#the moon lives in the lining of your skin fic

[lya-dustin]

The Stone Table

or a rewrite of a one shot i did when rings of power first came out in my now deleted lotr blog erinti-of-the-maiar

Gil-galad x Erinti(oc)

could be read as part of both The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin(silmarilion version)and I Sang of Leaves of Gold(Rings of power verision

inspired by this post made by @queenmeriadoc

summary: Gil-galad’s Maia wife wants a baby but his schedule is too busy so she uses their bond to spice things up during a feast to get what she wants.

cw: sex, telepathic dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v sex, breeding, table sex, breast play

Her husband has always been too serious.

He had been serious and sensible with a perpetually stern brow despite his youth when they first married. While Ereinion Gil-galad had never been wild, he has always been bold.

The burden of kingship weighs heavily on him as does a strange hint of evil growing in the air. He smiles less and less these days, rarely takes a day off and Erinti has found him too tired to seek pleasure as of late.

She aches for him, to feel him move within her and see his troubles melt away as he sows his seed into her womb.

The Maia wants a child, to have their feä join and create a life inside her that will become a babe in her arms for them to love and nurture for the rest of their days.

And that cannot happen if her husband refuses to fuck that baby into her. To have him be rough with her, to have him overpower her and fuck her until all of Lindon feels the effect of their orgasms.

It would soon be autumn, but no plant would die nor leaf fall if the High King were to take her bent over his desk, or against the wall or on the balcony like they did a while ago.

Gil-galad’s hand on his glass tightens as his wife’s desire is felt through their bond.

Elves can hold a strong bond to the point of feeling one live and die no matter the distance, a Maiar could even manipulate a person so long as there is an opening.

Erinti and her husband have a bond so strong she knows the Halls of Mandos wouldn’t stand a chance against it. Sometimes they do not even need to speak out loud, his thoughts and hers can be heard and even seen as clearly as if each other were part of their psyche.

She is half expecting him to ask her to stop and yet her husband does not. Instead, her stick in the mud husband matches her desire with his.

Despite the regal and rigid as stone aspect he has, Gil-galad has quite a filthy mind. And, of course, the stamina to tire his maiar wife.

Something he reminds her with a hidden smile as he drinks his wine. Wine he claims is not as fine as that nectar that flows from her womb.

A womb he will fill the moment the feast is cleared, or so he promises.

But it does not end there, no, he doesn’t allow her to concentrate on the things said by those speaking to her as he takes his revenge.

He likes the low cut of her dress, the swell of her bosom on display like that for him, the fact that she wore no shift, or any other undergarments, had not gone unnoticed by him.

The king wants to tease her over the clothes, to knead and brush his thumb over her sensitive nipples as he kissed his way down her fair neck and collarbone until he is tearing off the dress to free her body from its confines. He intended to lavish her perfect breasts and use his mouth and fingers to string out that beautiful melody she makes when she comes.

A good prelude for what he had planned after the feast is over. By the time she’s readied for him to breed her Erinti of the Flowers would be naked and exposed to the cool autumn air.

The stone table would suffice, stone does not grow roots and leaves when he fucks his queen on it. Their bed had become a living tree with great roots and thick foliage with how attentive her husband usually is.

This particular stone was of great strength, carved from deep inside the mountains of Eregion and able to withstand the might of an Ent if it is to be believed.

A maia in the throes of passion may test that myth. Erinti’s hands had broken many things when her control slipped, while her ability was to nurture the earth as a servant of Yavanna and Nessa, her strength could destroy towers and castles with ease.

Gil-galad prided himself in making her lose control and admire his handiwork after. Not all furniture survived after he and his Queen were done.

It would not end with the table; he wants to take under the stars like he did when they wed. To have her ride him as the stars frame her like the goddess she is. To have the heavens and the earth witness the creation of a second Lúthien Tinúviel.

Not a princess, she corrects, but a son, a prince whose name she has seen from the moment she first laid with Gil-Galad.

Finnellach, flame of hair and eye.

The feast is scarcely over when the king makes good on his promise.

The king wastes no time in picking her up and setting her at the edge of the table, hiking up her dress until she could feel his hardness pressing between the heavy robes separating it from her cunt, feel how their game and his victory have affected him.

If she was as wet as the Lhûn before the final course had begun, the Maia Queen was sure to drown her husband with the waters from her womb.

“Has your husband been remiss in his duties, Lothíriel?” he asks between kisses with his sharp eyes dark and voice dripping with arousal.

Lothíriel, maiden crowned with flowers. The name he gave her when they first met, the name she wears as his wife just as he is Rodnor to her and the only name he cries out in pleasure.

“Our bed has wilted from your neglect, Rodnor.” The maia locked her long legs at his waist and let her hands roam up his chest and breaking the gorget he was wearing and tossing it aside as if it were nothing. “The leaves have begun to change color, but you’d notice that if you didn’t come so late and leave so early each day. I had half a mind to file a petition and demand a private audience with his grace to fix the issue.”

“You should have, I would have remedied the issue right there on my throne.” The vivid memory of all those times they had defiled his throne had her as wet as the Lhûn. “Her grace shall be crowned with oak blooms before dawn tomorrow.”

There is no promise of him taking the day off tomorrow, but the maia will fix that before the night is over.

“I better be, or his grace will not be leaving our bed.” The red haired being struggled to contain her desperation for him and effortlessly tore his robe of him to leave him only in his breeches.

He was built like an ox, trained in the same weapon that killed his beloved sister and as darkness grew around them, ready for war.

The scars from the Wrath have long since faded, you would not be able to tell he is a seasoned warrior and commander from looks alone. His physical strength could almost match her own, something Erinti Lothíriel has always loved.

“I won’t leave it either way.” With a smile he tears her dress apart until it pools around her waist on the table, and he is free to kiss his way down her neck and collar to her chest.

Gil-galad loves her breasts, the way they fit perfectly in his hands and their rosy peaks stiffen even more in the autumn air after he’d taken each of them into his mouth. He doesn’t stop there, the high king pushed her gently down to lie on the stone table as he continued down to her cunt as her hands threaded themselves in his dark mane.

The first time he had done this, the maia had turned made the meadow bloom to its fullest and remain so despite summer turning to fall soon after. The other times had resurrected the oak trees their bed had been.

Now as he threw her long bare leg over his shoulder, they would see how the stone would fare against the Scion of Kings putting his mouth and fingers to better use.

He is not the stern king with the weight of the world bearing down on him when they make love. He is simply her husband, her lover who knows exactly how to make her lose control of this fair form she made to be with him.

Her hand gripping the rough edge of the table feels nothing of the discomfort the stone against her soft palm nor does the stone show any sign of crumbling in her hold. Who was to say what would happen when Gil-galad makes her come undone?

She tries to hold back, not an easy task when Gil-galad uses every trick he knows to have her unravel with pleasure.

As great a singer and orator her husband is, Erinti things tongue fucking may be his best talent. The first time he had pleasured her this way the ground had shaken in tandem to her first orgasm and the hold on his hand had resulted in a hard to explain injury.

Still the stone does not break when the crescendo comes to its grand finish. They may have to procure more of it now.

“It passed the first test, but can it pass the second?” Gil-galad wiped her spent from his chin with the torn fabric of her gown, it won’t be of use anymore either way.

His manhood needs little help in reaching full mast, but the sight of it with some seed at its tip has desperate to feel it inside her. To feel it hitting those places only Gil-galad knows as they fuck hard and loud in open air without a drop of shame.

It was far too difficult to stop people from taking notice of their rulers’ sexual habits when their queen’s moods affected the life around them. So difficult it no longer mortified them almost two thousand years after.

“Only one way to find out.” The Maia breathes hard from the peak he brought her to, leaned back on her hands and spread her legs wide for her husband waiting for him to plow into her until Elbereth herself feels as if she too has been fucked senseless.

“The way her grace behaves, one would think she was a courtesan of the Edain and not a holy being.” he snaked an arm around her waist as the other pulled her face to his.

“Perhaps this holy being likes to be worshipped differently.” The maia kissed her husband deeply, tasting herself in his mouth as she pulled him closer to her until he dropped the hand on her chin to guide himself into her.

The wholeness that comes with being with him like this is heavenly, their feä melds into each other’s own as their bodies join in ways forbidden to anyone else.

“Then I will make this table a second altar to worship you on, Lothíriel.” His voice is low with desire and groans as he begins to move within her. Slow and steady, savoring every contour of her perfect body and driving her slowly to madness.

She may be Maiar, but Valar, did she find sexual compatibility the best thing Ilúvatar could bless his creations with. Her womanhood fit him like a glove, or so he says.

Perfection even Valinor would envy, his thoughts fill her head as he goes deeper and harder and brings his deft fingers to her button as his mouth seeks out her breast.

Their lovemaking brings the much-needed release Gil-galad desperately needed. Too many troubles coming seemingly out of nowhere and the lack of respite to find the why of it.

He is not the stone king teetering on the edge of a burst vein in his cerebrum, he is the elf groaning his wife’s name as their lewd sounds and smells fill the air. Time passes by around them and yet nothing exists beyond the two of them and their bliss.

Gil-galad comes just as he brings her to a second climax, a beautiful melody ending with a kindling of a new life.

“The stone didn’t break.” The King of the Noldor is still catching his breath when they remember to see if his theory proved correct. “We shall need more of this stone.”

“The table at your war room will need replacement.” The Maia grins hoping to see how they break that great round table hewn from a weaker stone.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warnings: postpartum depression, 18+ brief sexual content

"Okay, Ry ry, come on. Work with me. You're alright, baby, it's okay."

You're pacing back and forth across the living room in only a nursing bra and Simon's favorite pair of your shorts, the ones that barely cover the soft pleat where the tops of your thighs meet your cheeks. The coverage of your ass is just barely there, crescent moons creased in invitation for his tongue- willing him, tempting him to lick long lines from outside to inside until you’re spread wide over his face.

Now is not the time, however.

He watches you carefully, analyzing, cataloging, categorizing. Looking for a sign, a symptom, a warning that you might not be feeling as good as you let on. Tough little kitten. Stronger than you think.

The doctor told you to get better rest, eat more nutritionally dense foods, and hydrate. If the dizziness and fainting doesn’t improve, you’ll have to see a specialist.

He’s been breathing through his nose a lot, since you told him. Willing his heart rate to slow, urging himself to be calm.

Still-

His nightmares are no longer made up of his past, but his future. Sequences of you, unconscious on the floor, baby screaming in his crib. Simon nowhere to be found, hundreds of miles away with his finger on a trigger.

You slump in defeat. Orion screams at the top of his lungs, angry at what, you’re not sure. He's tried not to hover, opting to cook dinner instead, but when your voice cracks on your next plea for Orion to stop crying, he breaks away from the kitchen and settles behind you, firm hand rubbing circles into your hip. "Let's give you a break, mama."

You sniffle. "I don't know what's up with him tonight. He won't latch, but he has to be hungry. I don't know what to do." Simon slides a forearm under yours, supporting the baby’s weight, the other one palming your belly. Your head tips back against his chest, heat radiating from your body like a furnace, and he sways you side to side, careful and slow, rocking the two of you in a gentle rhythm. You're both overheated, and you've long stripped Ry down to a diaper, hoping it would alleviate some of his misery.

"Let me take over. You're exhausted." He kisses your neck, using the light shiver shuddering over your skin to his advantage. His touch gentles you, reins in the stubborn streak that keeps surfacing, and he carries no weight of regret when he twists you up with it a little bit. He’s been standing at the bottom of the well, waiting to catch you when you break. "Go get in the shower, and I'll try a bottle in a bit. See if I can't get him calmed down." He presses his lips to your shoulder.

"But... dinner..."

"It can wait. Go on." He lifts Orion, sitting him upright on his chest, and then gives you a gentle swat on your ass.

It doesn't take much convincing after that.

He tries to get Orion to take the plastic nipple of the bottle, tries rubbing on his cheek to trigger the rooting reflex, like you've taught him, to no avail. "Alright, little man. Let's give it a try, c'mon." He doesn't, but the vibration in Simon's chest when he speaks seems to distract him momentarily, enough that his crying stops for a split second, before returning to its high pitched wail. It’s a shocking sentiment. A startling discovery, one that burrows deep, slides under his skin, slicing him open. Could his son really be soothed by his own voice?

“I wasn’t there when you were born.” He smoothes a hand over the top of Orion’s head. “I didn’t know about you, but that’s not mama’s fault, daddy kind of… disappeared, and she didn’t deserve that. I should’ve been there. I know it was probably scary, for both of you.” The wailing and shrieking turns into a mewl. “I’m gonna make it up to you, and her, everyday, I swear. ‘m gonna keep you safe, you and mama, watch you grow, go to school, lose your first tooth. I’m gonna be there for your birthday parties and holidays, as much as I can.” Orion stares at him with wet, tearful eyes, cries turned to quiet whimpers. “Daddy doesn’t have a… normal job, but we’ll make it work, won’t we? You’ll see. I’ll always be here for you, bub.” The broken cries and whimpers almost stop all together, and Simon’s heart glows with pride. He did that. “That’s better, huh? Let’s go see if we can get you to eat something before bed, alright?” He keeps up a steady murmur, pushing open the door to your room, expecting to see- hoping, to see you just out of the shower, but instead-

he finds you in an oversized t shirt and panties, curled up on top of your blankets in bed. A wet towel sits crumpled on the floor, a pair of pajama pants lying on the bed frame by your feet. It looks like you did plan on making it out of the bedroom, but succumbed to your exhaustion instead, and he doesn’t blame you. Today was hard.

“Sweetheart.” He rubs your shoulder, mattress dipping with his weight. Your eyes open, bleary and confused, a question etched across your brow. “Hey, you fell asleep.” You nod, still not with it, lashes fluttering.

“‘m sorry. Baby?”

“He’s right here. Got him calmed down, think he’s ready to eat though.” You yawn, pawing at your shirt, trying to tug it up over your head, eyes closed again. “Alright, I’ve got it, here-“

“Did I miss dinner?”

“No honey. I put it in the oven to keep warm. When you’re ready I’ll bring a plate in f’you, alright?” You sigh, sleep drenched like your lungs are wet, ponderosity sunken in across your body. He thumbs your temple, trying to rouse you a bit more, urging you to roll onto your side, tucking Orion in next to your breast. It must be instinct, the way he finds you in the dark, and you breathe deep once he settles.

“Sorry I fell asleep.”

“You’re exhausted, mama.” Ry makes a little ‘k-ahh’ sound, like a soft puff of air, and you tug at your shirt half heartedly, trying to shuck it upward again. “Do you want this off?” He fingers the hem, and you nod, lifting an arm as he maneuvers around you and the baby.

Bloody hell. You’re a sight, only in your underwear, Orion at your chest. The hall light dips and drags over your body, painting you in yellows and shadow, broad brushstrokes of a goddess splayed out in front of him, feeding his baby.

He can’t tear his eyes away.

“What is it?” You croak, his fingers tracing the valley of your hip and stomach in an answer.

“You’re stunning.” He cradles the back of Ry’s head, leaning close, brushing his nose against yours before kissing you slow, letting it linger, losing himself in the moment.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You hum into his mouth, still dewy from the shower, fresh spring rain falling from your lips. You’re more awake now, unhurried and sweet, and he slips to his knees at the edge of the bed, smoothing his hand over your shoulder and down your waist. The rolling meadow of goosebumps chasing his fingertips heats his blood-

Until your stomach rumbles. He chuckles. “Hungry?”

“A little.” You cup the back of Ry’s head and nod sheepishly.

“Okay.” He kisses you again because he can’t help it, can’t stop himself or hold back, the physical ache of being so close, yet so far away drives him to touch you, feel you, as much as he can. Before he’s gone. “Sit tight. I’ll get your dinner.”

Later, after he’s fed you (by hand, lifting a fork to your lips over and over as you sat like a perfect little kitten, propped up on a pile of pillows) while Ry nursed, and then put him down, cleaned up the dishes, and placed the baby monitor in its usual spot, he leans over you in bed, where you’re nestled under the blankets, sleepy and sweet. “Hey sleepy girl.”

“Hi.” You whisper, snuggling farther into the covers. “He go down okay?”

“Like a champ. Think he tired himself out with all the yelling earlier.” He presses a thumb to your bottom lip, sliding it back and forth before cupping your cheek. “Get some rest, I’ll get him when he gets up in a few hours.” He jerks his head towards the living room, where he usually takes his post before heading back, a block over, and then anxiously tosses and turns in bed until he hears from you in the morning.

