#the other side of aspen

[astral-catastrophe]

aspen and nightshade have matching scars

[hina-sunshine]

it doesn't feel nice being the only one out of my friends that's single. why do i always get the short end of the stick? :(

[buckets-and-trees]

Desperate [Bucky x Reader]

Fandom: MCU Title: Desperate Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 3k 

Summary: Enemies? Rivals? It's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the Winter Soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered.

Content Warnings: kidnapping, sex pollen ergo DUBIOUS CONSENT, sexual situations (named acts, non-explicit depictions of vaginal sex), medical elements (needles, IVs, experience of medical distress)

Thank You Notes: BIGGEST SHOUT OUTS to @sgt-seabass who beta loved this into what it is and @vonalyn who helped supply me with some of the vital energy I needed. This was SUPPOSED to be an answer to this little sleepover ask @povlvr had graced me with... but then it became this! Logistical Notes: Filling my eleventh square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y2 "Reluctant Teamwork" and @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer Week 9 which is technically a "FREE WEEK" but had sex pollen listed as one of the suggested things to play with, so... that's why we're here now.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You were an old SHIELD contact that Steve knew before Project Insight. He didn't know you well then, but you had crossed paths a few times. You were an analyst sometimes assigned to Steve's missions. You went to work for the CIA after the Triskellion takedown, where you stayed for a couple of years, before eventually moving into the private sector.

When Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda were outlaws on the run, they bumped into you again, and you became an ally and valuable contact in your new area of the country - and ultimately a friend. And trusted enough that you knew about Bucky - and Bucky heard about you.

Bucky didn't love that you were an element in Steve's life. He hadn't met you, hadn't been able to get his own read on you. 

He'd been wary initially about Nat, Sam, and Wanda, but he'd been able to meet them and build his own trust - and they'd all ultimately put their lives and reputations on the line for him. 

It wasn't that he was distrustful of everyone anymore and needed people to put their lives on the line to prove themselves. Those who had sided with Steve over Tony in the Zemo affair aside, he'd also learned to trust others again in Wakanda with so many of the royal family and the royal guard building relationships with him. 

But with you he didn’t know you, and so he didn't like it.

What Bucky loathed even more? 

You didn't blip out. For five years, you were there for Steve when he couldn't be. You were apparently there so much that when Steve left, he fucking said to watch out for you. The punk.

Bucky didn’t know Steve dropped in on you, too, and asked you to keep an eye out for Bucky the day he gave Sam the shield. You promised you would.

You reached out. Not immediately, but in the weeks after.

Bucky was... less than kind.

Frankly, he was surly, ungrateful, short, and rude. 

Pieces were moving and with Bucky's reappearance in the United States, the question of his future was an immediate concern. Public and government representatives were demanding trials, pardons, and all the rest.

You told him you had found an excellent contact for a lawyer.

"No, thanks, I can find my own," the words were polite, but the tone was clipped, flat, low - almost a growl. 

Being so abruptly shut down, you decided to cut the phone call first and on your terms, so you wished him luck - managing to be more polite than him, making it sound genuine - and hung up.

You called Matt Murdock yourself, and told him about Bucky's case.

You did it only because of your promise to Steve.

And a little bit because you knew you were fucking right and that Bucky needed your lawyer contact. 

Matt chuckled, told you he knew about stubbornness, and that he'd go about approaching the Winter Soldier diplomatically and professionally.

Matt pulled off the best possible pardon deal, even if not everything about it was ideal.

When Pepper decided to get back into some of the Avenger support again - after the Flag Smashers business - so she could provide some more trustworthy resources for Sam and Bucky and the old crowd, you were one of the people she ended up scouting and recruiting to come work on the direct home support team with research and tactical support. Sometimes you went into the field with the team, but usually you stayed at home base and relayed with the agents over comms. 

This was not because you weren't outstanding, but because it was clear the less time you and Bucky spent in proximity to each other, the less awkward it was for everyone else on the team. You were both professional enough to keep the animosity out of things during a mission over comms, and that was about it. 

Otherwise, it was silent treatment and resentment.

Neither of you extended the woes of your dislike for each other actively to anyone else on the team, keeping your mouths shut about your feelings, and engaging in only occasional and minimal eye-rolling when either of you was mentioned. Bucky made a point of giving you electrolyte-enhanced waters first whenever you did go into the field on a mission with them, as if you were a toddler who couldn’t take care of yourself. 

Sitting by you at a holiday dinner at Sam’s you almost thought there was a moment of thaw between you and the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t push the almost comfortable silence between you to anything more - knowing it had been long-established he only tolerated you. It was clearly only a temporary pause, meaning very little as Bucky continued to push for you not being put into the field with them. You didn’t need to be around his close scrutiny. He made getting over any initial crush you might have had on him very easy. 

Things were fine like that for a little over a year. 

And then you were abducted on your way back from a mission outside of Paris where you had been part of the local ground team, taken and smuggled out of the airport. It was not HYDRA this time, just leftover cretins who blipped away but now were back, stirring up their own operation which hoped to double down on being even more nefarious. They were interested in testing some of their new methods and resources while also trying to extract some sensitive information.

Why not kill two birds with one stone by snatching up a well-connected and informed analyst at the heart of the neo-Avengers operation?

They recovered files from debunked HYDRA facilities (hard drives were wiped, but motivated hackers knew how to dig beneath what had been wiped to recover remnants - in hindsight, SHIELD should have taken the tech to a secure location) and developed an even more concentrated and powerful form of sex pollen. They were interested in how it would be absorbed in both the aerosol and liquid forms they had developed. Why not try out both forms on you? 

The aerosol was potent enough, but not in a way that would break you for their line of inquiries.

So, they injected it right into your veins.

Compounding with what had already been ingested into your system, everything intensified, and you - much more quickly than they anticipated - moved past what may have been a state where they could've coaxed the information they wanted out of you. 

Quickly you progressed to the point where you were consumed by this toxin, your body raging and desperate for the physical activity that will get you to a sexual release and flush the toxin from your system. You were keening and moaning and crying, covered in sweat, straining painfully against your bonds, unable to focus on anything anyone said to you. 

You were incoherent and not far from feral. 

Having gone beyond the point you could be giving them intelligence, you were still useful to provide information as the test subject, and they kept you on it through an IV drip to see the limits of what an average female body could take before it was completely broken.

You had absolutely no sense of how long this went on, only that you were not even crying tears anymore, just dry sobbing and wailing, because everything in your throat, and in your veins, and in your chest, and in your vagina burned. 

It was an agony you'd never experienced in your life. 

You vaguely registered a cacophony of sound around you, but it was like it was coming to you through a long dark tunnel, distorted and distant, and you couldn’t open your eyes to see what is going on, not that you could even think to or were capable of caring about anything other than the desperate purgatory you were enduring until you finally passed out.

Bucky and Sam were nearly back to base ops in New York from the Paris mission when the news of your abduction came through, and they turned around immediately. Teams working at home and in Paris - and Bucky in the air while Sam piloted - narrowed your likely whereabouts down to two locations: somewhere near Versailles (because of course evil operations are drawn to the ideas of opulence) or a compound outside of Brussels. 

Time already against them, Sam and Bucky made the tough decision that they needed to split up so they could investigate both options as quickly as humanly possible. Sam dropped Bucky at the well-equipped safe house less than an hour away from the suspected Versailles compound and then headed to Brussels.

After arming himself to the teeth as quickly as he could, Bucky fired up the Ducati in the garage of the safehouse that had been equipped with a noise dampener by your tech engineers, punched in his navigational coordinates, and pushed to top speeds to get to there, stashing the bike half a kilometer away so he could make the rest of the approach in complete stealth.

The operation was much smaller than he anticipated, but because of its size it was almost immediately apparent to Bucky that this was where they had you, and he was also confident he would be able to drop this operation and get to you without as much trouble as he expected.

But in no way could he have predicted the state he would find you in.

He heard your agonizing cries and keening within moments of entering the facility, and he'd already dropped four agents at that point, but the excruciating pain he heard from you was its own form of torture in itself. 

He picked up the pace, tearing ruthlessly through everyone else that came between him and you.

He got the full view of the condition you were in only moments before you passed out. He quickly undid all the bindings and removed everything they had attached to monitor your vitals. He unhooked the IV drip but had the presence of mind to take the bag for testing later. It was inelegant, but he hefted you over his shoulder, and everyone else still conscious who got in his way of getting you out was incapacitated with a single kill shot.

It was close to midnight when he reached the safe house and carefully tucked you into one of the beds. He pulled a secure laptop and some of the base medical testing equipment into the bedroom and kept watch over your catatonic form while he started running tests on the substance you’d been hooked up to and sent the base data for his samples to the bioengineering team back at HQ.

