in my lower lip. “I’m so horny.”

Giggling, I trail a hand down his bare back. “Are you, now?”

He nods. “Haven’t had any privacy all tour,” he gasps, rubbing over my nipples. “Walls are too thin on the bus.”

“Well, I’m all yours,” I coo, reaching down to palm at him over his boxers. Wilbur whines and tries to push up into my touch. “You wanna fuck me?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” he groans, fumbling to get out of his boxers as I tug my shirt off over my head. “I might not last very long. Haven’t cum for two weeks.”

I laugh. “No problem.”

His fingers trail south, thumb flicking my clit as his fingers pump in and out of me as he grinds on my thigh.

“Oh, fuck, right there,” I moan out, eyes rolling back into my head. I’ve had plenty of time alone in our house with my toys when I missed Wilbur, but even just his fingers felt so much better than anything I could do myself.

Wilbur pulls his fingers out of me, sucking them into his mouth and sighing in pleasure.. “You always taste so good,” he whispers, sinking his rock-hard length into me. “But you feel even better wrapped around my cock.”

His first thrust makes us both groan, my back arching as I feel myself stretch around him. “You fill me up so well,” I pant. “You’re so big.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, letting him get a better angle and thrust into me deeper, his soft moans in my ear making everything between my thighs drip.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Wilbur whines.

“I love how vocal you’re being, it’s so hot,” I moan, tugging at his curls. He responds with another loud moan, tugging me up so my clit grinds into his lower stomach.

The urgency of his hips snapping up to thrust deeper and deeper, all the beautiful noises he’s making, and the fact he’s panting like a dog tells me he’s close to his own climax, and if we hadn’t been apart for over two weeks, I’d be making fun of him right about now for not even lasting five minutes.

My own orgasm hits me like a train, and I press my face into his shoulder as I ride it out. When I manage to come back to earth, the sight of WIlbur’s face as he’s right on the edge of finishing almost makes me cum again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cries out, and I feel him twitch inside me, spilling himself inside me before pulling out and releasing the rest on my stomach.

Before I can remind him that he’s just cum all over my stomach, he flops back down, all ready to cuddle. “I just came so hard and so much,” he murmurs happily. “I think my balls may be completely deflated.”

I burst out laughing. “You know you’re laying in some of it, right?”

He pushes himself off my chest to see I’m right. “Oh shit,” he laughs.

“You wait here, I’ll get us cleaned up,” I tell him. “I know you normally handle this, but you look like you’ve collapsed.”

After running some warm water over a towel and cleaning up the mess dripping down my thighs, I head back into our bedroom, kneeling on our bed next to Wilbur and gently cleaning him up.

“I love you so much, darling,” he murmurs, looking at me with soft admiration in his deep brown eyes. “You’re coming on the next tour. I can’t be apart for you for so long ever again.”

I lean in, hair brushing his bare chest as I plant a kiss on his forehead. “Even though we won’t be able to do this?”

“I’ll bribe everyone to leave us alone on the bus for a few hours whenever we’re in the mood,” he promises. “I’ll bring you out on stage every show and ask the fans to bring you gifts.”

“What kind of gifts?”

“Will?”

I smile down at my now-fast asleep boyfriend. “Goodnight to you too, I suppose.l

[thus-spoke-lo]

Sins in Crimson // Doflamingo Donquixote x afab!reader // NSFW/18+ Kink: Period Sex

A/N: just some self-indulgent smut for my favorite heavenly demon's bday 🦩 CW: afab!reader, no pronouns used; messy, messy period sex [incl. fingering, reader receiving oral, kissing with blood on/in mouth, unprotected vaginal intercourse, smearing blood on skin… you get the idea]; a little bit of degradation; light bondage [inappropriate use of devil fruit] WC: 1.7k // Fictober Masterlist