He shifts closer to press his lips to your forehead, but you grab his wrist, grip tight, and there’s a hitch in your breath, a reedy, fragile thing that strikes his heart with bullets. “It’s supposed to get easier.” A tear tracks down your cheek, and he wipes it with his thumb.

“Oh sweetheart, it will. I promise it will.” He tries to soothe you, taking the hand that’s cemented to his wrist and interlacing his fingers with yours. “Postpartum is hard. You have to give yourself a break.”

“I know, it’s just… sometimes I feel like someone else should have been his mum,” your voice breaks, his stomach pitches, heart pounding in his ears. He could drown in the guilt, slip beneath the swell and fill his lungs with it, sink to the bottom with its weight. “Like he was meant for someone else, like someone else would be better. I was so sick when I was pregnant, and when he was born it was… traumatic…” you trail off, desperate, glassy look falling over your eyes before you close them, hand shaking in Simon’s grasp. He wants to wipe it all away, wipe it clean and fix it, patch the gaping wound he left. “Sometimes all he does is look at me and scream, like I’m a stranger. Like he doesn’t… love me, know me. Why aren’t I good at this?” Your chest is stuttering now, short breaths being choked off with sobs, and pulls you into his chest.

“You are good at this, mama.” He kisses your temple. “It doesn’t feel like it, because your head is a little… messed up with all the hormones and changes, but our son is healthy, and happy. He’s safe. You did that. You took care of him all on your own.” You’re still crying, tears spilling over your cheeks, and Simon cradles your face. “I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t here sweet girl. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I’m the one who left you like a… like a ghost. I’m the one who didn’t care about the consequences and left you to face it on your own. You didn’t deserve that, and I don’t deserve you or that boy… but I’m going to try to do everything I can to make it up to you. I’m here, okay? You’re not doing this alone anymore. I’m here.” And you’re never getting rid of me. He doesn’t say it, not willing to disrupt the clearly fragile equilibrium of your emotions, but he feels it all the same. “Orion was meant to be yours, ours. No one else’s. You understand?” You nod, lower lip trembling. “Tell me, mama. Tell me you know our baby loves you like you hung the moon in the sky.”

“I- I know.”

“Come here.” He keeps you in his arms, settling back on your mountain of pillows, keeping a palm at the back of your head, other one rubbing up and down your spine. “That’s what you are. The moon. You and Orion, moon and stars. My moon and stars.” You manage a watery sigh, and then burrow your face into his chest, finally calm enough to take some long breaths, seconds turning to minutes as he holds you in the dark.

“Stay.” You whisper against him, nearly asleep again, and he answers with a kiss to the top of your head.

“I will. I promise.”

[bittersweet-folder]

“types of kinks svt has” maknae line ver??

~□☆seventeen imagines

~♡Types of kinks I think seventeen has [maknae line version]

• Here's the hyung line version • masterlist • if you wanna be in the taglist for fics then comment under my master list •

Song rec: funny valentine by misamo🚶🏻‍♀️

[MINORS DO NOT FUCKING INTERACT] [ reader is female with vagina and breasts ]

☆Mingyu: (a switch a pure switch through and through)

Creampie: this man loves lovessss it messy and the way he's so fucking vocal, he can't keep his in moans under control. He will moan loudly because of the way you feel so warm and wet around him. 

Mommy kink: I personally can imagine Mingyu whining and moaning "mommy" or "noona" even into the reader's ears more than him taking control. He likes it rough but you gotta give him kisses like anywhere. He's a huge softie. 

Edging: just like he loves you taking control it also goes the way around too. He loves seeing you struggling to cum.

Sensory deprivation: blindfold him and it's enough for him to go feral 

Begging: told y'all he's a softie also down bad for you. 

Praise kink: he knows he's big so yeah. And he literally worships your beauty. 

Extras: he loves you're boobs and will rest his chin on them afterwards while pulling you closer on the bed

☆Minghao: (a mean yet soft switch with a dom lean)

Edging: so mean I swear and literally loves seeing you all frustrated and become a moaning mess under him.

Waxplay: hmmm Minghao is artist so expect this. and of course he'll use wax which is skin safe.

Bondage:really depends on his mood if he wants to tie you up or not. (* clears throat * that live y'all. remember?🚶🏻‍♀️) and he would let you tie him up as well. Gets so flushed up when you do so.

Spanking: only if you're into it.

Begging: oh he wants you to beg for what you want him to do in the bedroom.

Creampie: I am hoping it's very self explanatory by the first point itself

Slight dacryphilia: sometimes it's so good to him to see you in tears on how he's making you feel.

Extras: is a whore for you in his shirt, riding him until he can't take it anymore.

☆Dokyeom: (a huge softieee switch)

Oral fixation: he's in love. He's love making with you so expect him to be pussy drunk.

Creampie: once is never enough for him. He needs more.

Riding: you riding him in a cowgirl position is enough to drive him crazy. He's so loud and a literal moaning mess under you.

Praise kink: you both literally worship each other's body. He's literally so down bad for you.

Foreplay: it's a must sweetheart we shouldn't forget how much of a softie this man is. He's literally melting into those kisses.

Teasing: idk if I should count this as a kink but yeahh he'll tease the hell outta you once he gets the confidence to.

Extras: he has a thing for you in lingerie. Man's awestruck and so turn on just by the sight of you on lingerie.

☆Seungkwan: (oh he's a fucking power bottom you CANNOT convince me otherwise)

Teasing: he lives to rile you up the best way possible.

Mommy/noona kink: if you're older than him then expect him to moan "noona" while you're fucking him into oblivion. Or even if you aren't he will he will moan mommy.

Marking: he loves claiming what's his and what he can't share.

Pegging: if he's in the mood he'll let you know.

Dacryphilia: he will cry a bit outta pleasure because you're making him feel too good.

Oral fixation: oh he loves eating you out.

Edging: he might seem sweet and sassy but this man loves to see you struggling to reach your high. That goes around the other way as well by the way.

Degradation kink : it's like a once in a blue moon thing when he's "misbehaving".

Extras: he's a softie too. Take care of him. Oh and also he loves it when you ride him in a cowgirl position. He gets very very touchy and moans quite loudly.

☆Vernon ( a soft dom who can go hard later on if you want him too)

Praise kink: yeah Vernon's quiet so what? He's literally so drunk in love he loves praising you and your body.

Foreplay: he lives for those intimate touches and soft kisses before proceeding more.

Marking: oh he can get jealous so he loves claiming what's only his and no one can have it.

Spit kink: if you're into it. Expect him to get nastier after being soft with you.

Teasing: oh he'll tease the hell outta you.

Creampie: he needs more and he knows you do too. He loves it messy and sweaty.

Dacryphilia: oh if he's jealous he will make you cry on his cock.

Extras: he plays all those sensual songs you love when he fucking you into oblivion.

☆Dino ( a soft yet mean dom who loves it rough eventually)

Daddy kink: does this need an explanation? I hope not.

Edging: hmmmm the grin he has on his face while looking are your tired, sweaty flushed up face after not being able to reach an orgasm.

Praise kink: "such a good girl" "You're doing so well, give me one more? Yeah" Man worships your body literally.

Foreplay: we all know how romantic he is. And there will be a session of intimate touches and kisses because he knows you love it just as much as he does.

Spanking: this is like a one in a blue moon thing when he's jealous.

Creampie: he just can't get enough of you. He needs and craves more.

Squirting: man lives for pushing your limits. He fucking devours the view of your exhausted flushed up body after he's made you squirt.

Extras: he loves it when you ride him he loves it when you wanna take control.

©bittersweet-folder all rights reserved.

don't try to pull any weird stunt of stupidity by pirating my works 🤨✋🏻

A/n: have been mentally exhausted these days and college is tiring. So sorry for the late response anon! Love y'all. Thanks for any kinda support. Also the taglist is only kept for fics I'll write.

Updates about other fics will be posted later.

Thanks for the support.

[astralnymphh]

rouge cherries, lace panties 𖤐 | ellie williams

☠︎︎࿐-ˊˎ farm!ellie x fem!reader

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

AN: a bit more simpler, lazier and shorter fic, might take a break after this but i grant you with sumn from my favorite ellie era at least!! cw/tags: NSFW 18+ MDNI! proposal, picnic, somewhat proofread, sexual jokes, takes place before santa barbara, sucking on fingers(almost choking on them), fingering (receiving), almost-oral (receiving), dirty talk, doing the deed in nature. WC: 4.2k designated song: sugar- she wants revenge

synopsis; you and ellie have been living on this farm for at least a year now, tucked in the towering mountains of wyoming and just a quaint trek from jackson. just you and her. you, her, the sun, and the moon. what could today entail? what makes this midsummer's day so special?

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

it's another day on the farm, yet like no other. it's harvest season, and your crops have got you cut out of your day and preoccupied. plucking fruit and tugging vegetables from the lavish soil in your garden with a certain ellie onlooking from your dusty oak porch. she's observing you in your most natural nature, tending to your art, the garden, and supplying you with a bountiful reaping of food for the inbound month.

there lay a tract of terrain beyond your fences, this beautiful pasture gilded in a magnificent solar ray every afternoon, and ellie's got an itching to bring you there today. with your knees sewn in the dirt surrounding a planter bed, wicker basket beside you and snapping blueberries off their stems, it's got you in a pretty tranquil state that doesn't include the awareness of ellie watching. so when dual warm hands plant on your biceps, it jolts you by instinct.

"how's the harvest babe?" ellie's silhouette looms over you and the berry bush, eyeing the pile of blueberries cradled in the basket, "looks good, when will you be done though, d'you think?" a smirk adorns her lips.

"umm.." your fingers pinch a lone berry, "I haven't gotten to the vegetables yet.." you remind her and yourself, rolling the navy berry between your fingertips.

ellie crouches behind you, "do you haaave to harvest everything now?" she whines, wrapping her lithe arms around your shoulders akin to a sloth and rocking you along with her see-saw motion.

"yes els, if you want food." a quaint giggle erupts from your chest. 

"but we have food, babe. our pantry is full of it." ellie attempts to coax you, voice pitching at the brink of her sentence. her lips brush the hairs on your nape and leave damp marks of adoration.

"did you come out here just to distract me?" your mouth creeps into a sheepish smirk, extending your hand out to pluck the last cluster of berries.

"you can tell me to stop." her pecks don't falter, dotting the length of your placid shoulders, "should I stop?" the question phases through you like a tantalizing breeze.

a melody thrums from your hum, eyes drifting closed in the blissfulness that is her velvety lips, puckering against your jawline and tickling your skin slightly with her hair. 

"els! that tickles.." you shrug your shoulder against your ear, nudging ellie's face off.

"so.. stop?" she reiterates and streams her steady palms down upon your hips.

you plant two cupped hands over her legs that now settle on both sides of you, whirling slowly to face her and furrowing your brows, "you're a menace. what happened to your little art project you started this morning?" 

"well, I saw my wife working outside and just had to join." she draws out an emphasis.

"wife? wife? we aren't married."

"not like we can have a wedding, so I just declare it." her lips resume to your neck, chafing that earthy auburn hair against your cheek.

"you didn't even propose or anything." 

"'chn ch-nge th-t." ellie's speech muffles in your collar, tender grips hugging the crests of your hips.

you don't catch her inaudible words, "huh?" you question, grasping the woven handle of your basket and returning it to your line of sight beside ellie's splayed leg.

"nothin'." her raspy voice clarifies as her head peeks up, melting foreheads and poking nose tips together.

you connect constellations dotting her cinnamon freckles with your eyes, trickling down and charting her coral lips. a smile tints yours, whispering, "what'd you wanna do today?"

"hmm?" her visage turns bumbled, "I never mentioned any-"

"you always bother me when y'want to do something.." you interrupt her, earning a hung-open-jaw look from her as she withdraws from your space.

she heaves, yet a cheeky nasal-lined smile summons on her midface, "you.. know that clearing in the woods, back there?" she juts her head in a vague direction, thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

you glimpse at the distant fence ellie points her head to and nod in understanding.

her hand lands on her thigh, "why don't we have a picnic there?" she offers, prodding your elbow with her raised knee.

"you trynna woo me, els?" you tease, easing your hand on her swaying knee.

"baabbee.." she whines, pleading for an answer that sounds a lot like 'yes'.

her whining casts a reminisce to this morning, you clawing your way out of bed, sorry, out of her locked embrace as you tried to prepare for the day. her tousled auburn hair buried in your chest, fingers drawing shapes on your back, pressing her bare torso against your side and begging for you to stay in bed.

"baabbbee.." her soft wail echoed.

"ellie, I gotta get up." her ardent skin was caressing yours and legs intertwined in a knot.

"nuh-uh, no you're not." ellie snorted and further tightened her bear hug to your demise.

"baby, we needa get out of bed, it's harvest day." you coaxed with a cherished kiss to her crown, weaseled only an inch from her before you got lulled back in.

her lengthy limbs, damn those things, can trap you well and remain unmoving. she only wore her nude toned underwear to bed last night, and you a lace panty. not a moment of your memory is blurred, in fact, what took place last night was well etched in your brain. ellie reeks of sex and so do you, she has traces of jasper red scratches on her back to prove it.

"need you babe.." she reaches for your furled hand, sowing soft and needy kisses on your knuckles.

you sighed and just gave up, curled your body with her and combed solace rows into her jumbled mullet.

"so, what do you say?" her voice in reality reels you in, breaking your chain of rememberance.

you take a gander at her features momentarily before deciding, "yes- sure, picnic sounds good." without hesitation.

"good, cause I'm fuckin' famished." ellie's face slants towards yours, her devious fingers slithering beside her, snatching up a blueberry and popping it in her mouth.

you spot this in your peripherals, "ey! don't eat my berries!" you chuckled.

"your berries? there's only one- two berries of yours that I know of, I'm actually quite acquainted-"

you lightly smack the silly smirk off her lips, fraudly disgusted by her immaturity, "you're so inappropriate!"

"not like anyone's gonna hear.." she ovalizes her lips and gusts the linear bang from her cheek.

"you're weird." you roll your eyes prior to standing up with the scratchy basket handle tucked in your elbow.

ellie follows suit, her hand wrapping and clutching yours loosely, "c'mon, I'll help you make the food." her stature stands a few inches above you, wriggling her bottom lip to the side in a crooked peculiar smile that invites those signature dimples to play.

you shun your pupils to the back of your head, giving her the once-over before pacing through the backdoor with her all giddy in hand.

♡

the iridescent glade comes into view as you're strolling towards it, ellie adjacent to you equipped with a basket in hand and worn out bookbag on her back. you haven't ventured into the woods much after moving here, but with no signs of infected in months you simply deem it safe. she hasn't taken you out like this anyways, not for a while. the last time was her birthday, since it only occurs on special occasions, so why today?

ellie fashions a proud smile shrouded by you being slightly ahead of her, definitely holding hands but you're too thrilled to explore this parcel of forest to take notice. she wore joel's buckskin leather jacket over a plaid shirt, usual jeans with slits in them and sturdy brown boots.

"hurry up babe! I can see it already.." you exclaim with a bounce to your step, swinging her arm around to usher her feet swifter.

a laugh enchants her, "i'm right behind you.. the spots' not goin' anywhere." she assures you calmly trailing a chuckle, but inside, her heart is blooming with beats and sending shrills of tension through her nerves. her mind was up to something.

"it's right there!" you steam off a squeal of elation just seeing the open pasture. the grass is of a radiant jade shade, smothered in a divine ray of sun casting down on it, it looks like it came straight from elysian fields itself. you tear from ellie's hold and dash towards the glade with eagerness.

"babe!" ellie shouts but not without a following chuckle, adoring the pure felicity you expressed brought by this mere sight of nature. she trots after you with a bit of struggle from all the baggage she carried.

you halt just as you reach the center of the glade, staring at the trees surrounding and the canopy provided by their outstretching branches creating crown shyness, all with a bright beam spread across your lips.

ellie catches up with you and sets the basket on the ground, observing the space in detail, "y'want it right here?" she peels the bookbag from her shoulders and tosses it to the grass.

"mhm.." you pump your head in agreement and swivel away from her, admiring the spires of bark and fauna that look like they came from a painting.

she unzips the bag in one swoosh, yanking out a slightly frayed, faded and old beige cotton blanket with little embroidered florals along the hem. ellie dusts it off and thrashes out all the crinkles, laying it flat against the earth and smoothing out all the ripples.

you tilt your head over to witness her squatting down, pulling various objects from the bag and hesitating before she places them down. she appeared to be deep in thought, decorating the empty canvas of a blanket like it was important to her.

ellie's forehead tauts, an arrangement of fine china at her feet, "does this plate look better here.. or here?" her voice chromatically turns gravelly.