Over the next hour your body experienced a few fits of violent shaking, but you didn’t rouse until almost 2am. When you did, it was with great heaving gasps, and your arms flailed, your hands grasping at the sheets, at your clothes, and then at Bucky when he appeared almost immediately at your side trying to soothe you. He had a theory he hoped wasn’t true – that he knew what was running through your veins – but it was confirmed when you clutched and pawed desperately at him. Then your eyes met his, there was a recognition but coupled with devastating desperation, and you started babbling his name and pleading, “Bucky, please, Bucky. Need. Bucky, help. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”

He’d been in distress over you since he first heard your tortured cries hours before, and he knew you needed him.

He wouldn’t deny you. 

He knew the anguish of being a slave within one’s own mind. 

He worked both of you out of your clothes quickly, and then laid you back on the bed and crawled above you. “I gothcu, shh, I know what you need.” You cried, but with a glimmer of relief, when he sunk into your desperately wet cunt. He thrust diligently into you while you clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

The first orgasm was quick, and provided a glorious wave of relief that helped, but it was not enough. 

Not even close.

For nearly two hours he let you use him, pulling him into you, riding him, kneeling under him on all fours while he wrapped an arm around your waist and took you from behind. 

It was relentless fucking until you hit the point of being utterly depleted – mercifully coinciding with when the chemicals seemed to have finally been flushed from your system with enough of the endorphins released into your bloodstream from the numberless orgasms. 

If anyone but a super soldier had found you, Bucky genuinely worried they may not have been enough to help. Seeing you at the utter extreme of limits, in dangerous territory, had shaken something inside him he wasn’t prepared to discover. There had been no question in his mind that he had to get you through it. 

He smoothed your hair off your face and let your body gently sink back into the mattress, then got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He wiped your brow first, and you sighed in relief, eyes already closed in bone-tired weariness. Bucky gently wiped the sweat from your neck, continued moving down your body, and then with a second warm cloth he’d also brought, he gently wiped away the mess of slick that had seeped down your thighs. He carefully redressed your exhausted form, sliding you back into your discarded underwear and his t-shirt that was close enough to scoop up from the floor, and tucked you into the covers. You were asleep before he had finished taking care of you.

As you rested, he continued his vigilant watch from before. You stirred an hour or so later. It was still dark, but with almost a hint that sunrise would be creeping to the edges of the windows soon. He moved to your side again, this time with water, which he pressed to your lips, helping you to set up so you could drink. You began to gulp it down, but slowed when he tried to soothe you and urged you to slow your intake.

When you were nearly done downing the glass, your eyes opened briefly, but catching Bucky’s wary gaze on you, you shut them again. Not before Bucky saw the flash of anguish, however. You scooted away and turned your back, pulling your knees up and burying your head in your arms.

Bucky wanted to reach out and touch you, but settled for softly uttering your name, trying to coax you to look at him.

You refused, consumed with shame and horror.

Your throat was thick with a different kind of agony. 

That episode of pain and innate need had ended, but this? 

This was a new hell you would have to endure. 

“Bucky, I’m sorry, and I know I owe you my life and probably all of my sanity, but please, please go. Please leave me be and don’t put me through the humiliation right now of being here only because you were resigned to helping me despite hating me. I’ll have to bear that forever, but please, just… please at least leave me to myself until we get out of here.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Fuck, I don’t hate you – I never truly hated you,” he said. It was quiet, but perfectly audible in the silence of the pre-dawn.

You raised your head tentatively.

He took a deep breath and continued. “I only kept it up to save face since I drove you to despise me and was too proud to turn it around.”

You were truly overwhelmed. You wanted to say something but had no idea how to respond to that admission, especially when you were already wrung out to the very edges of your emotional state.

“I’ve respected you for a long time now.” Bucky broke the silence.

“You have?”

“Probably more than respected you, if I’m being honest.”

You were still exhausted despite having slept for the past few hours, but you pushed your mind to think… you started to reconsider the thaw from hostility to civility, that he argued with you in group settings less, how everything had become less grudging. But you knew you’d put up your own protective walls to shield you from his scrutiny because it had hurt too much to have been spurned by him when you’d reached out to try and forge that relationship with him after Steve left initially. 

And so much of tonight had been a feverish haze, but you had small pieces that were stained into your memory, some of which were him and things you couldn’t categorize as the actions of anything less than someone who cared. 

“How do you feel about me?” you ventured. 

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for a few long moments.

“I don’t know that I can explain it all yet – I don’t think I know the words for it, but… let me show you? No chemicals, just us, see what’s really here?” He reached out a tentative hand to cover one of yours.

You nodded.

You let him move in.

You let him kiss you.

You let him lay you down beneath him again, and this time you sunk into each other. 

You cried again, but this time from the immense emotion. You could feel it rolling off of him and pouring into you, a balm starting to fill in the anguished pieces of your soul. Your spent bodies pushed through any tiredness and desperately moved together again, relentlessly motivated this time to slake the emotional hunger growing between you. Touches that explored, that carved into memory, that expressed. 

This time when you were both only finished by exhaustion, you curled into each other and slept, feeling the beginnings of solace and true peace, a turning of the tide, and maybe the acknowledgement that emotions that had run so deeply between you two were only felt so strongly because you truly valued the other even from the beginning.

READ THE FOLLOW UP DRABBLE: UNCERTAIN AND SURE

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[eymie]

Billy x fem reader where she likes horses or tends to them and thats how billy and her meet?

i’ve been so so busy i’m sorry this took a while. also i was feeling like writing something fluffy but i might make a part two with smut. ((probably) definitely*)

It’s also been a hot minute since I’ve rode a horse so bear with me.

part two

SWEET TOOTH !

You kept to yourself most the times. Only coming into town when you needed to, soft smiles to people who nodded at you.

Your family owned a farm not too far past town, growing up spending most your time in the barn you became acquainted with the horses. You fed them and tended to them. They were like your closest friends. You were homeschooled by your aunt who used to be a teacher herself so you never met many other kids your age.

When your parents got older you started making more town trips for them, making business deals, the doctors, the bank. Most people in town were friendly with you, many bought your goat milk or your eggs.

You tied up your favourite horse to the fence post. Pulling a sugar cube from your pocket, which embarrassingly enough you always kept on you. They were expensive and your mother would have your head if she found out but you couldn’t help it, horses loved them

You fed your favourite horse, Aspen, a small sugar cube. Scratching in between her ears, kissing her cheek.

“Atta girl, don’t go talking to strangers.” She nuzzled against your shoulder as you walked off into a shop. Your father had asked you to grab a new hammer while you were out so he could fix up a few loose floorboards. You looked back out the window to make sure Aspen was still tied up.

“Oh, hello darlin’” You turned to see one of the ladies who was a loyal customer. She was a sweet older lady, always stopping by for some eggs. “Rarely see you in town.”

“Yeah, I know.” You smiled, admiring the way her clothes were neat and clean. Her husband made good money and her kids were grown. “Don’t got any eggs on me, sorry ma’am.”

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout that, still got plenty. I know where to find you if I run out.” You nodded, going back to your shopping. Usually you had a stand in town to sell your eggs, or some shops sold for you but you had your specialty customers.

You grabbed one of the cheaper hammers off the shelf, walking over to the register area. You placed it on the table, pulling out your cash. As you hand the worker your money you look over to see a man and your horse.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” You quietly thank the worker, grabbing your change and hammer and running out the store. The man turned to look at you, backing off a bit. “What’re you doin’?”

“Oh, nothing miss.” He stepped away from your horse a bit, his eyes darting down to the hammer in your hand. “Not going to hit me with that are you?”

You look down at the hammer in your hand and quickly put it away in your bag.

“‘Course not, m’not an animal.” You stepped closer, he didn’t back away this time. You noticed a pistol in his holster. “You can’t be talking much anyway with that gun in your pocket.”

“I suppose not.” He muttered, lifting his hat off his head. “Got a nice horse here.”

“I know that,” You look down to notice an apple in the man’s hand. You step closer again, rubbing your hand along Aspens side. “Where’s yours?”

“Oh, Lady’s just over there.” He nods to a horse tied up across the road at a boarding house. You thought she suited him quite nice.

“So you just come over introducing yourself to every horse in town.” You ask, admiring his messy brown hair. He had a bit of dirt on his nose but you weren’t going to point it out.

“Well not every horse comes along with a girl as pretty as you.” You blushed, looking down at the dusty ground. Sure a few men flirted with you in the past, but none as handsome as this man in front of you.

“That for her?” You point out the apple in his hand. He grabs your hand, placing the fresh apple into it.

“She looked a bit hungry.” He said, watching as you held the apple flat on your hand for her. He admired as you rubbed behind her ear as she ate from the palm of your hand. “Looks like she’s got a sweet tooth.”