You whine softly when Doflamingo wakes you at the first light of dawn, your eyes fluttering open as thin beams of sun filter through the space between the curtains. He is already ravenous at daybreak, even more than usual—is it his day today, after all, he reminds you as he rolls you onto your back, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling you, huffing your sweet morning scent like a drug. His lengthy tongue makes patterns across your cheek and down your neck, a large palm now engulfing your chest, roughly kneading your breasts and rolling your nipples between his thick fingers until they harden and you hiss through your teeth at the little jolts of pleasure that travel through your limbs with every touch. He is demanding, and he is persistent in the pursuit of his pleasure—but you are just as voracious when he’s like this, surrendering quickly to his perverse whims to satisfy your own, unable to ignore the warmth that quickly pools between your legs.

Doflamingo’s hand soon dips between your thighs, and you startle at the amount of slickness that he finds there, more than just the flood of your arousal. A low ache in your belly before bed, a dull pain that spread out across your lower half and stretched down to your thighs, had tried to warn you—your period began early, and your thighs are painted ruby, a bloom of oxidizing redness staining the stark white sheets beneath you. You choke on a half-hearted protest, try to push his hand away on instinct, biting your lip and coyly pressing your thighs together, but your weak grasp is nowhere near enough to deter him—he will have you when he wants to have you, and nothing will quell his desire.

He hums as he drags his fingers along your slit, spreading the warm blood over your skin. “You’d deny your god an offering, little lamb—on today of all days?”

Before you can respond, he raises his free hand and moves his fingers with a practiced elegance, and invisible wires tighten around your wrists, bringing your arms above your head. He holds up his other hand and gazes at his crimson-slicked fingers for a moment before wiping them on your thigh and slapping your skin to watch your flesh jiggle, leaving abstract shapes and splatters across your legs. There is no denying—the blood that pumps through your veins belongs to him, in all of its forms.

“Tell me, pet,” Doflamingo murmurs, lowering his hand again and pushing two wide fingers past your entrance, slowly sliding into you while he watches your face contort with pleasure, “since when has a little blood ever stopped me from having my way with you?”

“Never,” you whimper, bucking your hips to fuck yourself on his hand. You’re still sleep-drunk as you writhe under his ministrations, your mind fogged with drowsiness and now an added yearning, your body almost responding to him of its own accord. The feeling of fullness is too good to even pretend to deny, your empty objections giving way to an aching need to feel yourself clenching around him.

“Then be good for me,” he purrs, his voice a low rumble that almost vibrates you to your core, “and open your legs—let your king have what he desires.”

You hesitantly part your thighs, panting at the thought of the pleasure to come, and Doflamingo descends on you like a carnivore, ravenous and greedy, his fingers pushing deeper to stroke that sensitive spot inside you while his tongue swirls around your clit. He devours you, makes a meal of your cunt wholly and completely, trading his fingers for his tongue, pistoning the firm length of it in and out of you while his bloodied hands grip your hips with a bruising strength.

No amount of bending and jerking your quaking body can wrest you away from his greedy mouth, and he easily yanks you back down, noisily slurping and lapping at the warm, wet heat of you, moaning wantonly against your sensitive flesh. Your eyes roll back as he brings you closer and closer to your peak, all sense of shame melting away as your core tightens and his name spills from your lips again and again, a hedonistic hymn for the heavenly demon who worships at your bloody altar. He shatters you quickly, breaking you apart as you cry out for him, your thighs tightening around him with every glorious shudder and spasm that he wrings out of you.

Doflamingo slowly raises his head, giving your pulsing clit a few last flicks of his powerful tongue before he looks up at you. Your eyes, still blurry, settle on him, and he looks utterly feral—his face and mouth coated in a deep red that matches the flickering cruelty of his crimson eyes, a deep chuckle emanating from his lungs as he releases his bruising grip on your hips, moving to kneel between your legs. He doesn’t speak, only licks his lips and stares down at you with a bemused expression, lowering one hand to stroke his throbbing length. You watch him for a moment, suddenly consumed with a burning need to be filled; you manage to moan something akin to thank you, and he wastes no time in caging you in on either side with steel-cabled arms, his lips crashing against yours, your mouth covered in viscous liquid.