"it looks good anywhere.."

"yeah- but I want it to look perfect for you." 

"..." you stare with an amused grin.

"hmm, what's so funny?" she coos and hones her focus on you while carefully tossing the plate to one corner of the blanket.

"just you.. you're goofy." you comment with a dim-witted smile.

her gaze narrows and bares her teeth in a matching dumb smirk, tutting her head, "you wanna see goofy?" she challenges you and crawls closer.

"no, I wanna see a set-up picnic. don't get distracted." you tease and parry her with a nudge from your foot resting on her collarbone.

"tch, okay- okay." she leans back on her heel, hastily creating the idyllic picnic with your help. 

soon, you're cuddling between some small pillows, bowl of dark rosewood cherries to your right and a knitted blanket draped over your bodies. 

ellie lies beneath you, her legs cradling yours and advancing her fingers to the bowl of delectable cherries. she picks one up and hovers it above your lips, beckoning you to bite it. 

"what d'you mean we can't get more sheep?" she wheezes a whimsical laugh, chest jittering underneath your back.

"we already have a dozen, babe." you sink your teeth into the cherry and yank it from the stem, juices oozing over the hill of your chin.

"i have more names for them in mind!"

"you can't even get the names of our current sheep right." 

she flicks the leftover stem into the patch of grass, "uh- yes I can!" she scoffs and jossles her woody auburn locks up a bit.

"sure babe." you goggle.

you allow the conversation to diminish in peaceful serenity, before raising the interrogation, "why'd you bring me here today?" you shuffle atop her, jabbing her palm to keep feeding you. you're spoiled.

ellie snickers and leverages her hand towards the bowl once again, dangling a cherry from between her fingertips. her throat gritts harshly as she clears it, "i.. have something to show you.." her tone lingers on the vowels.

"oh?" a hint of subtle enthusiasm curls in your voice, "got me a present?"

"you'll see, just- get up." she heaves you upwards and hops onto her feet alongside you.

you clasp hands behind your back, a bit of a bumbled facade shadowing your expression when she just stands still like a statue. "umm.. is it not a present?"

"turn around." her lips curve into a mischievous glint across those pretty rosy lips.

"what the fuck are you gonna pull-"

"turn around!" ellie's grin broadens as she gestures to you to spin 'round on your heel, eliciting a dorky giggle from you.

you cave in and twirl on the tip of your shoe, mindlessly gazing heavenward to the scattered wisping clouds.

"you remember the day we started dating?" her voice flows past you, seeming to erupt from a lower stance like she was crouched.

"uh, vaguely." 

this bestows a throaty chuckle from ellie, "and you remember what I gave you when I.. confessed?" 

"yeah, you gave me bent daisies that you tore from the poor ground." you bash her, one brow inclining up your head.

"i'm not a botanist." she nicks the rear of your ankle, shambling against the fabric-veiled grass.

a tingle sprints up your leg at this contact, making you shy away from it slightly. a specter of stillness corrodes the air, so you perk, "can I turn now?"

"yes." ellie's speech trembles yet is laced with certainty, planting a seed of curiosity in your noggin.

you teeter over slowly like a creaking wheel, pupils hastening down to materialize ellie in your mind, propped by a knee, the other raised, pinching a tiny flock of daisies with their honey pistils staring back at you. her face bruising of an apple hue to her skin behind those sun specks, her verdant rings peering from those lashes and a brazen half-moon to her strawberry lips. they part as the realization begins to plague you,

"will you be my wife?"

your body goes hollow and nerves wrack up in shock, an elusive beam of emotions vibrate in your heart and collide your shaken knees to the blanket. a hand quivers against your mouth, the words stolen from you. the love just boils over.

"els- i.. i.." the boulder in your throat clogs, managing to swallow it up and brim you with warm tears, "yes.. yes!"

she practically springs up and coalesces with you, arms wrapped around you and elevating you off the ground with blazing elation. you feel her wide smile plastered against your lips as they make merry, smoothing out to drag her lips over yours in a fervid kiss.

she parts, "no ring but.. we don't need that, right?" 

"mhm, don't need it.." you sever your weight from your feet to her, sticking close, "I love you.. so much." 

"love' you too baby.." she hankers down and sits criss-cross in front of you, easing you into her splayed lap. "now i can call you my wife."

"should we have our own little wedding? just us, like, as if it's some ritual or.. stating our vows or.. handfasting and declaring our love before empty seats.." you ramble nonsensically, assuming it just whooshes right over ellie's head.

"we have our picnic here," she opens her arms to signify the space around you, "we can tie that all up here, including the honeymoon!"

"hmm, 'weird that you mention the honeymoon. I think you said that so it happens now."

"no! I'm just.. throwing stuff to see what sticks.." she diffuses a dumb visage, knitting her brows together.

"i think you wanna get a fuck on in the forest." you leer in your suspicions and creep over her body till' she meets back to ground.

"and if you guess right? would you?" her demeanor shifts to boot a seductive one.

ellie still had some drive in her, even to last night's depictions. the way her lean vein lined arms are still pumping with detectable lust, yearning for your body in ways that should be bound to the bedroom only, but she doesn't give a fuck. she needs to fuck. a fucking given to her. 

"fuck yes I will." you grind your pelvis longingly on her thigh, kneading your confined bud in one long swipe, a good start-up.

not an inhale later and ellie already has her jacket reeled off by the sleeves, a series of stripping set in motion when her shirt's buttons get popped one by one.

you follow through with one sweep of your top over your crown, tethering the bare skin surrounding your bra to the midsummer breeze, giving you a hare of raised bumps that are quickly cured by ellie's ardent skin adjoining yours. 

her lips suture themselves to your plender gap, lapping at the groove of your collarbone delicately while her keen hands roam your legs, squeezing the soft plush padding of your inner and outer thigh with her fingers.

"I'm gonna make you feel.. s'fuckin' good.." she whispers in hushed mists of heat, sanguineous nibbles forging up your chin and gluing your lips together in a lustful frenzy.

"I need you ellie.. now.." you intone against her captivating lips and take hold of her wrist, guiding it to cusp your bra-clad breast.

"so bold of you.." she rewards a praise, tucking her nimble fingers behind the clasp of your bra and pinching it free. her hands tug the straps from your arms and whisk them away to some unknown plot of grass. 

the course of wind grazes past your nipples, making you shiver. you watch her pupils dilate at the sight of your two perky buds reacting to the breeze.

"mm- fuck.. love these." ellie's mouth latches to one of your breasts, suckling the nipple lavishly with a damp suction and playing the other one like a flip-switch lightly with her thumb.

the barely-there feeling of her thumb summons a flurry of carnal want in your core, preluding to your now lubricious panties sopping for physical attention. this seeps through and forms a miniscule spotting on your inseam.

the hand that still had a gripe on your thigh fleets to your crotch, distinguishing this faint blot of wetness, welcoming a proud smirk to dent her midface, "fuckin' wet already.." her voice rasps hauntingly, "gonna get my fingers all pruney.." 

you chafe in desire against her stationary digits, making her snatch them away and repel your pelvis with a push.

"nuh-uh, pants off first."

her face displaces from your hanging breasts, creasing the blanket back up and crunching the grass to gaze back at you. she peruses your zipper and deftly unfastens it to pull your pants down with a might. once they're off, her hands zip into the underside of your knees, flipping you over and mountaineering over you with an undeniable hunger in her manner.

"ellie!" an entranced giggle beams from your throttle, low-key turned on by the daring action.

"god, really soaked these huh?" her voice flows in a higher pitch, referring to your ocean-drowned underwear.

"yeah.. you did that.." 

"mhmmm~” she vocalizes behind shut lips, “don't think I even need to remove 'em to taste you.." 

you witness her descending into the depths between your legs, biting down her cushiony lips and nearly salivating at the front-row seat view to your sobbing cunt. her own arousal starts to stain her own panties and even little riffs of repressed whimpers vibrate from her lips. she graces you with one pour-over before smashing her mouth against your clothed slit, puffing a humid cloud over your entrance and licking up the seeped puddle of slick.

you jerk in sudden sensation, "babe! oh~ fuck!"

"yup, tastes so fucking good." she's like a beast to your crotch, slathering the soiled fabric with even more wetness likes she's fucking starving. her forehead is taut and eyebrows flit in concentration, you can already hear the eulogy ringing for your soon destroyed pussy.

your fingers nest in her hair, massaging and stamping into her scalp at the pure feeling of her tongue, you need her in indescribable ways, "need your fingers ellie.. need u're.. need.." you chant in fleeing breaths.

she grumbles in swelling arousal and unlatches from your puffy slit, brazen giggle chilling her throat at the sight of your avidness.

she huffs, "kay, gonna take these off.." ellie anticipates the moment she gets to stuff your pretty pussy to the brim, drowsy eyes never drifting from the lace concave between the valley of your lips. she slews those panties off instantly and brings them down to your ankles, making sure they'd never be found among the meadow around you.

you spread your legs for her sights to soak in, burgeoning a redness to her face like time and time again, a satisfied grin tugging the corners of her lips.

she sticks two ready fingers in her mouth, moistened them up, "gonna make you see stars, hmm babygirl?" 

you gnaw your lips inwards at her affirmation, eyeing the route her hand takes from mouth to lower regions, forking your slit open and running them clit to hole, hole to clit, repetitively. this coats her digits in a glistening film of your arousal, visibly pleasing her.

"mm- that fucking sound.." the parting of your drenched folds entices her ears like a melody, "hear that baby?" ellie's voice chimes in a honeyed whisper.

"yes.. yes.." your essence shudders in her thrall, vulnerability afflicted by your neediness.

ellie beholds your figure in one final glance before aiming on your center and jamming duo digits in your aching pussy that vacuums her up with the help of your dripping nectar overflowing at the base of her knuckles. you wallow in the gratifying gauge she has brought you to, a fluxing whine tinting your tongue.

"good girl.. taking my fingers in so nicely.."

you contract around her, letting her know how much those words truly thrill you and she rebounds by thrusting her fingers in and out of you at a sluggish pace.

your jaw quivers open in the whirling ecstasy that begins to dribble into your void brain strictly honed on the pumping motion of her willowy fingers.

"hmm.." a visualization prompt in her noggin convinces a plan to unravel by her hand snailing to your mouth, luring it ajar, "open babe." 

you obey with moving lips, flattening the plateau of your tongue beneath her fingers.

"like this don't you? mm- fuck." ellie grunts seeing you engulf her paired index and middle in your warm mouth without a gloom of delay splitting your will. her other fingers meddle with the crux of your delight, sloshing with every insert of her lengthy fingers piping you.

"oh my heaven on eart- auck.." a spastic cough tickles your throat around her digits.

"just suck baby.. just suck." 

you resolve your words and pucker your lips down, swirling your tongue around her still fingers. muffled vibrations of moans string out around them, rattling your teeth.

each flick of her skilled wrist occurs in short breaks, meanwhile pumps hasten inside of you, thumb unfurling to patten down your clit in rigid circles. she coos, "gonna cum on my fingers?" in reply to your writhing contentment.

"fast- fhster.." you shear your chords forcing a plead on fingers narrowly itching the back of your gullet.

"awhh, u're such a mess." her hand forceps your jaw, locking her fingers wedged between your front teeth.

"guh- mmmm!" your body shrivels in unfathomable bliss and an inbound phantom orgasm overwhelming your senses.

ellie starts snapping her hand at an aggressive velocity that slaps against your swollen folds with wet smacks striding the open air, scrunching her nose up at the sheer speed she’s going.

"cum baby- cum.." 

"I- ahh.."

"soak my fuckin' fingers, soak them in that pretty fucking pussy." she encourages in husky mewls, finger pads jostling your g-spot in a rhythm that drugs your mind with numbness, repeating, "cum for ellie.. cum for me.." 

you swear your walls convulse prior to tightening up like a wringed towel and releasing a stinging orgasm upon you, growling on her fingers still present on your tongue.

"ghnnnn.. fck!" you curl up in pleasure and screw your eyes shut. this orgasm hits you like a bullet train and it shows in practice, clawing and digging your mark on ellie's available wrist with clamoring wails from the sanctum of your chest.

"yeah? so fucking hot.." she notes to herself in a low navelly tone, slipping her sticky fingers out trickling in your juices.

you chase your breath stranded in another galaxy, "can't feel my.. legs.. fuck, ellie, where'd you come from?" you quip in emphasis, face still beating red like a volcano.

"from boston, precisely." she sneaks in a dorky response.

"shut up.." you knock on her head with your foot, gasping when she grabs it and plants it on her shoulder.

she bucks her hips into your ass, squeezing her torso between the basin of your legs, levitating overhead. there's a solace moment of a love-staring-contest casting those green circlets infused with devotion and appreciation. staring back up into those eyes assures you, she's home, she's heaven and she's never leaving you. although, ellie, like the freak she is, breaks the innocent moment, "think this'll continue in the bedroom?." she peppers a solemn kiss to your forehead hazed in underlying intention.

"probably, knowing you."

"knowing me what?"

"you know." 

"I don't."

"ellie!"

"we'll find out, hmm?" ☆

hope u enjoyed!! ☆ MASTERLIST!!!!

[willownwisp]

love like a love song

a love sung, is a love that is lived.

author's note: hi, i'm opening my requests now so feel free to send asks for me! just peek at my nuh-uh list in my pinned for the things i'm okay with and fandoms that i write. also i still suck at titles, and pardon if my format isn't set yet, and my writing style changes. i'm an indecisive air sign also pls befriend me </3 it's so lonely in tumbles w/o friends the fic isn't dialogue heavy as i want to focus on feelings. <3 cw: nsfw mdni pls, SOFT AND FLUFFY, reader is a hopeless romantic and leon is hopelessly in love, fem!reader x di!leon kennedy, p in v.

What once was a sneaky mission to ease your midnight munchies turns into embarrassment when Leon, ever the alert and seasoned agent, catches you leaving his side, and unfortunately thwarting your plans as he follows the sound of your soft footsteps towards the kitchen. Finding you and wrapping his arms around your waist, the height difference making you nuzzle up into his chest and you smile up at him. Sleepy blue eyes, looking at you like you were his life line, and he's never shy to admit that you are. So you look at him like he's the only man in the world, you hope your memory etches every detail of his face because you are so disgustingly in love with each other, sometimes words fall short, and you want to love him with all that your body can show. You never learned how to dance, skipping prom might have been the best idea you've ever struck in your high school mind occupied with thoughts of wanting to be different, coupled with your averseness to boys. Leon doesn't dance, never learned to, the only dance he knows is a tango with death most of his life. Perhaps dancing in the palms of top brass? You pick. Yet the two of you both find yourselves in the kitchen at midnight, you in one of his old shirts, faded with time, Leon in his sweats swaying with you to the beat of nothing but the thrumming in his chest as he cradles you close to him.

It's laughably corny how the moonlight illuminates your eyes, the argentine glow of that lone moon like a spotlight as it peeks through the opened kitchen window. No words are spoken when he sways your body along with his as you are caged in his arms, you face him, and he stops in his tracks. If you were a cartoon character, you'd have hearts for eyes by now. Tired blue eyes looking back at yours, and you swoon, because you know you're his life line, and you're proud to be his. Leon captures your lips in a sweet kiss, you sigh in his mouth before your hands reach up to cup his cheeks, the feeling of his stubble on your skin is one of your favorite sensations, second only to him kissing you. Leon kisses you like tomorrow doesn't exist for him, he savors the taste of your lips that murmur sweet nothings when you think he's asleep, yet only pretending to, just to hear you. You're the only tender thing in his life, so he worships the softness of your skin, the gentle youth you had in you, because that will never be him. Your soft sighs, pleasant moans, are adorable to him, especially when you try to reach him, standing on the tips of your toes because you're cute like that. "Leon? Lovey?" "Hm?" "I love you so much my heart almost always wants to explode." You confess to him, and he swears he could cry, but not now. Leon scoops you up in his arms and lays you down the kitchen table unceremoniously. He covers your body with his and he kisses you all over, while you're wide-eyed and sighing whenever his lips land on your skin, leaving a trail of heat. Calloused hands slowly pulling up his old shirt to expose your bare breasts as he rains kisses down on you. Worship and devotion, Leon kisses the valley between your breasts, thumbs massaging your nipples while his kisses trail south. His fingers hooked on your panties before he gently takes it off of you. His lips follow south, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs down to your calves. He grins at the glistening wetness on your pussy before he presses a chaste kiss on your clit, another one, and another one before lapping at your wetness like you're a goddess feeding him ambrosia. Because Leon is a starved man, but with your appearance in his life, his hankering for love, affection, company is quenched and more. So he loves you with his mouth until you cum on his tongue. Your fluids coating his stubble but he doesn't care. When his cock slips inside you, he doesn't move, not yet. He puts his weight on you, lacing his fingers with yours because he doesn't just have sex with you. He makes love, because you are the embodiment of love for him. You savor his fullness, and he delights in the way you clench around him. Sometimes he wonders if there is another way to be even closer to you, to be one with your very soul. His thrusts are slow, he doesn't focus on roughness. That was for when he's stressed, or when he has gotten home after an op and wants to feel you, to anchor himself in your warmth. You lazily wrap your legs around his waist and sigh, your hands bringing him down as you cup his cheeks to let his forehead rest on yours. Deep blue eyes that hold the deepest depths of his love for you, and you stare into that ocean and dive with him. When you cum, you cum together. Basking in that love with the beating of both your hearts and the syncing of both your breaths. After a moment of silence, Leon smiles and whispers: "I love you so much that my heart wants to explode."