“She sure does.” You smile, feeding her the last of the apple. You rubbed her cheek as she leaned down to get some of the apple chunks that had fell.

“She got a name?” The man asked, tilting his head. He really was awfully pretty, nice too. His arm rested against Aspen, fingers tracing her.

“Not telling unless you’d like to tell me yours.” You never flirted with a man before, you didn’t mean to be now but it came off that way. He laughed a bit look down and then back up at you.

“Billy,” He told you. You liked the way his name sounded, the way if rolled right off the tongue. His name suited him.

“I like that name.” You admitted, feeling almost too honest and blunt once you said it. Your cheeks flushed a bit in embarrassment.

“Mmm, there’s better out there.” He hummed, stepping a bit closer to you. You would’ve backed up if it was any other man you were talking to. If you knew who he was you should’ve been. “Now you gonna tell me or what?”

He was playful with his words, not intimidating or threatening.

“Aspen, but I got a few more horses back at home.” You thought about what it would be like to invite Billy to your farm, show him around the barn.

“Yeah?” He looked up at you, almost like he was asking a question. You looked like the sweetest girl he’d seen in a while, innocent and honest.

“Maybe I could show you sometime, how long you stayin’?” You really did wanna talk to him, knowing you probably wouldn’t be back in town for a little while. You didn’t want to miss the opportunity.

“I’d like that.” He nodded, putting his hat back on his head. The dark brim shadowing his face. “What’s your name?”

“Well that’s a secret.” You giggled, untying Aspen from the post. Billy didn’t have to help you mount her like he would’ve tried with other girls.

“How am I gonna find you without a name?” He asked, looking up at you. You shrugged, and he furrowed his dark eyebrows.

“I better be headin’ home, bye Billy.” You clicked your heels, Aspen backing up a bit. You turned back to look at Billy who was still waiting your name. “I’ll keep my word, promise.”

“I’d hope so.” He tilted his head, nodding you a goodbye. He watched as you and Aspen rode down the dusty road.

“What you doin’ talking to the farm girl.” He turned at the voice, the butcher was leaving the shop purchasing new knives. He was a burly man, usually buying your chickens and pigs if you.

“Farm girl?”

“Yeah, she lives with her family on that farm on the edge of town.” Billy nodded, knowing just how he could see you again.

masterlist

[princesssmars]

hazel falling in love with her childhood family friend is rotting my brain actually.

wc : 1383

sfw and slight nsfw? fem reader. thanking emma and rachel for making hazel rich because i love writing rich people stuff. i’d say maybe a good mix of cocky!hazel and loser!hazel because i love both so bad.

so for the first six years of her life she spends her winter holidays at a beautiful chalet in aspen with her parents, spending the days having snowball fights with her dad and falling asleep by the fireplace with her mom.

just like. she's rich, and her mom seems like one of thos wealthy women who loves to go on vacation to show off her perfect life and her perfect friends, so she or her husband definitely had a vacation house they'd visit every year.

when she turns seven they finally let her start skiing on the bunny slope, figuring it’s better than the little evil genius thing she does with the pots and the tiny snowmen. for a little kid she's pretty good at the sport already, if not taking the pizza and french fry tip a little too seriously.

about an hour in though, she's taking her umpteenth trip down the hill when a four foot mass slams into her right side, going at way above whatever speed limit was allowed in this area. she's lying flat on the ground, her right arm aching and her hound pounding and she's about ten seconds from crying when she looks over to see you, face planted in the snow and your shoulders shaking as you laugh like you're insane.

both sets of your parents rush over to make sure that the both of you are ok, and after you manage to calm down a bit and give hazel a very formal sounding apology that your mom whispered in your ear, you ask hazel if she can help you learn to control your speed on the slopes.

so after an hour of driving her crazy as she tries to teach you how to control your speed, your moms sit at a table watching over the both of you while sipping on their drinks and becoming fast friends.

ever since then, each winter was spent together. whether it was spending time in the snow, (hazel continued to excel at skiing, eventually giving up on trying to teach you), sharing stories of your normal lives over cups of cocoa at the cafe in the ski lodge, and helping each other decorate your christmas trees that you both had to beg your parents to buy.

whenever she went back home the days following new years, she’d count the days until she could see you again. to compensate for the time apart your parents let you send a horde of letters and e-mails to each other, letting the two of you share long phone calls on their phones when you were still to young to have your own.

hazels secret favorite hobby became photography. you couldn’t go twenty minutes without her shoving her polaroid camera in your face. she’ll tell you it’s because she’s using the vacation time to explore and try new things, and not that she constantly looks back over the photos of you with a big smile and a flush to her face.

(she also won’t mention that she’s addicted to the feeling she gets when pj and josie come over to her house and pj goes ona ten minute rant about how impossible it is that a girl that pretty could spend time with hazel without being insane. she ignores the insult because she’s hung up on the fact oh called you pretty.)

now i think hazel was pretty much always aware of the fact that she liked girls, if not because she realized that being obsessed with a certain scene from cruel intentions and always volunteering to play the husband when one of her friends wanted to play house on the playground was, in fact, not straight.

but at this point she’s maybe fifteen, she’s starting to grow into her looks and she’s definitely not ready to admit she might has a crush on you. at this point you both have had your own phones for a while, and she couldn’t even count the amount of times she had fallen asleep with you over facetime.

over the course of that year she often found herself wondering what your sexuality was. dumb ass stereotypes had her believing there was no way you, pretty and popular and preppy you could possibly be gay. and if you were a lesbian there was no chance that you'd like her back.

it was just made all the more confusing when once she had complained about how she hadn't had a girlfriend, let alone a first kiss yet and she was nearly halfway through high school with no experience for the hundredth time that you told her you had a solution for her on your next shared trip.

so you can imagine her shock when three days after landing in aspen you pull her into your room in your lodge and sit her on your bed before telling her you knew the perfect way to get more experience was to experiment with you.

"your first few times kissing and stuff can be pretty awkward, so why not just do it with me? i can show you the ropes and stuff.”

now on the outside she seemed normal, agreeing with an easy smile on her face, but on the inside her brain was playing the loudest tornado siren known to man.

it starts tame, the first few days consisting of you just telling her about your past experiences with girls and how to take it slow and everything. she knows its important but it honestly feels like torture. every time you talk to her she's wondering about what you'll do to start the physical lesson, if you'll set her down on her plush bed and softly touch her, or if you'll finally get fed up with the waiting like she is and press her and take her against a wall.

if you had known you would have prepared, but hazel was a freak in disguise and had decided that she was ready to take things into her own hands. you had invited her to sleep over at yours and drink hot cocoa while watching christmas movies and she had accepted in a heartbeat. what she didn't expect was for you to be wearing really cute pajamas, your legs covered in little hello kitty's and christmas trees with a plain red top and geez she could see you weren't wearing a bra.

hazel was a ticking time bomb, and when the two of you were sitting on the couch and she watched the reds and whites and golds dance across your face and you looked ovver at her with a 'what's wrong, hazie?' she exploded, smushing her lips onto yours in a mess of limbs and teeth.

she can feel your giggles in her mouth as she presses you down into the plush of the couch, her excited hands gripping your cheeks before brushing over your chest and gripping your waist, grinding her hips into yours and groaning when your giggle turned into high pitched moans.

it feels like she kisses you for hours before you reluctantly stop, your hands going to press into her shoulders when her head follows yours to resume making out. "hazel, as much as i'm enjoying this we were supposed to be taking this slowly. since when did you know how to...do that?"

"i dont know i just," she sighs as she tries to catch her breath, starting to get embarrassed about what a virginal mess she must look and be acting like. but you seem to like it, so she starts to not care all that much. "i just really want you. i wanna do everything with you."

you smile and hold her cheek in your hand, her eyes fluttering shut at your touch. you look at the gentle expression on her face, the slowing of her breath, and how her hips still occasionally stutter downward looking for yours, and you cant find it in your heart to deny her. you never really could.

"ok, hazie. we can do whatever you want-"

you're cut off before you can finish, the girl quickly rejoining your lips together and groping at your body once again.

when she gets back from vacation, hazel is less single, less unexperienced, and more than ready to throw this in pj's face.

i kinda lost inspo for this can you tell :,(((( but i thought the idea was cute so take this thing. bye.

[sprout-fics]

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 4

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 4.9k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Unlacing corsets but in the slowest most sensuous way possible Warnings: Sexual harassment by unnamed characters

You blink again, feeling the damp mist of morning swirl against the hem of your skirt as you look down the path to the front of your garden where two figures lean against the twisted trunk of an aspen tree.