Doflamingo’s tongue snakes its way down your throat, fucking your willing mouth with the same ferocity with which he’d tongue-fucked your needy hole, devouring your messy, bleeding cunt with an obscene enthusiasm. Sticky, sanguine kisses smear your own blood across your lips, flooding your mouth with the taste of your arousal and a sickeningly metallic flavor, like being force-fed slippery coins. The taste becomes almost agreeable after a while, mixing with your spit and fading into the backdrop of overwhelming sensations—warm waves of your climax still pulsing through your body, his heated skin against yours and thick forearms caging you in like steel bars, his dripping cock brushing against your thigh as he hovers over you, keeping it just out of reach of your needy core.

“Please,” you manage to whimper between long, drugging kisses, “please fuck me—I need you.”

“Then beg for it,” he spits back, grinning at you wildly. “Beg like a good little whore and I might take pity on you and give you what you crave.”

And like a good disciple, you beseech him—you beg and you plead, with teary eyes and agonized expressions etching themselves into your features. You beg, with hands bound and legs parted, with honeyed words and desperate cries, the feeling of emptiness inside you becoming almost unbearable the longer he ignores you pleas.  Once you’re sufficiently humbled in his presence, Doflamingo offers you mercy at last, laying down on the bed and pulling you on top of him, the blood on your thighs and sopping cunt staining his tanned skin. He holds his twitching cock at the base, allowing you the privilege of lowering yourself onto it; you take your time, rocking against him, letting the swollen head press against your entrance before allowing it to slip inside.

But Doflamingo lacks the patience for your gentleness, and he pulls you down flush to his chest, holds you tightly to him, and pushes his cock inside you to the hilt without warning, reminding you that any semblance of control that you have is granted to you, allowed when he feels particularly giving—and right now, he only wants to take. He drives up into your sopping cunt with a fierce and unyielding urgency, his cock swelling and stretching you to your limits, lewd squelching sounds filling the air with every deep and messy thrust. He taunts you while he ruins you, chuckling almost breathlessly as he calls you greedy and desperate, an insatiable little creature who should be grateful for the way he pleasures you, for the way he so generously gives you every single pulsing bit of him whenever you need.

Erratic thrusts and frantic motions force the air out of your lungs, and you cling to him, shivering as he wrenches another orgasm out of you and you flutter and pulse around him, every spasm pulling him deeper, urging him closer and closer to his own release. It isn’t long before he groans in a blissful agony and hisses a low “fuck” through his teeth, his head tilting back onto the pillow and eyes clenching shut. He grips you closer, almost crushing you against him, fingers digging into your skin, threatening to claw and tear you apart. His hips still, then shudder, and he fucks into you with deep and searing thrusts as he fills you, pulsing and twitching and spilling himself into you, coating your walls with throb after throb of his spend.

You let yourself go limp on top of him, pressing your cheek against firm musculature, listening to the sounds of your short, heated gasps mingling with the harsh rushes of his breath and leaning into the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Warm, sticky liquid drips out of you as his cock softens; it pools on his pelvis, leaving a dark pink mess running down his hips and sticking to your aching thighs. A smile settles on your mouth as your breathing starts to slow and the dense fog of lust begins to dissipate—the two of you must look depraved, two heaving bodies covered in crimson, the sheets stained with your fluids, your faces covered in the drying mess, smelling faintly of iron.

You almost apologize—almost. But instead, you lay with him and enjoy the burning heat of his hand that splays across your lower back, and the fingers that dance across your shoulder and down your arms as he rumbles in satisfaction, murmurs of your name lingering on his lips.

Besides, what better gift could a god ask for than blood spilled in his name?