[thepixelelf]

ah! love

genres: married life au, family au, fluff, [best friends to lovers?] relationship: husbands 95 line x reader (feat. baby doremi line) words: 2.0k warnings and notes: coarse language. suggestive. the most self indulgent thing I've ever written; tropey, cringey, lovey dovey, I literally fought this fic while writing it and lost, no one look at me. I wanna write more of this au but will I? only god knows

ah! love masterlist

Seungcheol conducts a very serious interrogation.

"Okay," Seungcheol says with a tinge of authority once you've all sat down in the living room.

The boys are asleep in bed — finally, (you had to read Goodnight Moon twice just for Chan to let go of your hand, and had to give Seungkwan six forehead kisses goodnight, which of course you had to give Vernon and Chan too) — and Jeonghan has already tugged you to his side of the couch, playing with your fingers while he pretends to listen to Seungcheol's Dad Mode engaging. Joshua scoots along the cushions to press himself against your other side, and he crosses his arms as if none of you know he did that on purpose for your attention.

Seungcheol, on an armchair across from you, furrows his brow ever so slightly and holds all of you down with a firm stare.

"Who did it?"

You tilt your head. "Did what?"

Joshua steals your other hand.

"Who's swearing in front of the boys?" Seungcheol finally reveals, sending a pointed look at the husband on your left. "Jeonghan?"

"Me?" An exaggerated gasp leaves Jeonghan's lips as he puts a hand over his chest, then silently takes the opportunity to pull you onto his lap (and subsequently further from Joshua). He wraps his arms around your middle and rests his chin on your shoulder to send a pout towards Seungcheol. "I don't swear around the babies."

You reach out to take back Joshua's sad, lonely, abandoned, totally casual and not bothered at all hand, and he rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

"You know how hard Jeonghan works to use his good words when he's with the kids, Cheol," you defend. "He used to swear like a sailor, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." Seungcheol nods, then directs his gaze towards the husband on your right. "Anything to say?"

Joshua frowns, thinking. "Why do you think one of us is swearing around the boys?"

"Vernon's block tower toppled this morning, and you know what he said?"

You smile. "I can make an educated guess."

"He said, 'Oh fuck,' like it was nothing!" Seungcheol bursts out. "He was like, 'Oh fuck. Shit,' and I was literally just standing there like— like—!"

Unable to help yourself, you giggle at the image of your middle child swearing in that monotone, relaxed, and yet remarkably toddler-esque voice of his.

Jeonghan lifts his chin off your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek. "Sounds like something you would say."

"Who, me?!" you ask through more giggles. "I don't swear."

Joshua scoffs. He brings your hand up to his lips and speaks upon your skin. "You absolutely do. Back then I thought curses made up half of your vocabulary."

Your mouth drops open. "Wait, actually?"

"Being a parent has made you soft," Jeonghan adds, squeezing a hand at your side to make you squirm. "You seriously don't remember your prolific ways?"

"...Was it bad?"

Humming against your neck, Jeonghan presses one, two, three more kisses there. "I thought it was cute."

Joshua resituates himself so he's facing you and grazes his fingers up and down your arm. "So did I."

"Yah," Seungcheol says. Forgotten. Ignored. Annoyed. He leans back in the armchair, and his leg bounces in irritation. "I'm trying to have an adult conversation over here."

Jeonghan chuckles in your ear. Then kisses right behind it. "Okay," he tells Seungcheol, lifting one hand to lazily wave him off. "You stay over there then."

A hand touches your chin and tilts your head. "Look at me," Joshua whispers.

Seungcheol huffs, crossing his arms and sinking further into the chair. "I thought it was cute too..."

⭒-⭒-⭒

"Fucking... motherfucker cunt-faced shit-eating bitch of a... fuck!"

After hearing your ex's automated "I can't get to the phone right now" voicemail message for the fifth time in a row, you angrily threw your phone down. (Onto your soft bed, of course. You weren't made of money.)

"God damn it," you muttered, utterly frustrated.

The boys, sitting on your bed while you paced around your room, all shared a look with each other before facing you.

"Why are you trying to call this douche again?" Seungcheol asked, his stance on the asshole you were semi-dating clear.

"Yeah, didn't he cheat on you?" Joshua added.

Jeonghan nodded with a frown. "Shouldn't he be the one calling you? Begging for forgiveness like the loser he is?"

Rubbing your hands over your face, you let out a long, tired sigh. "I honestly don't care about an apology or begging for forgiveness or whatever from him. It was probably going to end sooner or later anyway."

The boys looked at each other again. They knew they didn't like the guy you were seeing, but since they also knew why they didn't like him, they never said anything. The fact that you seemed to think it was going to end even before the dickhead cheated? That, they didn't know.

Even though there was barely enough room, you flopped onto your bed face first, then shifted so you were on your back with a groan. "I just wanna call him, tell him I'm coming over, grab my things, and cut him out of my life for good."

"Is your stuff even worth it at this point?" Seungcheol poked a finger into your forehead, making you scrunch your face and swat his hand away. "I mean, it's just like, clothes and a toothbrush, right?"

Suddenly, you seemed much more shy than angry. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands and picked at a loose thread. "I like my stuff..."

"Nuh uh." Jeonghan leaned over you, his head upside down with your ceiling as a background. "You don't get worked up like this over clothes and a toothbrush. What'd you leave there?"

You shrank into yourself. "Nothing..."

"Suspicious..." Jeonghan said, then looked at Joshua.

Who went, "Very suspicious..."

"Seungcheol," Jeonghan ordered.

Before you knew it, your unfairly built-like-a-brick-shithouse friend had both your arms pinned to the bed, and Joshua had thrown his entire body over your legs like a six year old attempting to wrestle.

Jeonghan, with his free reign, yanked your sweater sleeve up your arm to reveal your empty wrist. "Aha! I knew you weren't wearing your bracelet!"

Joshua gasped, affronted, looking absolutely ridiculous draped over your legs. "You left your friendship bracelet at his dingy ass apartment???"

Ashamed and a little bit fight or flight, you struggled against your friends. "Okay, first of all! You wouldn't know if his apartment is dingy!" (It was.) "And second of all: I didn't leave it there! I just so happened to take it off the night before I figured out he was a cheating piece of shit, so excuse me for being out of sorts when I stormed off in my PJs with tears in my eyes!"

Your words set off an awkward silence, and you groaned, shutting your eyes so you didn't have to see the pitying looks on your friends' faces.

But they knew you, and they knew apologizing for someone they weren't wouldn't make you feel better.

Instead, Seungcheol asked, "Why'd you take the bracelet off?"

You peeked an eye open, frowning in retaliation — they were still holding you down. "I'll give you one guess."

Seungcheol immediately let go of your arms and put his hands in the air like he was at gunpoint. Jeonghan just chuckled, shaking his head.

Joshua, dramatic as fuck, rolled over so his back was practically crushing your stomach. "Ewwwwwwwww," he whined. "I do not want to hear about how this guy fucks."

Your hands freed, you shoved him off, but he just went boneless and slipped to your side. "When did you get it in your head that I'd tell you how he fucks?" You crossed your arms and sat up. "It just... felt weird wearing our friendship bracelet while I... you know."

Joshua grimaced. "I'll make you a new one."

"No!" you protested, causing them to all give you a look you didn't bother to interpret. "It won't be the same. You made the original four at the same time. Together." Unable to meet their eyes, you looked down. "It's important to me..."

Another silence greeted you, and you scrambled to switch up the mood.

"If only that fucker would answer his bitchass phone."

Jeonghan and Joshua blinked at you, but Seungcheol just chuckled. You looked up at him as he stood from the bed, walking over to where he'd draped his jacket over your chair.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

"We're going to his dingy ass apartment," Seungcheol explained casually, tossing you your coat as well. "He's the one choosing to not answer his phone. He shouldn't be surprised when we show up."

The other two stood up, and Joshua dragged you by the hand to join them.

Seungcheol twirled his car keys around his pointer finger. "Let's go get that bracelet back."

You beamed.

"Fuck yeah!"

⭒-⭒-⭒

Seungcheol, after only so many seconds of enduring seeing you like that on Jeonghan's lap and with Joshua's stupid lips on yours, of course, relents. "Don't leave me out," he mutters through the poutiest pout he can manage. He gets up, strides two steps across the living room, and looms above you, though you don't see him with your eyes that have drifted shut.

The remedy for that, of course, is to grab your chin and kiss you like it's the first time all over again.

You giggle into the kiss, and he smiles too, both of his hands floating up to cup your cheeks.

Thud.

Your lips pause, and your brows furrow at the sound. Seungcheol hardly notices, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, but—

Thud thud thudthudthudthud.

You open your eyes to see Vernon lying supine, starfished at the bottom of the stairs he just tumbled down as he silently regards the ceiling, and you push Seungcheol off like he doesn't weigh anything.

"Oh my god, Vernon!"

Jeonghan's groin becomes the next victim of your haste, him groaning in pain when you launch yourself off the couch to run over to Vernon. You fall to your knees beside him, looking at his face with wide eyes.

He simply blinks up at you, face void of emotion.

Until you ask, frantically, "Are you okay?"

Vernon blinks again, and he suddenly realizes, oh, this is when a normal human five year old would cry. So his face scrunches up, and tears well in his eyes, and he looks at you with the most hold me right now or the world is gonna end expression on his face that you can do nothing but sweep him up into your arms and hug him to your chest.

"It's okay baby, it's okay."

Jeonghan's voice makes you look up. "What are you guys doing out of bed?"

At the top of the stairs, Seungkwan has one hand tightly gripped on the handrail — he's seen the consequences of not holding it now — and the other around Chan's tiny fist, which is really not that much smaller than his. Your youngest shifts on his feet, mumbling, "G'night kiss..."

Seungkwan, ever the all-knowing older brother, clarifies for him. "We didn't give the moon a good night kiss."

Your mouth drops open, and you can't stop the slight laugh that comes out. Vernon sniffles and buries his face in your shoulder, his hands scrunching up the material of your shirt.

"No good night kiss to the moon?" Joshua repeats. He begins up the stairs and scoops up a sleepy Chan into his arms, resting him on his hip. "That won't do, will it?"

Seungcheol's already hoisted Seungkwan up when he says, "Let's go kiss the moon goodnight and then go back to bed, alright?'

Seungkwan leans his head on Seungcheol's shoulder and nods slowly.

While you bring up Vernon (who you're pretty sure is already asleep in your arms and drooling on your clothes), Jeonghan keeps his hand on your back, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing back and forth.

The boys have their own rooms, but for now, they all prefer sleeping together in Seungkwan's. The room in which Seungcheol, as soon as he walks in without turning on the lights because it's late, knocks over an intricately built Lego city.

"Oh, fuck," he lets slip as he struggles to stay upright, then gasps when he realizes what he said and goes, "Shit."

Jeonghan snorts. Joshua muffles a laugh in Chan's hair.

You smile at Seungcheol with all the love in the world.

"Guess that answers that."

[sissylittlefeather]

Most of All

A/N: I saw this post by @lookingforrainbows and was inspired. I just had to write a fic. Hopefully this lives up to expectations!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and shameless purple prose

Word count: ~1.7k

You feel the callouses on his fingertips from playing the guitar as he runs his hands over the soft curves of your naked body. He drags his thumb over your hardened nipple and you shiver with pleasure. When he leans forward and pulls it gently into his mouth, the warmth sends goosebumps across your skin. He swirls his tongue around it and then spreads his hand across your lower back. It's big enough to cover all of you as he pulls you in close to him. Then, he runs it down your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his torso. You run your hands through his fluffy brown hair and kiss his forehead as he moves to your other nipple and sucks on it lightly. His hand runs from your thigh up your side and back down again. He can't get enough of the way you feel, the softness of your skin and the way you seem to melt into his fingertips. You whimper quietly as he nibbles on you affectionately. The little sounds you make when he worships you drive him crazy. He almost loses control and rolls you over to fuck you right then, but he wants to take his time with you tonight.

It's been two years since he's seen you, having just gotten off the train home from serving in the army. Your body is the altar he's missed the whole time he's been away, his distance from the divine making everything feel dull and lifeless.

But here he is now with you, his angel, the one who brings him back to life. He isn't in any hurry to reach the end of this. As far as he's concerned, it could go on until the end of time and he'd never tire, never be bored of the way you make him feel.

He does roll you onto your back, though and hover over your stomach, pressing his lips to your soft belly over and over again. Your scent is tantalizing as he gets closer and closer to the place where he's dying to taste you. Two years since he's felt you with his tongue. Two years since he's had you on his lips. Two years since he's reveled in the undeniable pleasure of feeling you come undone completely at his doing.

He kisses lower, down to your hip bone, dragging his tongue to the crease between your thigh and the rest of you. Opening you with two fingers, he licks up each side of your swollen bud, eliciting a loud moan from you. He moves down a little to your slit, dragging his tongue up the line and then pushing the tip of it into you. Your hand goes the top of his hair and you groan.

"Ya taste so damn good, honey." He mumbles into your wetness. The number of times he dreamed about this exact thing while he was stuck overseas would probably shock you. He loves nothing more than to send you over the moon with just his mouth.

His tongue finds its way to your clit and he licks over you in a slow circle. You arch your back as he begins to move on you a little more aggressively, the pleasure running through you like wildfire. You've missed this more than you even knew, aching for him to bring you to the place that only he can.

You'd be lying if you said your fingers hadn't made their way to your center with thoughts of him running in your mind several times over the last two years. But it always left you unsatisfied, whispering his name like a prayer, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

But now, here he is, between your legs giving you everything he has with his mouth pressed to your pussy, eyes closed in absolute rapture. You swallow a sob and focus on the intense feeling of ecstasy that is fast approaching as his tongue moves over and around you in measured movements. You moan and whimper and close your eyes in ecstasy as you dance on the edge of your orgasm. He grunts into you and ruts his hips forward against the bed. Your sounds pushing him even closer to release himself.

"Come for me, honey. I want to feel you." He slips a finger into you, tickling the spot inside of you, eager for you to pulse around him.

"Oh! Oh, Elvis! Oh!" You pant and whine as your orgasm slams into your hips, crashing and exploding and breaking like fireworks in the sky, spreading across your body wildly. He licks you enthusiastically, tasting your arousal and reveling in the way you throb on his finger.

"God, baby, I missed this." He crawls back up your body quickly, pressing himself against you. "I need to make love to you."

"Yes, please, Elvis." You nod and open your legs to give him better access. He smiles down at you, beaming with pride that you're his. His hand comes up to cup your cheek.

"My angel. I don't know how I survived without you." He rubs his thumb over your cheek, his eyes sparkling with affection. His face changes to a look of sincerity. "Are you ready for me, honey?"

You nod up at him and put your hands on his hips to guide him into position. He pushes his forehead against yours and kisses you deeply. How he has longed to be inside you over the past two years. Too many nights he spent with nothing but his own hand wishing it was you. Now that the moment is here, he trembles with anticipation. His soul cries out to connect with you in the most intimate way possible.

"God, I need you baby. I need all of you." He whispers as he starts to slowly push into you, inch by tantalizing inch. You gasp at the sensation of being filled and he stops to give you time to adjust. "Is that- are you okay?"

"God, yes baby. Give me more." You whisper breathily. He smiles again and goes back to sliding into you. Once he's filling you fully he leans his head on your shoulder and groans.

"You feel so good around me, honey." He pulls back and rolls his hips forward again and you moan softly. "God, baby, you keep makin' those little noises and I'm gonna lose it."