"Morrrrnin'." Soap drawls at you, smirk plastered across his face at the shock in your expression- not expecting two witchers to be awaiting you outside your front door.

"M-morning." You reply after a few moments, quelling your surprise. Soap beams at you, and beside him Gaz offers a little roll of his eyes towards his companion at the clear smugness there.

"Laswell asked for you." Gaz explains when Soap fails to elaborate on their presence. "She mentioned she wanted you to pick some herbs for her and sent us to escort you."

"Escort me?" You ask with a little huff of amusement, raising an eyebrow at them. "What, like some sort of damsel in distress?"

"Aye." Soap offers as he straightens off his perch with a little roll of his shoulders. He stands before you, broad as he places his hands on his hips in a demonstration of sarcastic machismo. "We are but faithful knights to your safety, yer highness."

You have to hide a girlish smile behind your hand at that, endeared by Soap's teasing flirtations. There's an easiness about him you appreciate, that softens the anxiety of the world around you, the burden of the secret in your home that remains dozing in the loft of your home. You had refused to wake König, had instead left a small, scrawled note of your venture outside for errands and a promise to return soon.

Instead, you had found this, the mysterious presence of two monster hunters who had awaited your appearance in the misty brightness of late morning.

"What he means is that there's a dangerous monster in the forest, and Laswell would rather you not be out there by yourself." Gaz again elaborates, offering Soap a nudge in the side as the Scot cries out in feigned hurt. Yet they both look to you expectantly, offering boyish smiles as they await your response.

"Well." You sigh at last. "I suppose I can't refuse two handsome gentlemen such as yourselves."

"Aww, she called us handsome." Soap drawls, nudging Gaz in the side with his elbow. Gaz shoves him a little back playfully, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Can agree with me, at least. Might need to get your eyes checked about him." He tells you wryly, much to Soap's displeasure.

"Oi-"

"Shall we get a move on, gentlemen?" You ask as they begin to playfully cajole each other into rough housing, until they both turn and offer their horses to you. You stride past them, put a boot in the stirrup of Soap's mare and deftly swing yourself into the saddle, offering the pair a clever smile as they stare up at you in surprise.

"You two can share." You declare, clipped, nudging the mare in the direction of the village road as they cry out after you in dismay.

----

You end up sharing with Soap after all, as the three of you pick your way off one of the more isolated trails into the gulley of the forest. You know the path well, know nightshade and chamomile grows deep in the shadows, know which leaves to gather, and those to leave alone let the thorns bite at your fingertips.

There's easy conversation amongst the three of you, as you capture their rapt attention in your ramblings about the village, herbs, Laswell, the forest itself. In turn, Gaz and Soap share their own limited knowledge about your craft, and detail that which you don't know about theirs. They share tales of gargoyles and necromancers, creatures of the night, curses and demons and dead kings.

They tell you too about the wolf.

"Werewolves are especially hard to kill." Gaz explains from his saddle beside you, voice lower now. Grim. "Especially during full moons."

"I thought they shift only during full moons?" You offer, and Soap makes a little grunt of frustration behind you. it's not directed at you, but you can feel the annoyance sit low in his chest pressed against your back.

"They can shift at will." He elaborates, voice colored with a low simmering irritation, likely at their currently fruitless hunt. "Full moon is just when they lose control."

"And bite people?" You ask, to which he and Gaz exchange a look.

"It's uncommon, but yes. Treatable too, if you catch it soon enough."

It clicks then, the herb that they must be searching for, the cure to the ailment they may end of facing.

"Wolfsbane." You breathe, twisting in your saddle to look up at Soap behind you, who smiles, pleased.

"Told ya' she's a smart lass." He comments to his comrade beside him, who chuckles in response. "Aye, wolfsbane. Tastes like shite but will cure you right fast."

You cast him a little look of wry amusement before facing forward once more. "Have you tried making it into tea?" You ask mildly. "Or...bread? Soup? Liqour?"

"Liquor...why didn't I think of that?" Gaz mumbles, barely audible beside you both. "Could have been drinking wolfsbane ale this whole time and not choking it down raw."

"Bet it still tastes like piss." Soap points out, and Gaz gives him a withering look.

"You will drink anything that has liqour." He points out, to which Soap splutters but offers no rebuttal. "Besides-"

Gaz looks at you, a little more seriously now. "We can take it, we...are a little different than regular people. A small dose for us would kill most humans within a few hours. For us we get feverish and a tad sick, but it won't kill us. It’s better than being a werewolf."

You nod at that, and want to press for more. You knew from the moment you saw the witchers that they were...different. They're broader, taller, more intent than other men you've seen. There's an inherent keenness to them that speaks of awareness, more than that of an average human. It makes sense. Mortals of your kind were not bred to hunt creatures such as werewolves, let alone all manner of other beasts that roam these lands.

Gaz must see the contemplation in your eyes, the silent rumination, because he reaches the distance across from you, between the horses and nudges your shoulder with his leathered palm.

"You can ask." He offers gingerly, eyes kind. "We don't mind."

"Gaz's right." Soap supplies. "Truth is, hen, we've taken a bit of a shine to ye. Laswell trusts ye, and we can see why."

You squirm a little at that, face tucked into your hood, abashed but pleased at their comments. It's nice, this. It's often lonely in the village, in the place where so many others don't trust you, look at you skeptically from the corner of their eyes, whisper about you even where you can hear. Here, between these men with blood that runs hotter, higher, more potent, you feel a familiar sense of otherness that to you feels like belonging.

So, you ask, and you learn more of them.

They weren't always witchers, they tell you. First, they had been boys. Orphans, or given up to older witchers to be trained, honed, broken and rebuilt. Over the course of years, the four of them had stopped being boys, had begun to grow less human, and by the time they reached adulthood they were no longer mortal.

Witchers.

Gifted with superior sights, hearing, reflexes, strength. They can easily fight with the power of twenty men, born and bred to rid the lands of creatures that stalk and kill more fragile things.

Things like you.

It had taken them many years to find each other. Price had been the first, and you knew this from when he spoke to you. He had originally met Ghost when the younger witcher was still in his trials, had spoken encouragements to him that allowed Ghost to overcome the remainder of his training in ways few others had before him. Yet by that time Price was gone, hunting down a witch in the far western lands, one with grey eyes and a thin, wry smile.

"Laswell." You breathe to Gaz, much like a little girl listening to a beloved, enrapturing fairytale. Gaz smiles knowingly at you before continuing on.

Price had been meant to kill her, but upon realizing Kate was not the dark enchantress the villagers who had summoned him made her out to be, he made a different call. Instead, he had traveled with Kate for a time, until they had once more come upon Ghost.

Soap and Gaz go quiet then, and you feel a silent sense of regret, grief between them. You're afraid to press into it, but at last Soap offers the hidden tale of the masked witcher who had once terrified you with his mere presence.

"Roba." Soap offers, voice low, grim.

Roba, the name of the necromancer Ghost had been sent to kill by the man who had trained him, only to be betrayed. Roba had kept Ghost, had tortured him, had failed to break him despite everything. When Price and Laswell had eventually found him, Ghost had already been cursed by the necromancer, a bearing that even to this day forces him to conceal himself lest others be horrified by the appearance of a dead man under the mask.

It has been Price and Laswell who had helped Ghost kill Roba, and the man who had betrayed him. It was only after the battle that Laswell declared herself tired of traveling, and had come to settle in your valley village, while you were still very young.

Price continued on with Ghost at his side, and eventually they had found Gaz, who belonged to a small coven of witchers that protected a haven for those of their kind. Yet when Gaz had listened to promises of adventure and conquest from Price, he had been eager to leave behind his keep and travel alongside them. Price had easily taken him under his wing, had guided him in all the things Gaz had yet to experience as a young witcher.

It had only been once the three of them were united that they found Soap.

Soap goes quiet then, unexpectedly, and you gingerly shift in the saddle to see the hard set of his jaw, the grimace in his expression that speaks of anger, regret.

"You don't have to say it, mate." Gaz declares softly, and Soap only shakes his head.

"My squad was wiped out." He tells you softly, but his voice is hard, stony with grim memory.  "We were all too bloody green, too fresh to be hunting what we were after."

You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments of silence you wonder if he actually will.

"A werewolf." Soap finishes at last, voice close to a snarl, low and dangerous in the back of his throat.

He goes on to tell you the story, spares you the details of his fellow witchers' deaths by the beast, tells you only that he had been the one to kill the thing, had sat for days surrounded by the bodies of his friends and his sword embedded in the chest of the werewolf. It had been Price and the others that had found him, had lifted him from where he kneeled and silently accepted him into the fold.

You nod at that, trying to tell yourself it's a happy ending at least. After all, they're together now, found themselves despite all the trials and tribulations. The team they are now is one of loyalty, skill, solidarity, trust. You can think of no one else better to defend your village against the shadow that lurks in the trees.

"So then how do you kill  a werewolf?" You ask after several long minutes, adjusting in your seat as the horses begin to descend downhill into a gully.

"With patience." Gaz replies with a little grunt, reigning in his mare from walking too fast. "They heal fast unless you hit them with silver. Wolfsbane helps too."

"Which is why we're finding it." You conclude, leaning back into Soap's chest as he palms the reins in one hand, wrapping a brawny armored arm across your front to keep you from slipping. Your face warms at the contact, remembering the sensation of being at Price's back as you both rode back from Laswell's those nights ago.

Strangely, the memory fades to something else, to the press of a warm, solid frame that loomed above yours, one arm slung over your shoulder as you helped him walk from the forest under the cover of darkness, where he murmured a soft, breathy "Danke, Fraulein." As he at last rested in the safety of your home.

"That-" Soap says from behind you, startling you from reverie. "-and to check the traps we lay."

"Traps?" You echo, when suddenly both men urge their steeds to a halt, Gaz easily slipping from his saddle and walking over to a small pile of crinkled leaves just a few steps from the path. Gingerly, he brushes them aside, revealing a jaw-like contraption laying open against the ground. Empty.

He makes a small sound of disapproval, turning to Soap and talking over your head.

"Not this one, thing may have learned to avoid them after we got him the other night." He comments, brow creasing in frustration. Soap's grumble mirrors Gaz's expression, discontent at their findings.

"What is that?" You find yourself asking, eyeing the strange metal contraption with a healthy amount of caution.

"Bear trap." Soap explains quickly. "Won't kill werewolves but may keep them long enough for us to catch up."

"Our werewolf managed to get himself loose before we could find him." Gaz sighs ruefully, covering the trap once more. "We tried to follow the blood trail, but lost him over a creek. Smart bugger."

You consider that, that the monster that Price and the others hunt is not just dangerous, wild, untamed, but intelligent. It knows it's being hunted, adapts to the wolves of a different breed that nips at its heels under the cloak of darkness. What Soap has said makes sense now, that werewolves are hard to kill, that you need to be patient, smart, and absolutely prepared at any moment to face the monster.

"No matter." Gaz declares, standing and stretching, making back for his horse. "We'll catch it during the full moon."

"Aye." Soap agrees, but his voice is low, a warning. "Dangerous time to be hunting werewolves. It may lose its mind, but it'll be that much more dangerous."

"So, we better finish our own hunt then." Gaz announces, swinging gracefully back into his saddle and taking point as he continues down the path. He turns so he leans over his shoulder at you, offering a reassuringly bright smile.

"Where to?"

---

It takes you the better part of the day to find the hardy purple flowers that grows from the soft, wet soil of creek beds in the hills. You gather as much as you can, and even when Gaz and Soap warn you about the soon-setting sun you try  to continue pulling the wolfsbane from where it grows. You aren't like the two of them. You can't hunt monsters, you can't heal quickly, can't fight against beasts. What you can do is this, is help them how you can, and you tell yourself it is enough.

The journey back towards the village is quick, the sun setting low behind the hills and cast the forest in waning light that whispers of ominous darkness. You can't help but trace the trees where you sit in Gaz's saddle, heart murmuring in apprehension as you expect to see the sight you saw that night- of a gigantic, looming figure toeing the edge of the path, eyes glowing, a growl deep in its chest.

As you ride back into the village, you see lanterns flicker on in the houses you pass. Several torches light the square, alighting a small group of men who huddle and discuss with each other in low, grim tones. They silence as you, Soap, and Gaz pass them. Though the two witchers don't bother to glance their way, you do, and instantly wither at the disdainful wariness in their gazes. It's only once you're past them that a voice rings out in your direction.

"Whore!!"

You flinch.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, tugs his reins back in the direction of the men, only for Gaz's gloved palm to shoot out and grasp at the Scot. His eyes are serious as he looks at Soap, mouth a thin line of disapproval as he slowly shakes his head. You can still see the fury in Soap's gaze, but it's restrained as he forces himself to swallow it down.

Gaz then turns his attentions to you, smile sad but kind as you tuck yourself back into his chest, trying to hide, cheeks warm and shoulders hunched in a mixture of shame and hurt.

"Don't listen to them." He tells you softly, one hand gently settling atop yours in your lap. You nod, shoot him a grateful look, one that doesn't ease the remaining anxious flutter of your heartbeat.

By the time the two witchers deposit you back at your doorstep it is well and truly dark, the lanterned lights of the village doing little to illuminate the lane where your small cottage resides. You try and tell them to be careful, but the pair merely shoot you playful, withering glances in the same vein of Price.

We're Witchers, love.

Even so, they assure you that the bundles of wolfsbane they carry back to Laswell will offer them protection as they canter back in the direction of her home.

You watch them go and try not to think about how much you'll miss them after they leave for good.

"You're back!" König chirps as you step inside and the door latches behind you. You smile at the bright tone of his voice, excited, eager to see you. There's an unfamiliar brightness that alights in your chest, the feeling of being welcomed so wholly, so jovially as soon as you step into the confines of your own home. It feels different than Laswell, with her easy but mysterious demeanor, different than the shy bashfulness of being around Price and the others. Here, you feel like you can be entirely yourself, allow König to see the weariness behind your smile.

He's warming himself near the fire as you step inside, hands outstretched as the scant warmth of daytime fades. He's coaxed the hearth into a slow, tender flame that licks just shy of his palms. A pot of water hovers above it, and once again the soft, grateful comfort of coming home to good company fills your chest so suddenly it nearly aches.

"You were gone all day." König offers as you come closer, deposit your scarlet cape atop a chair with a little sigh. "I-"

König pauses, breathes in. You blink, watch as a strange puzzlement passes over his features, his chest rising as he takes a long, dragging inhale through his nose.

"W-what is that?" He asks, voice wavering slightly, and you blink, a similar look of confusion clouding your features. You stare at him silently, trying to decipher whatever he's alluding to, and eventually glance to your skirt, your cape, seeing if perhaps there's something you don't recognize that could have spawned his reaction. Finding nothing, you eventually look back at him.

For a single moment, you swear König’s eyes glint yellow.

He stands, the motion rather abrupt, and his height nearly makes you startle, still unaccustomed to the sheer length of his build that towers over you.

"I-I heated some water." He manages, voice strained. "In case you...maybe wanted to bathe."

You relax a little at that, the idea of a warm soak a much-needed relaxation to the ache of being in a saddle all day. Still, you raise a playful eyebrow at your visitor, mouth quirking.

"Why, do I smell?" You ask, and König splutters, instantly raising his hands and waving them in defense.

"N-nein!" He exclaims, and you giggle at the frantic, indignant widening of his eyes beneath his hood. If you look close enough, you can almost swear there's a faint pinkness rising to his cheeks.

"I'm only teasing." You reassure him, and watch his shoulders droop in relief, failing to resist a grin.

König startles as you pass him in the direction of the wood wash bin you keep tucked to one side of the kitchen, sucking in a sharp breath as you near him. You wonder idly if perhaps you were a little too harsh with your teasing, considering his strange reaction to your proximity. He doesn't make to assist you in dragging the tub across the floor, nor does he move from where he stands as you lift the now simmering kettle to pour into the tub. Your hands briefly dip into the water, testing the temperature, watching Konig out of the corner of your eye. He seems to ease as you dry your hands on your skirt, gaze lifting to regard you more fully.

It's a bit odd, the way he watches you. It's not necessarily uncomfortable, not in the way that some of the villagers watch you. Their gazes rake across your form, scarcely conceal the apprehension, the disdain behind their eyes. You're still trembling a bit from earlier, turn in such a way that König can't see it. His eyes follow the motion, gaze keen, unblinking. There's an interest in his stare that feels far less like a scowl and more of a silent watchfulness, an unwavering focus that leaves goosebumps trailing along your flesh.

Like a wolf.

You shake away the thought, cast him a shy look over your shoulder. You catch his eyes just for a moment, see him blink as if he was enraptured at something you couldn't see. He straightens under your eyes, but tilts his head down towards his shoes, as if abashed at being caught staring.

"Would you mind, König?" You ask him gingerly, damp hands rising to the back laces of your bodice meaningfully.

Usually, you can undo them by yourself, but the ache of your spine from riding with two witchers all day, and the effort of straining your arms, scrambling up rocky creek beds in search of wolfsbane has you hard to reach the ties.

König shifts where he stands, a little apprehensively, until at last he approaches, broad hands settling at the dip of your back as he slowly tugs the laces apart. You can't tell if his hands are trembling, or if he's just unused to the motion against his fingers. It takes him more time than you expected to part the laces enough for you to have the space to shrug out of the bodice. Before you can, his hand dips in the space between your bodice and your chemise, pressing a featherlight touch against the small of your spine.