"I want you to lose it. Lose control for me. I don't want you to be Elvis Presley. I want you to be my love." He groans and pumps into you a little faster.

"I am your love, angel. And I've never loved you more than I do right now in this moment." He kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours in a frenzy of passion. His hips move against you over and over, stuffing you as your breasts bounce with his rhythm.

"Oh God, don't stop. Don't ever stop." He holds your hip with his hand and rolls against you, pushing himself deeper and deeper inside you.

"I won't, baby. I never will. Ever. You're mine until the end of time." His eyes roll back as he pounds you, so close to reaching physical nirvana. "Baby, I'm so close!"

He grunts and continues to slam into you more and more erratically, getting closer and closer to his release. You feel his body tense above you and kiss his neck, whispering in his ear.

"I'm yours. Let go, my love. Show me that you're mine."

"Oh, God, baby yes!" He thrusts into you one last time shuddering and shaking and emptying himself inside you. His lips press against yours, then your cheek, your neck, and your collarbone. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

He pulls out of you gently and you sigh. You've never been happier than you are right now, expecting him to hold you close. But instead he does something that surprises you. He slides out of the bed and walks over to his bag. You watch him walk away from you, his beautiful ass moving with his hips. He bends over and pulls out a small box, making his way back over to you in the bed. You sit up, still too shaky to try to stand, and he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you, his hands running up your thighs.

"My angel. Love of my life. You're all I've ever needed to make my soul feel complete. Please marry me. Let me worship you with all that I am for the rest of our lives." He opens the box to reveal a sparkling diamond ring. Your eyes glitter with tears. Two years apart and you love him just as much, if not more, than you ever have before. He is everything to you.

"Yes, my love. I never want to be away from you again. I would love nothing more than to marry you." He tackles you backwards on the bed, laughing with unmitigated joy. You giggle as he kisses your face over and over again, his hands slipping over your skin, squeezing you gently. He rolls onto his back and pulls you against his chest, grabbing your hand, sliding the ring onto you, and kissing each finger. You feel his chest rumble as he begins to hum. Your heart soars when he starts to sing.

I love you because you understand, dear

Every single thing I try to do

You're always there to lend a helping hand, dear

I love you most of all because you're you

No matter what the world may say about me

I know your love will always see me through

I love you for the way you never doubt me

But most of all I love you 'cause you're you

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley

[gnocchisworld]

Beautiful Stranger

Joost Klein x singer!reader

Summary: reader is playing at a festival and her set is right after Joost's, they meet in the backstage tent after his stage and hang out after reader does hers! Rumors circulate after fans spotted the pair and they reconnect after missed opportunities when they were together :PP

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: no use of y/n, YEARNING! no physical description of reader but uses of she/her and feminine descriptors!

A/N: omgomg this is my first fic ever on here so anyways I am a firm believer of the meeting people twice theory like yes second chances yes reconnection yes!

Entering the backstage tent of the festival, you were immediately hit with a wave of scorching heat, the sun's relentless rays seeping even through the canvas. The energy from the performance on stage outside was pulsing and lively, carried by the young artist who commanded the crowd's attention, music increasing the adrenaline in your blood. Yet even as you prepared for your own set, the background noise and excitement faded to a muted hum as you focused on your vocal exercises and cues. As you readied yourself, the atmosphere surrounding you was as sultry and intense as the heat outside, the hot air seemingly alive with a buzz of anticipation. 

With as much haste as the sound disappeared from your brain, a new, baritone voice flowed through the air. 

“Ah, sorry. Didn’t see you here.” 

You looked up from your daze and were met with a deep, hypnotic blue, one that would make even the skies jealous. The angles of his nose were perfectly shaped, as if God had taken extra time to mould the clay that would later take on his form. From the standpoint of a bystander, the two would seem like the sun and the moon; two opposites that seemingly complimented each other like second nature. As the silence lingered for a second too long and his gaze set comfortably on yours, you choked up the first words that came to mind.

“No worries! I was just lost in my own world there for a moment.”

He was entirely captivating — you were unsure of how to compose yourself as you burned under his stare. As if reading your mind, he quickly offers his hand out to you, eager to make any form of connection.

“You can call me Joost.” He urges, carefully tracing his eyes over every line in your face for a reaction.

Taking his hand in yours, you promptly share your name. A subtle yet powerful exchange — trading names — the fibres in which every invisible string between two people begins to entangle together. His hands felt as though they had once held the warmth of a flame, having the ability to breathe life into anything it touched. For lack of better word, you were electrified.

A careful knocking on the stage door alerted the two and prompted the release of your hands. Your manager walks in, choosing to ignore the other figure in the room.

“Sorry, you’re on in 3.” 

“I’ll be there, thanks, Jere.” He nods, closing the door with relative ease and resuming whatever words he was muttering into his walkie-talkie. 

A beat passes as Joost speaks up again, “Succes!” Smiling fervently, he lightly brushes the skin on your shoulder with his palm as he walks out into his own dressing room before you could even respond, taking with him the warmth of his presence.

Unsure of how to make sense of what had happened, you drowned in your own quandary. The blood in your veins were still pounding against the valves of your beating heart and your kidney was beginning to beat to the same rhythm. You were unsure of whether this was due to stage fright or your recent encounter, though it didn’t really matter anyways; it was the fact that they were both valid options. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------

As you step on stage, the roar of the crowd engulfed your senses like a crashing wave. Your eyes scan the sea of bodies, a kaleidoscope of colours and faces all there to witness your performance. Unconsciously, you were scouring for the blue that looked at you as if you had been the only girl in the world. 

Unbeknownst to you, he had joined the crowd to experience the passion that you had brought out with your music — he wanted to get to know you, and music is the window to one’s soul. As you sang your first song, it became adamantly clear to him how the atmosphere shifted and every light softened under your radiance. Your music highlighted the more subtle hues in life that Joost had not seen in awhile, eliciting memories of lustrous summers and fleeting springs; it felt as if his world, which was always turning at 100 kilometres an hour, began to slow. Your voice was mellow, it filled his eardrums and calmed the ringing which usually reverberated in every corner of his skull. He took note of everything you did, from the way you held your guitar to the reds blossoming on your fingertips as you held down on its strings. Ultimately, he was hopelessly captivated — by your lulling melody, your beauty, and the entirety of your being.

Diverting your eye from your guitar to the crowd, you locked your gaze on a familiar aquamarine — a shade you couldn’t get out of your head as it bloomed in your peripheral vision. A smile played on your lips; you couldn't help it. It was as if the corners of your mouth were tugged at, forcing them to curve upwards. The warmth which was previously absent in your stomach began to reignite and it felt as if rainbows were being drawn on the skies of your psyche. Being on stage in front of thousands has never felt so intimate before.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

As your final song comes to an end, your cheeks are numb from the constant smiling — not performatively but rather from sheer happiness. You step off the stage and back into the backstage tents, still dazed from the trance you were under as you had, prior, melted under the beautiful stranger’s gaze. You could feel a familiar set of eyes linger on you and you’re met at eye level with two deep blue pools. He spoke up gently, breaking the silence between the two before it could settle on your shoulders.

Joost grins at you, his eyes still sparkling with the same intensity as before. "You were phenomenal up there," he says. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."

You felt your cheeks flush a rosy pink, with a shy smile you replied, “you weren’t too bad either.”

Joost let out a hearty chuckle, amused by your comment. "Just 'not too bad'?" he teased, feigning offence. A beat passes as you forget to answer, as if wind had been sucked out of you from the mere sight of his laughter. Taking the initiative, he inquires you; “Hey, uh, I was thinking of walking around some more, take a look at some other stages if you wanted to hang out for a bit?”

Your eyes sparkle with a glint of excitement, “I was actually thinking the same thing — I’d love to join you.” Your voice cracking ever so subtly, betraying your nervous plight.

Carefully, he took your hand and started walking out of the tent, leading you towards the next stage — “so you don’t get lost.”

As you shuffle through the labyrinth of crowds, your bodies are constantly pushed together, every small touch prompting an exchange of warmth in return. His doting predisposition was almost overbearing, each time he looked back to make sure you were still behind him was so subtle, yet so appetent. The implications of it all, his hands on yours as you traverse the field of human bodies, wide open for the consumption of a myriad of prying eyes, was not lost on either of you, yet it remained a fact that both of you choose to ignore.

Breathing away the air of silence encapsulating the two of you, he speaks up. “What kind of music are you into? Like what artist do you want to see right now?”

You hadn’t realised how your gaze was so readily fixed on him — as if it were a force of habit, until his voice fills the silence you’d had in your head; racing at 100 kilometres an hour to catch up to the speed of your heart. Without much time to formulate a response, you quickly mutter the first few words that enter your thoughts. “I’ll watch anyone! Plus — maybe you could introduce me to some new music?”

Your words elicited a gentle smile as he tugged you towards a new area; “truth be told I don’t know who’s performing either — but we can discover together!”

As you settle into the crowd and your bodies blended in to the splatter of colour amidst dancing souls, he rested his hand on the small of your back, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your top — holding dear to you and praying to a higher being so as to not get partitioned in the middle of thousands.

Although you were sure your attention was focused on the performance just ahead, you could feel each time his gaze averted into your eye line — his stare burned into your cheek the same way a kiss would; searing your flesh with a romance that lingered like sun rays on burnt skin. You used each chance he looked away to do the same — to leave a persistent stain on his peripheral vision which sent his heart to the moon. This prolonged back and forth lasted all the way to the end of the artist’s set, his songs being nothing more than background noise as your heart pounded prolifically in your ears. 

Eager to extend your time together, you asked to buy him a drink — with which he gladly accepted.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Minutes passed into hours discreetly — you were lost in conversations about everything and nothing at the same time, until the noise settled and the crowd thinned, bringing your conversation down to weak attempts at staying in each other’s company.

You take the final sip of your drink; you promised yourself this’d be the last. Eased by the momentum of your mutual exchange, you ask him: “Do you ever look out into the crowd and realise that every person that everyone’s ever met was brought together by chance?”

“Like how your set just so happened to be right after mine?”

Hesitantly, you replied, stepping on eggshells as you cherry pick each word carefully, trying to gauge some meaning behind your blooming relationship. “Yeah, I mean like what if I hadn’t been in that tent when you came in? Would you still watch my set? Would you be having a drink with me right now?”

“I’m pretty sure someone with a presence like yours would’ve caught my attention one way or another.” His response was delivered almost immediately, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

Attempting to hide the smile inevitably slipping onto your face and the pink creeping up your cheeks, you let out a sincere chuckle. “I’m glad you think so.”

As your conversations drift with the sunlight, a call from your manager reminds you of your responsibilities, prompting an exchange of see you soons and subtle glances over the shoulder as you both depart from each other’s warmth.

It was hard to be around him — to be close but not close enough. To say he charmed you would be an understatement, and to say that he didn’t feel the same would be a lie. Being back in your hotel room reminded you of how intoxicating it felt to be near him, and it felt like an itch as you traced back the steps that you took so carefully around him; how the two of you danced around each other so gently. You weren't sure you'd ever cross paths again; the regret of not being forward about how you'd felt with him loomed around you as you lay in bed, phone in hand, wondering if he was still thinking about you. His name rested on the tip of your tongue as you drifted off to sleep, naturally burrowing a home in your chest.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Waking up to waning notifications and texts hardly alerted you as you were seemingly stuck in the same state of wonderstruck that you had been in the day before. As you recollect your fleeing consciousness, the blots of colour on your screen begin to form coherent shapes, revealing texts from your manager and PR team, all addressed at several tweets and posts discussing you; their messages growing more and more panicked with each one. With a deep breath, you clicked on the Twitter app, bracing yourself for what you knew was coming.

The tweets were overwhelming, discussing everything from your performance to your interaction with Joost. People were making assumptions about your relationship and dissecting every detail of your interaction.

Mindlessly scrolling through the barrage of tweets, a text from a number you have labelled as “Joost :)” halts every single movement and thought previously in motion.

J: hello girlfriend :D 

R: joost?

J: have u seen what theyre saying about us??

R: its really brutal

they dont hesitate

J: this is my first time experiencing something like this (・��з`・)

R: me too!

i hope youre ok with that kind of stuff though, its pretty intrusive

J: yup, but im going to have to get used to this (╥﹏╥)

and you are cute, so i dont mind  (⁀ᗢ⁀)

R: oh thank you, youre cute too :D 

You smiled as you read Joost's messages, feeling a warm sense of relief and happiness. Despite the gossip and speculation online, he seemed to be handling it all in stride – easing any preexisting worry that he’d be weirded out or pushed away by the assumptions forced upon you and your relationship. You stared intently at your screen, your fingers hovering anxiously over the keypad. Your heart rate quickened as you contemplated hitting send on the message, a wave of trepidation washing over her. 

R: maybe we can talk more over lunch? just to make sure ure all good!

Was it too desperate? Did it seem like you wanted a second? First? Date amidst an unfortunate impasse? Would he be discouraged? Did he even want to see you again?

J: i’d love 2!!!!

Oh. You release the breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding in, letting the pressure dissipate from your shoulders. Despite the weight of the situation, you found solace in knowing that he had playfully accepted the circumstances and was willing to brace the full extent of the accusations by risking another day with you. Finalising the details for lunch, you got ready and swiftly made your way out the door – towards the destined spot.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

Stumbling through the city, you took in the sights as you passed by slews of oscillating buildings and unnamed parks. Unanswered messages from your manager remain rigid and unread as you lock away your phone, looking forward for signs of the restaurant you were to meet Joost in. Determination sets in to the anterior parts of your brain – the tenacity to express your interest in growing together with the man you had just met the day prior. Although it was sudden, you were sure that getting to know him would only continue to confirm the feelings beginning to harbour at the base of your judgement. Rounding the last corner, you were hit by a familiar warmth; it was sudden, intrusive, preponderant, and all-consuming simultaneously.

“Hallo!” The Dutch accent slipped into his greeting like honey, the same baritone voice you’d come to be acquainted with to fill the air around you, as a blanket would. Suddenly every smell, minute sound, or gentle breeze that was prevalent became subdued – every one of your senses focusing on the presence of the alluring companion standing in front of you.

Your grin evident in your voice, you reply tenderly, “hello, stranger.”

[didisficrecs]

ZUTARA FICS

Read

The Sun, the Moon, and the Truth – by thee senlinyu, post war, angsty angst, smut, pining

Purr – modern uni au, TA zuko, zuko pursues katara, sliiiight angst, smut & fluff

Sunshine Riptide – post war, smut, tension

The Sparrowkeet series – angsty angst, one shots, gaang

My faves from the series — Sparrowkeet – e2l kinda, angsty angst I don't have a clue – jealousy Heartbeats (or, Wherein Toph is Smarter and Generally More Awesome Than Everyone Else) – angst A Rush of Blood to the Head – e2l kinda The Fourth Wall (or, The Ember Island Players) – angst

when you say "it's gonna happen now" – modern au, f2l, fluff

it's late and i think it's about time for you and me to get closer – character study, smut, yearning, longing

as if you were on fire from within/the moon lives in the lining of your skin – modern au, rivals to lovers, smut, fwb

To be Read

Journeys – modern uni au

Dancing in the Dark – Ba Sing Se

Twist Me to the Left – modern band au

and expectations she won't meet – modern au, TA zuko

indigo summer – modern au, surfer katara

Lotus Lake – modern boarding school au

The Penance Series – smut

His Majesty Prefers Blue

When The Mask Comes Off

Rumour Has It

This ffnet list This ao3 list

*stories w smut have aged-up characters as far as i know😭

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! I was wondering if you knew any fics where when Derek finds out Stiles is his Mate and instead of out-right rejecting him or hiding it, he's just like "Yeah, okay, we're Mates." or something like that. Same on Stiles end too. I just need some fluff right now, please.

THANK YOU!!!

Sure!

Werewolf Project by Anonymous

(1/1 I 2,468 I Teen)'

Stiles and Derek have to do a project together... about werewolves.

Protecting You by dreamedwriting

(2/? I 3,002 I Teen)

The night of the Hale Fire, Stiles Stilinski senses something off. He follows the feeling and as a result, saves the Hales.

(A Belated) Invite To Eternity by ussentercries

(2/? I 3,274 I Teen)

Derek didn't notice it at first. It started with Stiles staying a little later than everyone else after pack meetings.

An Eternal Bond by stereksterek

(6/6 I 13,528 I Not Rated)

The one where Stiles organizes five bonding activities for the pack that just end up bringing him and Derek closer + the one time Derek does the same for Stiles.