You shiver.

König pulls away at once, so suddenly it's as if he's been burned. You look at him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes and finding a matching look of surprise there at his gentle but blatant touching. König looks stricken, guilty, and there's a choked little apology on his lips, as if he too is shocked at his own actions.

You clear your throat a little awkwardly, averting your gaze towards the tub, and fortunately König instantly understands, putting space between you both and tugging the privacy screen as he goes. You hear him take a chair, and as you peek towards him you find him sitting himself facing the wall, offering you an extra layer of privacy. It's strangely endearing, the hunch of his shoulders, as if he's a boy being sent to think on his misdeeds.

You set yourself to the washtub, draping your layers over the screen until you gently scoot yourself, knees folded, into the tub. There's a little sigh that escapes your lips in relief, and though the water barely covers your hips, the warmth is a welcome respite for your tired muscles.

"We went up into the hills today." You offer in the strange silence that follows, and you hear König release an exhale as if he'd been holding his breath. "Laswell sent us looking for wolfsbane."

"Wolfsbane." König echoes, and you blink at the strangeness of his tone, dipping low in his chest with a hint of annoyance. It's gone in a moment as he asks: "...Laswell is the healer at the other side of the woods, Ja?"

"Yes." You reply, knowing he can't see you nod. "She's been my friend for as long as I can remember."

You pause, stare down into the bathwater.

"Maybe...my only friend."

König is silent.

You perk up, smile up in his direction, even if it's a little forced. "You're my friend too, König."

König sits a little straighter at that, and you think, even though you can't see his face, that maybe he's smiling.

"You're...my friend too, fraulein." He offers hesitantly. "A very good friend."

You smile a little broader at that, reach for the soap and begin to scrub off. The grime from digging in the moss and dirt soon comes clean, and you begin to start on the rest of your skin as well.

"The two men from earlier..." He offers after a few minutes of silence. "Are they your friends too?"

You pause, consider.

"I think so." You reply slowly. "I'd like them to be, but..."

You think once more about the witchers you've become friends with, of Soap's easy going amicable nature, of Gaz's trustful eyes, of Ghost's quiet but steady presence, of Price's gaze that weighs heavy on your shoulders, watching.

"But...?" König echoes uncertainly.

You heave a little sigh. "They won't stay here." You declare solemnly. "Once they catch the wolf they're hunting, they'll move on. So, I guess it doesn't really matter."

König is silent at that, and you don't blame him. There's little to offer in that regard. Not even an apology for the things you're yet to miss.

You rinse off, feeling cleaner, stand up from the water and let it drip from your bare skin. When you glance towards König, he remains steadfast, gazing into the corner and not moving. It makes you smile a bit, seeing his embarrassment at the idea of being anything less than a gentleman towards you.

"I...didn't have many friends growing up either." He offers as you dry off near the fire, voice somber, lonesome in a way you recognize all too well. "My mother, she took care of me, but the children that were in the same village as me..." He trails off, looking a little lost. "They weren't kind."

You eye him woefully, pause long enough to see his shoulders sink a little, feel a sense of heartache tug inside you as well.

"Your mother." You speak softly, as you reach for a clean chemise in the trunk near your bed. "...What happened to her?"

König is silent for a few moments, and you wonder if perhaps you've pushed too far. Before you can offer an apology, his voice softly returns to yours.

"She died." He says simply, voice a little muted. "and I was chased out of the village soon after. I've...been traveling ever since."

Dressed now, feet still bare, skin still a little damp, you turn to him. König doesn't turn to look at you, focused now not on the stone wall before him, but on his feet. He’s curled in on himself, as if suddenly he feels like he’s the only person here. You know the slouch of his spine, feel it in yourself. After a moment's hesitation you gently pad over to him. At first you rest a palm on his shoulder, feel the shudder he gives you as a result. Yet he doesn't move it, doesn't force himself to dislodge it, and slowly you slide it around to his front, draping yourself carefully across his back in an embrace.

"I'm sorry." You whisper against the soft, worn fabric of his hood. König doesn't answer except for one, large palm that settles on your arms loosely looped around his neck.

You stay like that for a while, feel the rise and fall of his breath in his shoulders, feel your own exhales tickle across his hood. You wait for him to pull away, not wanting to deprive him of this, but as the minutes tick by, you begin to wonder if he ever will.

"Would you ever leave?" He asks, barely a whisper.

You're silent for a long time, eventually turning your head to look up through the window beside you both, the one that faces the trees reaching up towards the ink blotted sky. The clouds roll past the bright moon, heavy and waxing towards fullness. You watch it, feel it tug something in your chest, an awareness you don't recognize just yet. When you speak, it's as soft as the embrace you've fallen into against him.

"...Yes."

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Funfacts about PTM Characters!

Still chilling out from finishing my thesis, but I had a few fun facts about the side characters for PTM that I'd thought you'd all enjoy in the meantime! It's gonna include some of the canon characters as well as the ocs!

This includes some very minor, but not story defining, spoilers for PTM so proceed with caution! As a reminder, PTM takes place a school year after the current timeline!

Canon Characters:

Jade and Floyd made bets on who would get together with their crush first during their 3rd year. The loser has to let the winner(s) plan and execute the most humiliating way to confess. Neither twin is winning. Azul is currently winning with his bet of “neither of you will, you cowards.”

Ortho went to most of Idia's classes during his time at NRC, so he was allowed to “skip” repeating those years when becoming an official student by taking a competency exam. However, he is still staying for a year since the test only allows for core classes and not his electives. He's happy to do so, though.

Idia stayed at NRC to complete his internship with the school, much to his disappointment. He works as a Technomage Intern with the college's technology department.

The overblot cast got closer with each other and Yuu than expected over the summer due to Crowley and S.T.Y.X. requiring them to take part in a “summer camp” to monitor them and their health. Leona still hates Malleus though. Malleus is still mostly unaware of this.

Malleus still does not know how to use technology. Sebek and Yuu have a weekly call with him via a looking glass mirror that acts like a video call. Malleus enjoys it very much.

Kalim switched places with Jamil and is now vice housewarden, while Jamil is now housewarden. Neither's families were happy about this, but were shut down by Kalim being surprisingly firm about his decision. To everyone's surprise, Kalim does very well as a vice over a housewarden, though Scarabia has had significantly fewer parties since the switch.

Nearly all the clubs that had the 3rd years as captains/heads had one of the 2nd years take over into their 3rd year. Ruggie is now Spelldrive Captain, Azul is head of the Board Game Club, and the Gargoyle Studies Club is headed by Yuu. The Pop Music Club is also more formalized now, with Kalim as the head. The Science Club and Film Studies have an NPC 3rd year as heads.

Yuu isn't actually that bad at singing as everyone has (and will continue to do so) suggested. Most of the student body had classical training growing up as part of their privileged upbringing, and Yuu has to compete with that.

At least two pairs of canon characters will get together at the end! Guess who tehe.

OC:

Silas likes to eat bugs and regularly digs in the dirt behind Ramshackle to find something crunchy to munch. They did it once in front of Jamil and the poor guy screamed in horror.

Yev became the new Pomefiore housewarden due to being able to produce the best posion, as per tradition. However, he's actually quite bad at being a housewarden and his vice is the one that everyone tends to listen to.

The Salson triplets are from the TWST equivalent of Salem, and have a North easterner accent, similar to Boston I think. Wynfred and Marion mimic English, or Rosarian, accents, but Silas does not.

There are two more mermen in the school, minus the canon cast and two ocs. They aren't important to the story, but their names are Mariano De La Reyes and Benji (last name still pending). They're based off of Marina and Benjamin from the third Little Mermaid movie.

Speaking of mermen, Aspen is a squidmer and is based on the colossal squid. He's about 18 ft long and still growing. Tony is based on a tiger shark, but is the runt of his litter, hence why he's so small.

Tommy, the white rabbit beastmen that was introduced as Riddle's new vice, is notorious for always running late. He never has actually been late to anything due to parkouring everywhere and climbing the castle walls to enter the classrooms through the windows. Floyd learned how to parkour from him. Riddle hates everything about this.

Briefly mentioned in the last chapter was the botany professor, Kallpa. Kallpa is based on Kronk and the uncle of Yev.

Nurse Goethel has a wife and two daughters that she brings with her to family days on campus. The daughters are roughly age 11 and 13 and each time they've come have designated a student as the new person they want to marry. Two years ago it was Leona and Trey, last year it was Azul and Jamil, this year it's Jack and Ortho. There is no reasoning behind their decision, it's all based on vibes.

James has met Jade and Floyd when they were all very young. James was on his Great Aunt's ship, who was meeting with Papa Leech for unknown reasons. James only remembers them due to their heterochromia eyes, but the twins don't remember anything.

Marion has a really strong sense of smell that is on par with the beastmen. He hates Pomefiore because the dorm and students are heavily perfumed and it gives him a migraine.

Yaqub actually has a twin brother that goes to RSA. He thinks it's funny that it turned out that way and they like to shittalk their schools together on the weekends. RSA is much more chaotic and full of troublemakers than NRC realizes.

At least two pairs of the freshmen will get together at the end of PTM, but it will be a surprise as to who!

And that's all! I have more but I think I'll save them for another time!

[hogwartsfirebolt]

yes, and

It was a no for so long. A rejected handshake, long years of tipping different sides of a scale. No, Harry wouldn’t talk to him. No, Harry wouldn’t look at him even though Draco sought his gaze with a mindless desperation only possible because they were so young. No, Harry wouldn’t try to save him, even though he saved everyone else. No, no, no.

Yet fate’s puppeteering hands acted in mysterious ways, beyond anything he’d ever been able to comprehend. No, he wasn’t saved, but he was … pardoned. No, he couldn’t take back everything he’d already messed up by then, but he could atone. Community service, two years of it in the kitchens of the Ministry, with the long tables and magic dictating every move, every stir of a spoon. He did his time at first grudgingly, sick on the scent of spices that clung to his apron and the way the still air would make the back of his hair stand on end, but as months passed and he became familiar with the intricate, purposeful magic he needed to master to cook, and the people working beside him, he came to love it. The twin chefs who were his bosses, Poppy and Aspen, were outrageously funny in a foul-mouthed way, and halfway through the year they were already inviting Draco and the other sous-chefs to their flats to have game nights and sparkly drinks. No, his friends from school wouldn’t even hear from him, his letters would return unopened and no, his parents weren’t home, but abroad, exiled, forbidden from making contact. No, he had no family left. But the mismatched group of five who spent their mornings charming potatoes out of their peels with him began to tug at his heart.

No, they didn’t have much in common, but they got him, he got them. This was a connection that was unblemished, for the first time in his life, untainted by his background. It was brilliant, sun-water bliss, and in it, he had the chance to nurture parts of himself he’d only peripherally known about and let them bloom. What he found was that, stripped of the need to be cleverer than everyone else, his opinion was seen as smart, valued, and taken seriously. What he found was that, stripped of ill intent, his jokes and drama were actually quite well received, with loud laughs and occasionally clutched stomachs, tear-streaked cheeks. They loved his theatrics, would go hysterical over his imitation of the stand-offish inflection of the Unspeakables when they came to get their lunch, the brutish tone of the Cursebreakers, the loud laugh of the Auror force.

And well, no, it wasn’t all sunshine and flowers; no, they didn’t entirely get him sometimes, wouldn’t understand why he didn’t want to serve the Aurors their meal, ever. They could understand that he hated serving in general, why he much preferred staying safely inside the kitchen over spooning food onto trays and handing it to Ministry employees who all looked at him like he was a joke at best, or pretended he was entirely invisible at worst; but they couldn't comprehend why he’d serve the haughty Unspeakables and daft Cursebreakers with mild irritation, but went pale when faced with the generally well-liked Aurors. No, they definitely didn’t get it, so no, he couldn’t always avoid it, had to bribe Cooper to trade his serving day for her butter-churning day, had to beg Luisa out of her dish-washing week so she’d mind the counter, had to promise Pip a bottle of wine whenever he took over his serving duties, but there were times when no, nobody wanted to trade, and no, he couldn’t do anything but suck up and do it.

One such day, queuing in between a group of arrogant Unspeakables and a pair of thick-headed Cursebreakers, came Harry Potter. No, it wasn’t the first time Draco had been forced to serve him but no, it never got any easier. Draco tended to avoid his gaze, to pretend the bowl of pasta he was holding was far more interesting than the wild man standing in front of him in blood-crimson robes for a few short minutes each day, hoping he’d just go away as swiftly as possible. But no, Harry had never let things be simple between them. Because no, Harry wasn’t like the others, but not only for the obvious reasons. Despite their — frankly titanic — history, the truth was that no, Harry didn’t look at him like he was a joke, wouldn’t pretend Draco was invisible, and honestly wouldn’t even look at him with derision anymore. He just … looked. No, he didn’t stay quiet, not content with pretending Draco didn’t exist. Instead, he asked questions. He’d say “hey, how are you doing?”, he’d say, “hey, bit cold today, right?”, he’d say, “hey, do you think we could talk, maybe?”

And no. Draco most definitely did not think they could talk. He opened his mouth to say as much, because no, what did they even have to talk to each other about? But Harry must have sensed it, because he added, “Please?” Open and earnest, one word dripping with the easy confidence he’d carried for a lifetime, the unassuming kind.

It had been a no for so long, for so many good reasons. But not all of those reasons remained true, not even most of them — they’d been swept away by the stream of time, by life allowing the pieces that had held each of them slot into their fated place, no longer on opposing sides of a scale. Draco heard the sound of his own voice say, “yes.” He said, “yes, alright.”

And suddenly, a lot of things shifted, things that had been a firm, unmovable no.

And then they were yes.

Yes, he went to get drinks with Harry and they talked. Yes, he promised he’d hear Harry out without fighting. Yes, he was sorry too. Yes, he wanted a fresh start.

Yes, he was free next week at the same time.

Then, as a knit jumper catches on a nail and unspools, a friendship with Harry was pulled out of him, accidentally, irrevocably.

Harry kept asking, and Draco kept answering, yes. Yes, Draco was free that night, yes, Draco liked Japanese food and would love to get some, yes, Draco would hear the speech Harry had written for the function and tell him very, very honestly if he thought it was shit (it wasn’t). Yes, he’d be at the function himself. Yes, fine, they could match their neckties.

Their back and forth became an exercise of yes, and. They’d always connected in a way that went beyond logic, only now that they were using it to work alongside each other instead of against each other, they were unstoppable and unbearable and so much fun that Draco’s ribs hurt from how hard he laughed most days. He’d imitate the cretin Unspeakables and Harry would say, “yes, and how about this caviar?” while poking the Ministry’s rice and beans. Then Draco would say something purposefully daft and Harry would whack him over the head and ask him if he was a pea-brained Cursebreaker.

Harry would have Draco over at his flat and show him the thread-board of his latest case and work through what he knew out loud in case Draco could spot something he hadn’t, and most of the time Draco didn’t even have to say anything, would only open his mouth to say, “Have you thought that maybe —?” And Harry would exclaim, “You’re so right, I should interrogate the reporter.” And when he solved that case with absolutely no real input from Draco whatsoever, he had him over at his flat again and clinked their wine glasses together with a huge smile and said, “Couldn’t have done this without you, really.”

Yes, Draco’s help had been non-existent, but oh yes, he adored the appreciation. And yes, those glasses of wine flowed incredibly quickly and yes, Draco had tried mezcal once and he was very open to trying it again and yes, he was one hundred percent sure he could knock back that shot quicker than Harry and yes — they were spectacularly drunk a short two hours after getting to Harry’s flat.

Yes, it was insane that this should be happening, but it … also wasn’t. They were friends. They were good friends. No, he hadn’t wanted to show the rougher sides of his personality at first, even if Harry had at one point known them better than most people. Draco was hesitant, their budding friendship felt delicate, and he knew he was a bit much, much too coarse, much too rude most times, that anyone would think so, that they’d be right if they did. But there was something in Harry that made his resolve to hide crack open like an egg and he found himself just being. It was something in the way Harry knew who he was, knew exactly why he was there, yet he seemed to want him, continuously. Want his opinion, his support, his ideas and conversation, his jokes, mean as they occasionally were.

Most of their free time was spent seeking one another or trading barbs and anecdotes through quick-floo notes. Cooper and Luisa had a field day with it, made fun of Draco relentlessly when Harry came in for lunch and they’d snatch the three seconds he spent queuing to chat, would call Harry his man, his boyfriend. Chefs Poppy and Aspen would draw chia seed hearts on Harry’s toast and wink, acted as though they were doing him a favor. And yes, Harry found it hysterical. He’d blow Draco kisses over his toast, call him sweetie pie and bonbon where the others could hear and yes, Draco pinked and raged and returned it by bringing Harry’s tray to his table the next day, where he sat with his loud Auror bunch, and saying, “For you, pumpkin.” Yes, he savored Harry’s spluttering thanks, walked back into the kitchen with a grin.