Ain't Nothing so Good as the Cake and Eating it by sofonisba_found

(15/15 I 51,001 I Mature)

Derek thinks he's doing alright in life, with his family at his side and a job he loves. Despite his family's concerns he remains adamant that he doesn't need a mate, afraid to take the risk of letting anyone close enough to try to hurt his family again. That is until he realizes that his true mate has been right under his nose for years, and that now through his inaction he may lose him.

Future Dreams by midnitekween

(13/13 I 73,956 I Explicit)

Stiles accidentally summons he and Derek's children from the future to the present.

He's Not Mine by Sunnee

(19/19 I 68,534 I Explicit)

Derek comes home to find an abandoned werebaby on his front porch and Stiles volunteers to help him out. Surprisingly, that is just the beginning of his problems.

The Moon Lives (In The Lining of Your Skin) by Quixoticity

(28/30 I 132,440 I Explicit)

Stiles is doing fine. Okay, so he didn't expect to be a single father to an infant daughter at the tender age of twenty-three, but it's working out great. And no, he didn't expect to be a curator in Beacon Hills Museum, where weird things happen with no explanation, but he's rolling with it. And he seems to have acquired a new brother now that his dad's gotten engaged, which, odd, but hey, Stiles is flexible, and there's no such thing as too much love, right?

But then the next twist comes in the form of mysterious new neighbour Derek Hale, who is both insanely angry at the world (it's possible he's murdered people with his eyebrows alone), and adorably good with children. He's also in possession of a truly excellent butt.

Stiles is doomed.

Settle Down by wearing_tearing, whatthehale

(19/19 I 153,180 I Explicit)

Stiles is a struggling author barely making ends meet.

Derek is a successful architect whose biological clock is ticking.

Enter a surrogacy agency, two packs, and a particularly sticky and toe curling heat week and you get a match made in heaven.

[wangxianficrecs]

Rewind 2023 - Follower Recs

WangxianFicRecs - Rewind 2023

For our Rewind 2023, our dear followers were also able to submit Follower Recs of their favourite stories published in 2023 for you to enjoy! Thank you to everyone who shared their recs and make sure to give the authors some love!

~*~

Lovely fic, the worldbuilding really got me hook, it is background but absolutely fascinating. -Anon

The Lines of your Soul

by athena_crikey

M, 24k, Wangxian & Nielan

Summary: At this point he just wants to get Lan Zhan horizontal so he can sleep off the drugs that are making him make little confused snuffling noises and ask questions like “How soft is purple?” and “Where did the moon go?” and “Why does Wei Ying smile all the time?” Lan Zhan under the influence is cute, and it makes Wei Wuxian genuinely angry because he cannot appreciate it. This is not something Lan Zhan chose, this is not even an accident, this is an intentional violation and none of the sounds or questions or wide-eyed glances Lan Zhan is giving him are his choice.

~*~

Not an easy read, there is a lot of hurt there, but how lwj and wwx behaved in such an awful situation really got to me. -Anon

swallowing rocks, swallowing peach skins

by AvoOwO

M, 24k, Wangxian

Summary: There is an indescribable rage boiling within Lan Wangji's chest. Lan Wangji has often heard stories of unsuspecting travelers being taken from their camp within the night, held against their wills only to be somehow found weeks later, dead and in the most horrid of states. Stories are hard enough to read about. It is worse, he thinks, when it is Wei Ying he is here with, gagged and bound in the same way. They walk, and walk, and walk, and they do not stop.

~*~

Lwj and wwx are just. such disasters. and I loved their jobs, especially lwj. it was a very enjoyable read. -Anon

To See You (Again)

by FrameofMind (@frameofmind6), Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle)

E, 84k, Wangxian

Part of Bottomji Big Bang 2023

Summary: A new job brings Wei Ying to London, and back into Lan Zhan's life. Many things have changed since their time in boarding school (Lan Zhan is out of the closet, arranges charcuterie boards, stocks a fine bar…), but their friendship slots right back into place like no time has passed. Wei Ying is a little perplexed by the fact that Lan Zhan apparently doesn't have any interest in dating anyone despite being an obvious catch—but hey, at least that means he doesn't have to fight anyone for Lan Zhan's time and attention. And besides, it's not like Wei Ying is in any big rush to find himself a girlfriend either. It’s all working out great!

~*~

This story is a ton of fun and such a different and interesting concept. @danegen

Pairfire

by PaidSubscription

E, 65k, Wangxian

Part of Bottomji Big Bang 2023

Summary: Welcome, young cultivators, to the most important event of your lives: your Coming of Age Symposium. At dawn tomorrow, you will be assigned to your pairmate. You will then complete the following courses together. Week 1: Love Languages (core course) Week 2: Conflict Resolution (core course) Week 3: Guided Gender Selection (core course, ongoing) Week 4: Caring for Your Pairmate in Distress (elective) Week 5: Heat Week (elective) On your final day you will choose which permanent A/B/O gender is right for you. We will provide guidance as you try each of them in the coming weeks. Good luck. OR: WangXian are unexpectedly paired for a relationship course. Shenanigans, pining, gender feels and horniness ensues. With art by Beanie.

~*~

This series was so much fun, especially watching Lan Wangji's lust for Wei Wuxian from Su She's POV. And I'm grateful the author included a second part so we can see all the bits we missed and how wangxian got together. Also lwj's competency kink for wwx's brilliance was gold. @gentil-minou

💙 The epic college romance between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan

by KizuKatana (@kizukatana)

E, WIP, Series, 57k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary part one: The (bitter) third party pov of the epic college romance between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan, as told from the pettiest NPC to ever exist. - - - - - A new student transferred into the university in their second year, and Su She was gleeful to see how much Lan Zhan was irritated by him from the very first day that the student (Wei something) showed up late for class with a ratty hoodie pulled up over his head and proceeded to sleep through lecture. Finally, someone else would be the butt of everyone’s jokes as they watched Wei Ying constantly try and fail to get Lan Zhan’s attention. When midterm grades came out, Su She was expecting the guy to be humiliated. That was… not what happened. Worse still, Lan Zhan was now actually turning his head to look at the guy when he spoke. And... wait, was Lan Zhan… putting his hand on the guy’s ass?! No. Su She does not accept this.

~*~

I love historical aus and Greaser!WWX with GoldenBoy!LWJ is one we know well, butI love this fic for all the heart it has and the way it covers setting-typical homophobia. Wangxian get a happy ending and then the epilogue at the end really just made me feel all kinds of feelings about being queer. @gentil-minou

Mad about the Boy

by TriviasFolly (@triviasfolly)

M, 62k, Wangxian

Summary: It's 1954, and Lan Zhan's life would be going well if it wasn't for the charming Wei Ying. Did he say charming? He meant annyoing. If it wasn't for that smile Lan Zhan could accept the future planned for him, the job as Cheif Surgeon who returned home to a demure wife who'd cook him dinner and asking him about his day. Instead, he finds himself dreaming about something more. So when Wei Ying offers him a deal, one that would get him out of Lan Zhan's life he took it. When the evening goes wrong, Lan Zhan expects his life to be over. Instead, he finds it's just the start of a new chapter.

~*~

The way this author made the story of the Scarlet Pumpenel fit in mdzs is, in my opinion, masterful. The arranged marriage is built on devastating misunderstanding after devastating misunderstanding, but the identity shenanigans are so fun! Other highlights include Jiang sect love and wangxian adopting not only A-Yuan but MXY as well. So much fun and an epic adventure! @gentil-minou

The Scarlet Lotus

by rainbowninja167 (@rainbowtitania)

M, 137k, Wangxian

Summary: In the years following the Sunshot Campaign, the mysterious, masked cultivator who’d defeated Wen Ruohan took on many identities: the Yiling Patriarch, leader of the Wen rebels, enemy of the Jin Sect, practitioner of wicked tricks. His true name was shrouded in mystery. He always wore a mask. He carried no sword; wore no clan colors or insignia. Clouds of resentful energy clung to him as he walked. But there was one thing that absolutely everyone agreed on: the Yiling Patriarch could not possibly be from the Jiang Sect. Or: a Scarlet Pimpernel-inspired fix-it featuring Wei Wuxian in disguise, Lan Wangji determined to bring the nefarious Yiling Patriarch to justice, and the hijinks that ensue when you accidentally marry your greatest enemy/love of your life.

~*~

Another fun and sexy fic built on misunderstandings but I love the tone of this one! There's a lot of heart in this fic along with some real world issues along with just lots of wwx love, which makes this fic something i reread again and again! @gentil-minou

With No Particular Affection

by Chrononautical (@chrononautintraining)

E, 92k, Wangxian

Summary: A prominent physicist and professor, Wei Ying has built a life for himself in Chicago. He's safe, he's happy, and he has plans for his future. Unfortunately, those plans are derailed the moment he finds out his brother is in trouble. To save the family business, it will have to be Wei Ying's life on the line. He has to marry his old high school crush, Lan Zhan.

~*~

wangxian exploring their sexuality while getting to act their age in cloud recesses is such a wonderful premise, and I love the way this fic lets them not being good at it. Also the little excerpts from the book throughout were such fun and always made me giggle! @gentil-minou

Fentao-laoshi's Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures

by occultings (microcomets) (@microcomets)

E, 31k, Wangxian

Part of the good place server exchange 2023

Summary: Lan Wangji says, “I am also looking to . . . gain practical experience. It seemed mutually advantageous.” “Mutually advantageous,” Wei Wuxian echoes. “Wait. Do you mean I’d get to . . . ?” Lan Wangji stares at him. “Practice — on you?” Wei Wuxian finishes, his eyes round with disbelief. — During a shared summer studying in the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian diligently pursue an informed sexual education. What could possibly be the harm in some mutual learning?

~*~

the most heartbreaking, angsty, canon setting arranged marriage au i've read so far, in the best way. We get to see things from LWJ's pov and while his actions make sense, it's still so devastating as we watch WWX be affected by it all. The happy ending makes the hurt all the better too! @gentil-minou

💙 Concord

by Deastar (@youhideastar)

T, 41k, Wangxian | Kay's Rec

Summary: Lan Wangji hopes, somewhat frivolously, that his betrothed might find him an acceptable companion. Neither he nor Wei Wuxian are able to bear children, so there will be no need to share a marital bed; that should make it easier for the two of them to reach a natural, comfortable equilibrium. Two strings played in harmony: this is Lan Wangji’s quiet hope, as he arranges the Jingshi to accommodate a second inhabitant. Perhaps, he thinks, they might even become friends.

~*~

MothXian and WitchJi!!!!! The art for this au is always so lovely, and this fic fits it perfectly! The author has this gorgeous, dreamy prose that really enhances the setting and the sweetness of wangxian in this is so beautiful. @gentil-minou

light a lantern (and guide me home)

by xuanxuanwo (ostentatiouslyrealistic) (@xuanxuanwo)

T, 63k, Wangxian

Summary: At first, he thinks he’s caught a bird; it’s the size of one of his palms and wrapped fully in damp feathers. As he shuffles toward the beam of light that streams through the open window, he wonders how it managed to fly into his lantern, shut the door, and latch it against the wild gales of the wind. Then, he takes a closer look, thumbing across its feathers, and realizes that they’re not feathers at all. They’re leaves. Startled, Lan Zhan shifts as gently as possible and, using the tip of his finger, parts them to reveal a body, complete with tiny limbs and a small face, all of it wrapped in the dress made from peony petals. “Oh,” Lan Zhan breathes softly, heart clenching. “Oh, what are you?” -- A thunderstorm brings tea master and herbalist Lan Zhan a companion he never knew he needed. A tale of love, loss, and letting go.

~*~

Rockstar!WWX and Bookseller!LWJ and they are just the cutest. Notting Hill is a classic romcom and this fic fits the romcom vibe perfectly. @gentil-minou

When the Lights Come Up

by brooklinegirl

E, 50k, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Zhan's brother draws to a halt next to him, staring at the man on the other side of the counter. "Oh, it is you, isn't it?" The man, still propped against the counter on his elbow, gives Lan Huan a grin, then directs it at Lan Zhan again. "I don't know," he says. "Is it? Am I?" "You are." Lan Huan is hurrying around to the other side of the counter, a wide smile on his face, while Lan Zhan looks on, feeling more and more perplexed, like he's stepped into some alternate universe where absolutely nobody is making any sense at all. "Wei Wuxian! Lan Zhan, do you know who this is? It's Wei Wuxian!" Lan Huan is reaching for the man's hand, and he pushes himself lazily to standing, shaking Lan Huan's hand warmly. "In the flesh," he says. "You caught me." "My goodness." Lan Huan is staring at him like he's never seen a human being before in his life. "What on earth are you doing here, of all places?

~*~

magical wangxian who adopt mo xuanyu in a setting that's written so vividly, the whole place comes alive! it's part of a larger series but it can be read alone, but most importantly the characters are so patient and kind with such great moments between them all @gentil-minou

quiet, blooming hours

by Sanguis (@bel-ennui)

T, 13k, Wangxian

Summary: Fingers push through the earth, and a long lost boy takes the first gasping breath of his second life. The house of buried things has a new surprise for Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[lya-dustin]

Lady of Flowers

OC: Erinti Lothíriel of the Maiar, wife of Ereinion Gil-Galad and last Queen of the Noldor

Fics:

I Sang of Leaves of Gold (set in Rings of Power)

The moon lives in the lining of your skin(set in the Silmarillion)

[heartofmortis]

✧ the night we met

. *. ⋆ Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

summary: you confront anakin on mustafar

warnings: angst, no y/n

note: thank you so much for the love on my first fic!! here's a gift 🫶

word count: 489

Sword in hand, you are ready for battle. The glow of your lightsaber is calming against the odds. Heat prickles your skin as lava bubbles around the two of you. (You search Anakin’s eyes for the crystalline blue you have loved for so long.)

Mustafar is a horrid place. You feel the claws of the dark side attempt to cling to your sandy robes. Your resolve is strong. You will never embrace the darkness. (But your knees still try to buckle when Anakin sets his amber gaze on you. And the flutter in your stomach will not leave.)

"Come with me," pleads the Sith apprentice masquerading as your lover. "We can be free now."

"Anakin." His name scratches your throat, the hot air drying your voice. You want to scream at him to undo what he has done — but it is done. The Jedi are gone, the war is over. "I can’t."

A spark of anger in Anakin’s frame sends chills down your spine. Against the raging fire, you did not think the dark side would also feel cold. Suddenly, his eyes are soft and you want to run to him — safe in each other's arms. "Don’t you leave me too."

Your heart aches, the weight (the fate) of the galaxy pushes you low. This is the cost of love. This is what the Jedi warned you about. There is a fine line between compassion and attachment — you and Anakin had crossed it without hesitation. There was such beauty in your love for each other. Could you really give it up now?

I am a Jedi, you whisper in your head again and again until it forms a mantra. You are a Jedi. To be a Jedi is to love and let go.

(How did we get here? You wonder, heart aflame.)

You and Anakin stand in a forest clearing. A clear sky of moon and stars above you. Night birds sing and luminescent bugs drift like stars themselves through tree branches.

Hearts in hand, you vow to each other: never to stray, never to forget. Together in life and death.

You dance and whisper under the stars, hands clasped tightly for the universe to see. Until the sun rises, it is just you two Jedi risking everything for each other. In the twilight of war, how could you know your love would destroy everything you hold dear?

You first met on a night like this: a cloudless sky, lost beneath woodland. (Mustafar once had forests too. Nothing lives forever.)

Too many have died for you to walk away (with or without Anakin). You stand between a Sith and oblivion. While you draw breath, no more Jedi will fall by Anakin’s hand.

The glow of your lightsaber is calming, a righteous voice to push you in the right direction by the Force’s will. Sword in hand, you are ready for battle. (One or both of you must die tonight.)

[houndsclaw]

moon bend the knife

pairing: ieiri shoko/reader word count: 3181 rating: explicit warnings/tags: smut, established relationship, canon-typical discussions of violence, masturbation, strap-ons, tender sex, some emotional hurt/comfort. notes: for the end of 2023, have some tender shoko! title from perfume genius, some superficial references to the heart sutra and other buddhist recollections. this is diametrically opposed to my other shoko fic (or is it?). mostly unedited, completely not beta-read. There’s no rush here, you remind yourself. You don’t have infinite moments with Shoko— you may not even have tomorrow, the luxury of long life not the path you walk— but you have this time right now. There is more love here than curse. read on ao3

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So don’t,” Shoko says. She’s standing between your knees, toweling your hair dry for you.

It had been a bad mission. The way that leads to short life makes you yourself short-lived. With curses, survival was dumb luck as much as innate skill. Sometimes, you were standing a foot in the wrong direction. Today, it had been the right direction. You’d gotten out with nothing worse than bruised ribs. Your partner had not been as fortunate.

In the aftermath, Nanami had driven you to Shoko’s apartment. He had helped you get into the passenger seat of his car and fastened the seat belt around you when you couldn’t coordinate the movement. All you can remember from the drive is the rain sheeting down the windows, washing the smears of blood left from your hands. Nanami hadn’t even complained about the puddles of bloody water you had left in his car, or smeared across his nice shirt from your impromptu embrace.

You clear your throat, shake the thoughts out of your head. “Tell me about your day.”

“Corpses, mostly, but none of them were yours.”

Shoko whips the towel off of your head, leaving you blinking with your hair in your face. When you push the damp hair back from your eyes, she’s already turned away from you to inspect her face in the mirror.

You both know the state of the world you live in. The list of Tokyo veterans dwindles with every month that passed. It is human to hold pain close to the chest, and only more expected for jujutsu sorcerers. You see it in the way the lines drew tighter and tighter on Nanami’s face, the false cadence of Satoru’s laughter, Utahime’s dry eyes at every funeral, the deepening purple bags under Shoko’s eyes. Today, it hadn’t been you.

Grief is the most constant companion a sorcerer has. By nature, it makes you all a tricky breed. There’s a reason it’s easier for sorcerers to be solitary, distant, isolated— or, at least, to hold anything else closer than you held others. Satoru feels the emptiness of Suguru so keenly that he holds it even closer than Shoko. You had worked with your partner for a little over a year before today; there will be someone else waiting for you with the next curse. Maybe a student, maybe an auxiliary manager, maybe someone from Kyoto. Nature and jujutsu society abhor a vacuum. The empty space will be filled; it will never be full again. It never is full to start with.

As the sutra went: form is emptiness, emptiness is form.

Let me know when you get inside, Nanami had told you. Shoko had met you at the door, still in her wrinkled scrubs from the morgue. You were certain that if she hadn’t, his car would still be idling below until he received an all-clear. As soon as you had gotten into the apartment, Shoko had stripped you down in the kitchen and examined your wounds herself right then and there. Then, she had whisked you into the shower with her. All of the mud and blood had been scrubbed from your skin, leaving only the bruises as physical evidence of what you had survived.

You put your arms around Shoko, making eye contact with her in the mirror. “None of them were me,” you agree, voice soft.

After a second, Shoko turns in your arms, presses her face into your neck. Her sigh is warm against your jaw. You both smell like the expensive soap she buys, cypress and balsam. It feels good to stand like this, belly to belly, the sensation of her skin against yours a comfort.

It is a careful practice to think to yourself: I must be parted from whatever I hold dear.

Shoko maps her hands down the sides of your ribs, over your soft belly. It would feel clinical if you didn’t know her better. You know she’s tracing up the line of a laceration that would have killed you if she hadn’t gotten to you in time. The scar is old and silver now, thanks to her reverse cursed technique, but every now and then you wake up convinced your guts are spilling into your lap.

You wince as her touch moves towards the edges of your bruised ribs. A frown touches Shoko’s lips. Her eyes are fixed on your injured body, but she looks as though she’s far away. You could pass your hand in front of her eyes and you’re not sure she would blink. You think to yourself again: pain held close and dear.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc? How long do I have to live?”

To your relief, Shoko’s lips twist up into a wry smile even as she rolls her eyes at you. “You’re not very funny.”

You allow yourself a giggle, mostly of relief and dizzy exhaustion. “I’m a little funny.”

She pokes her finger into your bruised ribs. You squeak and jerk back. Point taken. “Jerk,” you tell her.

Her smile softens. This time, when she passes her hand over your ribs, heat fizzes out from her fingers. The edges of the bruising spread and fade: purple-black, green, yellow. She leaves them in that middle stage, an ugly green-yellow like a cat’s eye, but the worst of the tenderness is gone when you shift and twist to see.

This gift is greater than it appears. Shoko’s cursed energy is precious. She’s always on call, always ready for her phone to go off with the next horror story that will need to be triaged. It’s why the higher-ups keep her on campus and not in the field; she’s too valuable to lose in this war. When all else fails, she must remain. All sorcerers relive their grief, but Shoko has to dissect it. It’s easy for the jujutsu world to denounce Ieiri Shoko as cold, yet another special grade as distant as the stars, but you know that she is just another mortal woman.

You catch her wrist, press a kiss into her palm. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

Shoko touches your cheek. “Let me take care of you,” she says.

Some nights, you think you would say no. She works too hard, your Shoko, and it’s your honor to take care of her in a way that she doesn’t let anyone else. Tonight, there’s something in the way she’s looking at you, expressed in the way that she washed your hair and healed your ribs. This desire is something that would be cruel to deny her.

“Okay,” you say, leaning in for another kiss. “I’m at your mercy, then.”

That earns you another eye-roll and a nip to your bottom lip. As lucky as you are to be on Shoko’s leash when she deigns fit, that’s clearly not the mood she’s in tonight. That’s more than okay with you. You crave her touch, her warmth, more than anything. You’ve sat up with that desire many a night, let it scald you. Some of those nights, you think the only thing that burns bright within you is that want, that attachment.

Shoko’s apartment is replete with shadows at this hour. Only the kitchen light is on, banishing the darkness to the margins of the apartment. When you take a breath, you can smell the faint spice of incense. Shoko often burns tiny cones of incense or the fancy candles that Satoru furnishes her with. The scent marks her home like her cigarettes. The thought flashes to you with the smoke, tears stinging your eyes: there would hardly be enough left of your mission partner to cremate.

Shoko squeezes your hand. You blink, remember to let the air leave your lungs. Let it pass through you like the blood spiraling down the shower drain. You let her lead you to her bed.

It’s most likely a doctor’s consideration for her lover’s wounds, but at first, she lets you straddle her lap and bury her in kisses. You kiss down her neck, relishing the way she leans her head to give you more room, the soft sigh when you let your teeth close around her throat. Run your fingers through her damp hair, cup the weight of her breast in your palm, hold the gentle curve of her waist. You let yourself rest your tired head in the crook of her shoulder, breathing in the soapy, salty musk of her skin.

The rain pours down the windows of the apartment. There’s no rush here, you remind yourself. You don’t have infinite moments with Shoko— you may not even have tomorrow, the luxury of long life not the path you walk— but you have this time right now. There is more love here than curse. It’s hard to think of the woman cradled in your arms as anything but yours. You pause, let the desire wash over you, let it strip you bare.

Shoko steers you down against the pillows with a touch to your arm. She lets you situate yourself again her pillows— luxuriously plump, the silky sheets cool against your hot skin— before crawling back over you. She straddles one of your thighs, careful to keep her weight off of you, which is as frustrating as it is practically appreciated. You wouldn’t mind a little soreness if it meant being even closer to her.

Shoko kisses you until you’re breathless and pliant under her. Her tongue tastes like mint toothpaste. All of the tobacco has been scrubbed out of her teeth, her nails, her hair. Clean, stripped of armor and title and distance, starlight made heavy for you to hold.

You skim your hands across her shoulders, tucking her loose hair over her shoulder as her mouth moves to your chest. She sucks a kiss into the sensitive underside of your breast, her other hand coming up to cup the other. Shoko has always had a possessive streak when it comes to you. She grazes her teeth over your nipple and you whimper without meaning to, arching up to encourage her touch. Your ribs protest the movement with a sharp pulse, and then you’re whimpering for a different reason.

Shoko is quick to check: “Did that hurt?”

“I’m fine. But you might need to take care of me a little faster.” You affect a little yawn that turns jaw-cracking without your permission, your ribs twinging again with the great inhale.

Shoko shoots you a blazing look; you have the grace to be a little sheepish in return. There will be another time where she’ll let you push all of her buttons, admit to liking your teasing. Maybe tomorrow, when the violence of the day has worn its teeth on time. Shoko knows what you need; this is for her as much as it is intended for you. She needs to feel you here, hale and whole under her palms. There are many corpses in this time of wars, but you are not one of them.

When you give her shoulder a gentle tug, she comes up easily. You cup her neck with one hand, lean in to kiss the mole under her eye. “I’ll be good,” you promise, sweet and earnest, and press the same promise against her lips. “Take care of me, Shoko.”

Shoko lets you lick her mouth open. Sighs when you move your thigh just so against her bare cunt. You can feel that she’s already wet, which sends arousal zipping up your own spine. “You’re incorrigible,” she murmurs, but she makes it sound so fond you can’t help but smile.

Your breath catches as she takes your fingers into her mouth. Shoko sucks on your fingers as she rubs herself against your thigh, her thigh flexing against you in turn. Pleasure thrums through you like a well-struck chord, the pluck of a shamisen string. If this is what she wants, you are well-enough cared for. Then, to your chagrin, she moves back to sit on her heels. The hot weight of her gaze keeps you pinned in place, sprawled out in her bed. Her naked appreciation almost makes you want to hide, but you know better. You wonder what she sees hidden in the curves and lines of your body.

Shoko swings her legs off the side of the bed with a leisurely stretch, and then leans over you again. “Keep yourself occupied for me,” she says, emphasizing her words with her thumb tracing over your bottom lip. She drags your wet fingers over your cunt to underscore the command. Your touch is pale fire compared to hers, but you still moan as you roll your fingers over your clit. That intense urge for closeness, for touch, has your breath quickening, your cunt pulsing heavy with your own touch and the promise of hers.

You bite your lip as you watch her slip her long legs into the simple leather harness and tighten the straps against her hips. Shoko has always been beautiful, even tucked into her stark, shapeless white coat. She’s backlit from the warm light spilling in from the kitchen, she looks even more like a dream, built like a bough of a willow. Her dark hair hangs over her shoulder, cheek limned in light.

When she looks at you, you spread your legs a little wider for her. You hope she can see you wet and wanting for her. As she approaches, her shadow spills over you. She passes her hand over her cock, wet and shiny with lube. You know part of her choice slips inside of her, so she can feel what you feel mirrored.

“C’mon, Sho,” you urge her. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

You lay on your good side, arms open for her. When she settles next to you, you stretch your leg over her hip, wiggling to get the hard line of her dildo to rub just right against your clit. Shoko grunts at the pressure it puts on her, lips parting. You breathe in. Cypress and balsam soap, the salt and musk of her skin. She pushes inside you and you exhale against her jaw. There’s nothing but her.

You lay like that for a second, together, just breathing. The impatience has fallen out of you, just like that. Nothing but the two of you; nothing but form; nothing but that nothing. Her breath on your mouth tastes like a koan. You have never felt more alive than you do with her hands on you. Shoko shifts her hips, adjusts the strap; you knot your fingers in her hair, wait for her to move. She knows what you like, what you need. It’s a slow, tender rhythm, an undulation of her hips that builds pleasure in you like a wave.

You make no effort to muffle your moans. You clench against her cock inside of you, bumping your hips closer. Shoko kisses your jaw, runs her tongue along the shell of your ear, ducks down to nuzzle your shoulder. Then, she presses her forehead against yours. You’re pressed together, fitting all the way along your bodies. If you as much as twitch, the other feels it.

“Tell me how it feels,” Shoko says. It’s an order, if only a soft one.

“So good,” you tell her, arching into her and not minding the ache. “You’re so good, Shoko, treating me so well.”

Shoko kisses you again, teeth clinking together, unexpectedly desperate. You whimper into her mouth, clit grinding against the leather knots of her harness. It’s building up fast at this angle, cresting over you.

“Shoko, ‘m so close—“

“I know,” Shoko whispers, grinding her hips at that dizzying angle. Pressed this close, you can feel her heart pounding in her chest as if it were your own. “I know, let go for me. I want to see my pretty girl come for me.”

You had lied before: you do want to talk about it. You want to tell Shoko everything. You want to hold her closer than you’ve ever held anyone, keep her all to yourself. You hold the desire deep inside yourself, roll it smooth like a pebble in a river as you shake with her pleasure. Is it too much to tell her you fantasize of running away from it all with her? If you offered your hand, would Shoko take it?

You know it’s a moot point, at most another pipe dream that sorcerers hold in the privacy of their souls next to all of the grief. Attachment is the root of all suffering. I must be parted from whatever I hold dear. In the car, Nanami had told you he thought of retiring to a beach on Kuantan where there would be no such thing as curses. Neither of you can abandon your duties like that. What matters is that you’re here with her. The moment will pass like the rain, but you will share it nonetheless.

You must have been a saint in your last life to end up here with her.

Shoko fucks you through your orgasm, her breath stuttering as she presses her forehead against yours. You keep your thigh stretched up over her hip, whispering incoherent encouragement into her mouth, take what you need, I’m here. When Shoko comes, it is with a sound that is nearly a sob.

You stay curled together, slick with sweat, listening to each other’s breathing slow. Finally, she rolls away from you, tugs the harness and strap down her legs and kicks it to the end of the bed with an uncharacteristic lack of care. She tosses a delicate wrist over her flushed face, her other hand wrapped around yours.

The rain is still pouring outside, stained-blue pattering down the window. It will rain through the night, through the next day. There is a pile of bloodied clothes in the kitchen that will need to be dealt with come morning. At some point, your phone or hers will ring and bring you back to your duties and promises. Emptiness and form. Shoko’s apartment may not be Malaysia, is certainly not free from the ravages of the cursed world, but you can stay here a while.

Golden light pours over Shoko’s shoulders as she leans in to press one last kiss to your lips. Then, she’s twisting away from you to open her bedside drawer. There’s the click of a lighter, and an exhale. Smoke swirls up in the light; sweet, haylike tobacco eclipses the cypress soap. With her shoulders set against the darkness from the window, Shoko looks very far away. You reach over, tracing your fingers down her spine. She shivers. Then, she falls back with a gentle thump against the mattress, cigarette still caught between her lips.

When her eyes meet yours, you think that to her, there is never any distance between you. You don’t need any words. 

“If you set the bed on fire, I’m breaking up with you,” you threaten.

Shoko chuckles, voice raspy. “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “I love you too.”

[feyhunter78]

the way your jon snow fic has the most VICOUS hold on me. like i love it so much you have no idea. please please add me to that tag list! also whens the next part coming out i beg to know.

I can do that, and I'll do ya one better and drop the next chapter right here!!!!!

Chapter Eleven - Another marriage, and now a few moons later Queen Margaery has settled into her throne and it is time to celebrate her nameday with yet another feast, this time in Highgarden.

Ch 12

When your Uncle Jamie—really your only uncle now, as your Uncle Robert is long dead—slips back inside your aunt’s solar, he seems different, withdrawn, and pensive. You blame it on the death of his eldest child, wishing to not worry about whatever he and Jon spoke of. Though you know he is not so broken up about Joffrey’s death, he never truly liked the boy.

Your aunt is calm now, only a few stray tears and sniffles, Tommen curled in her lap. Your grandsire sitting in a chair his back ramrod straight, your father standing by your side as you lean against the table, your eyes on the large windows overlooking the Keep.

“We must uncover the assassins and hold a proper funeral for the king.” Your aunt says, her arms wrapped tightly around Tommen.

“We must write to Myrcella first; she needs to know of Joffrey’s death from us, not strangers.” You argue.

“No, we must secure the safety of all members of the royal family.” Your uncle says, his arms folded across his chest.

Your grandsire sighs. “You are all wrong, first we must arrange for Lady Margaery to marry Tommen and place Tommen on the throne, we cannot waste time, every second he does not sit on the Iron Throne more schemes to take it from him are hatched.”

“He is barely half her age.” Cersei protests.

You look at your father, this must be part of the plan, though you do not understand how, it must be. Besides, Tommen is a sweet boy, he will not harm her, nor will Margaery harm him.

“Grandsire is right, we cannot allow the Tyrells to slip from our fingers.” You say, earning a look of approval from your grandsire, one you so rarely get.

So now you stand in the crowd once more, dressed less lavishly than you were for Joffrey’s wedding, watching as Tommen and Margaery say their vows. The affair is duller, quieter, Margaery of course looks beautiful, but you cannot find it in yourself to be joyous. Your father has not explained how this is part of the plan. The wedding has happened, the vows were said, how is she to marry Robb while Tommen still lives? Perhaps an annulment? It would make sense; Tommen is far too young; no bedding will happen until he is of age. But it does not make sense in terms of succession.

You wring your hands, trying to piece together some way Robb can take the throne while Tommen still lives. Then the ceremony is over, the feasting and dancing commences, and Tommen seems…happy. That is truly all you want for him, happiness, but there is a cloud hanging over you that you cannot shake.

As you disperse with the rest of the crowd, a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned man steps into your view, his fine clothing colorful and cut in a distinct fashion.

“Lady y/n, may I have this dance?” Lord Oberyn Martell extends his hand, and you take it, giving him a gracious smile.

Myrcella has written of Oberyn, of his quick wit, of the way he dotes on his daughters, how he cares greatly for nieces and nephews, and though he still holds her at a distance he is not unkind to her. Despite all that she still warns you to be wary of him, that he earned the name Red Viper for a reason.

The song is familiar, the steps easy, and you fall in line with the other dancers, gliding and turning on beat, the melodious strings accompanied by clear toned woodwinds invoking the image of young lovers enjoying a spring day.

“Your cousin speaks highly of you.” Lord Oberyn says, his words far more accented than Jon’s, but still clear as day.

“I do miss her.” You twirl then return within his arm’s reach.

“Trystane takes good care of her I can assure you; I have never seen a young man more smitten than him” There is a look on his face, one of mischief, and he gracefully inclines his head towards Jon. “Though your White Wolf could put up a fair fight.”

“He is devoted, as a sworn sword should be.” You say nonchalantly, before attempting to turn the conversation back to Myrcella.

Oberyn stops you, dipping you low, a devilish smile on his handsome face directed towards someone you cannot see, though you imagine it is Jon. “If that is the case, then perhaps, I shall take your aunt up on her offer of further betrothals in Dorne.”

You stumble, catching the Dornish prince’s foot with the edge of your heel. “My apologies, My Lord.”

“No harm done; I expected such a reaction.”

“I think it would be best to speak with my father, not my aunt, if you wish to marry me to one of your nephews or cousins.” You say primly, curtsying to him once the dance has finished.

He presses your hand to his lips. “And if I wished to marry you myself? Would I still need to speak with your father.”

Your face burns and you snatch your hand away. “You have daughters younger than me, Prince Oberyn, and I do not think their mother would take kindly to another woman attempting to take her place. Nor would I want to. I mean no offense, but I cannot enter a marriage where I must share my husband, especially not when the other woman has had him first.”

He laughs, the sound warm, banishing the tension from the air around you, lifting the weight from your shoulders. It reminds you a little of how Jon laughs, the comfort it brings. Is this how all Dornish men laugh? If so, you can understand why Lyanna and Myrcella did not find it hard to fall for their own Dornish lovers.

“She would not, but she will appreciate your words.” He takes your hand gently, kissing it once more, then releasing you.

You give him a smile and gracefully take the arm of your next partner, then the next one then the next one, until finally Jon is able to steal you away, leading you back to your father.

“I have just turned down Oberyn Martell’s proposal, Father, I wished to let you know.” You say, a weary smile on your face as you slump in the chair next to him.

“Oh, did you? How bold these Dornish are, asking a girl for her hand without first consulting with her father.” Your father says, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

Jon stiffens from his place behind you.

“I reminded him he has daughters younger than me. Also, that I would not share my husband, it is too…unsavory for me, though of course I did not phrase it so.”

Your father snorts. “You told the Red Viper that you will not play the whore in your own marriage?”

You can hear Jon shifting his weight, and he hates when others use what he deems foul language in your presence. Though, you always remind him that Theon had given you quite the course in how to speak as a proper sailor does.

“No, I said I would not like to take the place of another woman.” You take a cube of cheese from his plate and pop it in your mouth. “Though perhaps I should have said lions are far too possessive to ever share their mates.” You catch sight of Jon in your peripheral and flash him a teasing smile.

He clears his throat and looks away, his arms clasped behind his back.

Jon has been oddly distant since the night of Joffrey’s death, and you fear it has more to do with whatever your uncle said to him than the death of the so-called king.

“Do you not think I spoke right, Ser Jon?” You ask, unable to resist drawing him into the conversation, though you know he would rather not participate.

“I think it is dishonorable to take more than one wife, or to have a mistress. It sullies not only the marital bed, but the house itself.” He says, his posture stiff, his words stilted.

You frown and your father shrugs before handing you another cheese cube.

The Roseroad toward Highgarden is well-kept, guards and small towns scattered along the winding road, the countryside lush and brimming with life. The air is cleaner here, sweet smelling compared to the unwashed filth that permeates the air of King’s Landing, and you are once again thankful that no one allowed your Aunt Cersei to take her gargantuan wheelhouse on this trip.

You are divided into smaller groups, within smaller wheelhouses, with windows that allow air to flow through. Your aunt is in one with her ladies, your father, uncle, and Tommen ride their horses alongside the guards, while you and Margaery were able to snag a wheelhouse to yourselves. Margaery claims she needs the extra space to prepare for her nameday festivities, and no one could deny their queen.

“We are a few hours out from my home, I cannot wait to show you the grounds, they are especially beautiful this time of year.” Margaery says, looking out the window, her face lit with a radiant smile.

It has been a few moons since her wedding to Tommen, and you have grown closer to the older girl, you and she are in fact Tommen’s favorite people and in turn spend much time together with or without him.

“I have heard tales, but I am sure words cannot compare.” You say, joining her at the window as she points out places she used to ride to with her brothers.

After a while of you two quietly enjoying the countryside, Margaery clears her throat delicately.  “Speaking of words.” She draws back from the window and pulls the curtain closed. “Have you heard anything from our dear redheaded friend?”

You scoot closer to her, lowering your voice to a whisper. “She writes to say that all is well, her home has fallen back into routine and regrets she is unable to attend the celebrations but holds out hope she will see us soon.”

“And what about…” Robb, she means Robb, she wishes to know if he thinks of her.

You reach into your satchel and dig out a letter, “I had been hoping to save it as a nameday present, but I guess I could give it to you now.”

After her and Tommen’s wedding your father roped you into secreting letters between Margaery and Robb, the seals were Hawthorne coming in, and Lannister going out. In truth, it made you feel part of a romantic story, playing the kind maid that helps the young lovers sneak away to be together.

Margaery rips open the letter and devours it, a soft smile on her face, her hand coming to cover her lips as her eyes begin to water.

“What, what did he say?” You ask, suddenly alarmed by the tears in your friend’s eyes.

She hands the letter to you, “he—he is so sweet.”

My dearest Lady Margaery,

I cannot tell you how delighted I still am each time your letters arrive, though I must admit my joy is dimmed by the continued reminder that you are wed to another. That I cannot speak freely of my affections for you. I know it is in name only, and that I should not be envious of a child no more than eight nearly nine namedays, but I am. To think that I, a man grown, is envious of a child for the mere fact that he is allowed to hold your hand. That he is allowed to call your name, to dance with you, it is shameful, but I would bear this shame and many others for you. There will come a day soon that we will be united, that I will take your hand and let all the realm know that you are not only my queen, but my heart’s desire.

I shall not drag on with sentiment lest I embarrass myself, so I will get to the meat of this letter. Sansa informed me it is to be your nameday soon, and that you will be traveling to Highgarden to celebrate. Part of me wished to set out for Highgarden the moment she said so, surely, I would be able to disguise myself well enough, but Sansa squashed that scheme quite quickly. Nevertheless, I am hopeful that Lady y/n will be able to present you with my gift. And if it is not too forward, I would ask that you wear it during the celebrations, and know that I am with you, that you carry my heart in your hands.

I have had your latest portrait replicated, made smaller, and set within a locket so that I might carry it around wherever I go. Theon teases me quite mercilessly about it, but I care not. While we are parted, I wish to do all I can to keep your visage beside me. The curve of your smile, the light in your eyes, and the soft blush that adorns your cheeks, they give me strength, and I will draw on them until we meet, and I no longer need drawn or painted images.

The Gods smiled upon the realm the day you were born, and I swear to you, when we are finally together, I will spend every moment I can making up for our time apart, especially your namedays.

-          Ever yours, Robb

“This is quite sweet; he has a way with words I would not expect.” You say, handing her the letter back.

“Why would he not? Even the way Jon spoke to you when he helped you into the wheelhouse was full of passion.” She bristles, holding the letter close to her chest.

You need only call for me, I will not be far. Perhaps have Ghost stay with you, it would ease my mind. He had said, before trying to force a very resistant Ghost into the wheelhouse. You thanked him but told him to let Ghost run free, knowing the direwolf would grow bored on the long journey.

You reach out and squeeze her hand. “I meant no offense, it is only that Jon has spent much time here, and Robb has not. I imagined they would speak differently, but it seems there is a hidden romantic streak in House Stark.”

She smiles, a pretty blush decorating her face, then she smooths out her expression and holds out her hand with the air of a queen. “My gift please?”

“Of course, My Queen.” You say, bowing your head ridiculously far as you hand her the small velvet bag.

She pulls the drawstrings open, gasping as she carefully pulls out the gift. It is a necklace made of gold and citrine, arranged in an elegant yet sturdy way, the gems draping down, the gold perfect and glowing against Margaery’s skin. “It is as he has described Grey Wind’s eyes.”

“Is there anything else?” You ask curiously, smiling as she holds it up to her chest once more.

She digs in the bag and finds a golden ring, engraved with the letters M and R in curling script, hidden within the rose emblem.

You hold out your hand for it, and she gives it to you. You fiddle with the edge of it until it pops open. Inside reveals a small, detailed portrait of a bright blue eye. “I wondered if he would go through with it.”

“Is that his?” Margaery asks, tracing the edges of the ring longingly.

“From what I remember it is, and Tommen also has blue eyes, so if anyone discovers it, they will be none the wiser.

She carefully replaces the gifts in their bag, and you feel a pang of sadness. You cannot imagine what she must feel like, married to a child, in love with a man she must keep secret, unable to even pretend they are merely friends, unable to freely send him letters.

A knock on the wheelhouse door pulls you from your thoughts. “My Queen, My Lady, we have nearly arrived.”

Highgarden is beyond beautiful, set upon a hill overlooking the Mander, built with clean white stone, and narrow towers that seem to scrape the clouds. Rows and rows of briar hedges, fields of flowers, and works of art tastefully scattered about the halls and grounds, complete the fairy tale look of the Tyrell’s castle, and you cannot wait to see more.

“And you must see the Three Singers, our Godswood is known throughout the realm for its beauty.” Margaery says, as the wheelhouse finally grinds to a halt and the door is pulled open.

“Sister,” Loras says, holding out his hand to her. “Welcome home.”

Margaery takes his hand, gracefully exiting the wheelhouse, her excitement radiating from her like rays of the sun. Then Loras goes to help you, but Jon’s hand is already there.

“My Lady, the Dowager Queen requires a word with you.” Jon says, his face unreadable, his eyes never lingering on you for too long.

“Thank you, Ser Jon, I will go to her once we have settled into our chambers.”

You sit and wait for your aunt, fiddling with your sleeves, birdsong, and the sound of harps playing floats in through the open window.

She sweeps in, head held high, and closes the window, plunging the room into dead quiet. “I know your father has been lenient with you since your poor mother died, but as your aunt, the only motherly figure in your life, I can no longer stand by and watch you waste away your future.”

“Beg pardon?”

She takes your hands, her expression soft, caring, one you have not seen since you were a little girl. “Y/N, we must find you a husband, a good man, who will provide for you, for your children.”

“Father said—”

“I know your father has filled your head with stories of freedom, and true love, but that is for children, and you have not been a child for some time now.” She takes the seat across from you, her ruby gown looking harsh and garish among the soft colors and fabrics of the guest chamber she has been given.

“You are right, I am no longer a child.” You agree, trying to give her an answer that betrays nothing of true value.

She brushes your cheek with her knuckles, her eyes looking for something, in your own. “Your mother was a great beauty, with a kind heart, far too kind. I do not want you making the same mistake she did. Not that you are a mistake, my darling girl, you are the only worthwhile thing that has ever come from my brother, but your mother did not examine her prospects wisely enough.”

“I do not have any prospects.” You tell her, torn between feeling comforted and wounded by her words.

“At tomorrow night’s feast there will be many lords from all across the realm, and you will dance with them, you will talk and flatter, and laugh at their jests even if they are not humorous.”

“But if I dance with so many, how will I know who is good?”

She gives you a smile and smooths down your hair. “Allow me to take care of that, I want you to enjoy yourself, and show the realm how delightful you are.”

“I will try.” You say, giving her a weak smile, hoping she believes it is born of nerves and not a complete lack of interest.

“You will do more than try, you will succeed.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film

[aggro-my-beloved]

《 ♡ Soulmate September Schedule ♡ 》

hello lovely fandom, @aggro-my-beloved here! i’m over the moon to announce that for the entire month of september i will be posting soulmate au centered fics featuring your favorite redacted pairings! some are canon, some are not…but all the works listed below are ones i’m proud to share. the plots and pairings will be listed below the cut. please interact by replying or reblogging this post, and let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of the following fics once they are

posted <3 (p.s. pls don’t let this flop)

all the following prompts are based on this post from my main blog, @buck-nialled

⑨.②.②④ ⇒ “Long In The Tooth” (LaskoxDear)

[lasko’s been eighteen for six years now, and frankly, he’s becoming sick of playing a juvenile. what makes his endeavor for a soulmate even more bewildering? they’re one of his students.]

❾.❹.❷❹ ⇒ “Trash Polka” (AsherxBabe)

[babe is tired of wearing hoodies in summer, and leggings in the spring. but their soulmate seems too caught up in his career to mind leaving little notes and drawings on their skin, rather than meeting up for a legitimate conversation. babe takes matters into their own hands, which soon won’t be covered by a mod-podge of their soulmate’s scribbles. at least, one can hope.]

⑨.⑥.②④ ⇒ “The Grey Area” (GuyxHoney)

[what’s more depressing than witnessing an amusement park in black and white? realizing it may be the last time you visit one, is probably what guy would answer, as he dangles upside down on Wonderworld’s “Surge” coaster. the pretty stranger next to him isn’t the worst company, though.]

❾.❽.❷❹ ⇒ “A Great Disservice” (DavidxAngel)

[david serves a dangerous line of work. and angel? they cat sit. still, both come home with cuts and scratches for the same reason.]

⑨.①⓪.②④ ⇒ “Rumination” (DamienxHuxley)

[a re-imagined dialogue to the elemental bois confessing their feelings.]

❾.❶❷.❷❹ ⇒ “Resigned/Sullen” (DavidxAsher)

[neither david nor asher have spoken post-inversion about the turmoil they experienced in the arena. not the scars that wouldn’t heal, not what caused them, and certainly not who kept asher from bleeding out on the ground.]

⑨.①④.②④ ⇒ “Pulsation” (Foolsverse!MiloxSweetheart)

[milo enjoys feeling his soulmate’s heart thump faster when he’s present. but only when he’s present.]

❾.❶❻.❷❹ ⇒ “Like and Unlike” (Davidxfem!Angel)

[angel thinks she’s finally found a cure for her crippling social anxiety at Dahlia’s local gym. but she cannot tell if david, the ill-tempered coach, will be the one to make or break her progress.]

⑨.①⑧.②④ ⇒ “Parting Song” (QuinnxDarlin’)

[when you’re standing next to who you think is your soulmate, as you watch the real one whither away in a shitty steel department chair—how do you respond?]

❾.❷⓪.❷❹ ⇒ “Battered and Bruised” (Samx Darlin’)

[so long as he doesn’t tell them, sam can keep up his act of healing darlin’ without suspicion. it’s magic, after all…]

⑨.②②.②④ ⇒ “Twin, Where Have You Been?” (MiloxSweetheart)

[“well, sweetheart. one of us is gonna have to change.” in which milo and his soulmate will forever be that couple.]

❾.❷❹.❷❹ ⇒ “Midnight Oil” (AaronxSmartass)

[the matchmaker test is the one exam nobody can study for. only fate will tell a person who they truly belong with. still, aaron attempts to pull an all nighter with his overly-charming classmate in an attempt to cheat the system.]

⑨.②⑥.②④ ⇒ “All Roads Lead To…” (DavidxDarlin’)

[david’s twelve years young and still leashed in red, wondering when he’ll meet the one on the other side of it, or if he even wants to. darlin’ is eleven years in, a hopeless romantic, and crossing the California state line when they notice their red string now has a little slack.]

❾.❷❽.❷❹ ⇒ “Change Your Tune” (GeordixCutie)

[cutie’s soulmate is the number one target on their shit list. because who on god’s green earth gets the tetris theme stuck in their head on a daily basis? well, they’re about to meet him...]

⑨.③⓪.②④ ⇒ “As If You’ll Live Forever” (ElliotxSunshine)

[the one thing more ironic than sunshine’s soulmate being a dreamwalker is how tired they’ve become of sleeping.]