But yes, that night at Harry’s flat, when Draco settled in on the big green sofa and Harry handed him a cup of homemade sangria saying, “here, love,” it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

It was a no for so long, but Harry’s wine-stained lips grazing his felt not like a first time, but a hundredth, a thousandth, a lifetime of a connection that had shapeshifted but always existed, and probably always would. So maybe, going back around to it, giving it some thought, peeling back the layers … it had truly always been a yes, deep down. A yes, and.

Read on ao3

[nxuvillette]

LOVER OF MINE — WAKASA IMAUSHI

synopsis: you and wakasa have been together for almost six months. he decides one day to reminisce on where it all began.

❥- pairings : wakasa imaushi x fem!reader

❥- note : came up with this randomly, LMAO. it was also inspired by lover of mine by 5sos <3 i hope you all enjoy and reblogs are appreciated !!!

content warnings : sfw, fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, established relationship, fluff, use of pet names (princess), some suggestive content, mentions of alcohol, wakasa is so in love with you.

wakasa imaushi never thought he was capable of falling in love. 

he remembered when he saw you for the first time. he was out for a drive to clear his head and he ended up stopping at a local convenience store he had been to many times. you were standing out front, seemingly waiting for someone or possibly a ride. at first, he didn’t bat an eye at you, but that all changed when you spoke to him for the first time.

“um, excuse me, do you know how to get back to aspen street..? i kind of lost my way.”

your voice was like honey. it was smooth and sweet and rolled off your tongue nicely. if it was anybody else, he would have just ignored the question and went inside to get his beer, but something about you was pulling him in. it was like there was some kind of string pulling you both towards one another. 

“let me take you there. it’s late and you shouldn’t be walking by yourself.”

wakasa never thought those simple words would be the reason why you were now lying beside him in the sheets of his bed. he found it hard to believe that six months ago he saw you as a stranger. someone who was simply looking for directions and now you were his girlfriend. your relationship was one of the reasons he had given up bad habits. you taught him to be gentle, caring. all of the things he wasn’t before he met you. he adored your little mind games. 

the sun’s golden rays peeked into your shared bedroom. usually, wakasa would be fast asleep with you in his arms, but instead, he was awake and staring at your beautiful face. he could never get enough of you. 

your eyes twitched for a brief moment before you peeled them open, revealing your sleepy hues that were sensitive to the bright light that filled the room. he couldn’t help but smile when you lifted your eyes to look at him. his hair was sprawled all over his pillow and he still seemed a little hazy from sleep. “mornin’ princess..” his voice was hoarse from sleep, but nonetheless it sounded sexy.

you lifted yourself just enough to lie your head against his chest. a smile spread across your cheeks when you heard the soft beat of his heart in your ear. “morning.. did you sleep well?” you twirled a piece of his dual colored hair between your fingertips. 

wakasa pressed a kiss atop the crown of your head, trailing his fingers down your backside. he loved mornings like this when it was just the two of you bathing in each other’s embrace. your skin was so soft and your natural scent was enough to calm him down. it made him never want to leave your side. “of course.. especially with you here.” he squeezed your body lightly, making you snuggle into him.

you tilted your face upwards to press a small kiss on his jaw. wakasa couldn’t help but chuckle at the sensation of your lips against him. it also made him quite excited. 

a yelp escaped your lips when wakasa pushed you on top of him, so you were now straddling his waist. despite your hair being somewhat messy from sleep, you still looked like a queen in front of him. “have i ever told you how fuckin’ sexy you are?” he questioned, raising his eyebrow at you.

you giggled at his tone. “yes.. always.” you smiled, feeling bashful.

wakasa brought you in for a kiss, grabbing your ass in the process. you were completely taken back by his sudden action, but nonetheless did you enjoy it. it was so great. there was nowhere else you’d rather be than with him right beside you. “i love you..” he whispered against your lips.

you grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “i love you more.” you replied.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[hogwartslegacypics]

Sebastian’s Wand

My personal headcanon: aspen wood, dragon heartstring core, 12-13 inches, unbending flexibility

Starting with the wood, I’m fairly certain that Sebastian’s wand is made from aspen. The description for aspen wood wands scream Sebastian, and given how prominent dueling is for his character (and being one of the first things we learn about him), it seems like such an intentional choice on the developers behalf to have chosen this while designing his wand. Like “Ah, this one’s all about dueling, it’s perfect for Sebastian!”The color of aspen wood is described as “pale light yellow to nearly white” which matches the color of Sebastian’s wand perfectly.

“Wand-quality aspen wood is white and fine-grained, and highly prized by all wand-makers for its stylish resemblance to ivory and its usually outstanding charmwork. The proper owner of the aspen wand is often an accomplished duellist, or destined to be so, for the aspen wand is one of those particularly suited to martial magic. An infamous and secretive eighteenth-century duelling club, which called itself The Silver Spears, was reputed to admit only those who owned aspen wands. In my experience, aspen wand owners are generally strong-minded and determined, more likely than most to be attracted by quests and new orders; this is a wand for revolutionaries.” – Mr. Ollivander

Now, let’s move on to the core! I’m more conflicted about this one. All I know for sure is that I highly doubt his wand has a unicorn hair core because we know those don’t mix well with dark magic, and Sebastian wouldn’t have been able to cast all three of the unforgivable curses so easily if he had a unicorn core. It’s possible yeah, but they seemed to come so naturally to him which makes me highly doubt it.

Side note: Draco had a unicorn hair core wand, and even if he did end up attempting to use AK on Dumbledore, I believe it would have failed due to this. His intent would have needed to be foolproof to overcome the core, and he was hesitating to begin with. It would take a very dark wizard like Voldemort to turn a unicorn core wand dark, and that’s not Sebastian.

That leaves either a dragon heartstring or a phoenix feather core.

Dragon: As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

Phoenix: This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike. Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.

I’m leaning towards dragon because “The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord.” While this certainly doesn’t narrow out the phoenix feather (Tom Riddle had one), it does make me think about just how easily Sebastian was able to cast the unforgivables. Dragon wands are also “capable of the most flamboyant spells” and flamboyance does describe Sebastian well, along with “somewhat temperamental.” These traits are supposed to be about the wand itself though, not necessarily the owner.

The only thing with phoenix feathers that seems Sebastian-like to me is that the wands “show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.” We know Sebastian acts this way, but this is supposed to be about the wand itself, and I don’t think Sebastian would be happy with a wand like that. Phoenix cores are also so rare that Harry and Voldemort are the only people in original series confirmed to have had one. It’s a very MC-esque core.

We should also keep in mind that, according to HP Wiki, certain wand woods can react with certain cores in unique ways, affecting the wand's personality and/or magical abilities. Based on what we know, dragon cores do seem like they’d be more suited for an aspen wood wand because I’m sure the power of the core goes along well with a wood suited for dueling. Phoenix feathers are even more powerful though, they just take time for their power to show. I’m still kind of conflicted so POLL TIME!!

Next up is wand length! According to Ollivander, “longer wands tend to be drawn to bigger personalities, and those of a more spacious and dramatic style of magic.” Longer wands also work well with taller witches and wizards and are best suited to bold personalities. This is 100% Sebastian! He has such a big personality, so I think his wand would be on the longer side.

Obviously we will never know the exact length, but based on those descriptions, it’s safe to say Sebastian has a long wand. I’m estimating 12-13 inches because his wand appears to be about the same size as his forearm, and I measured my own forearm and got a little bigger than 10 inches (as a 5’6 woman) so I added 2 inches since he’s a guy, and maybe another inch because his wand does seem a little bigger than his forearm. Very scientific, yes.

Lastly, we have wand flexibility. Wand flexibility denotes the degree of adaptability and willingness to change possessed by the wand-and-owner pair. Based on this and what we know about Sebastian, his wand would be somewhere on the unbending scale because he’s stubborn as fuck. If we want specifics, I found some descriptions here and if they are canon, I think either “hard” or “unyielding” fits him the best.

Hard: A wand of this flexibility is very difficult to work with and its loyalty is not won easily. Hard wands are great for complex and advanced levels of magic, so beginning wizards and witches may find extra difficulty with this wand when it doesn't perform well for simple magic. As such, this type of wand is best suited for wizards and witches who are gifted, stubborn, and never give up. Owners of this wand also have a tendency to view things in absolutes; black or white. Some people may find them intimidating or difficult to approach.

Unyielding: A wand of this flexibility finely tunes itself to its original owner's preferences and doesn't stray from those preferences, even in the hands of a new owner; the new owner will just have to get used to it. It is particularly good for combative and healing magic. Unyielding wand owners tend to be very confident in themselves and/or in the things they believe in. They tend to be intelligent, somewhat cynical, and usually have well-defined principles that they will not stray from ever. Sometimes, this combination can lead to arrogance because of them insisting on how right they are without considering other points of view or whether or not they might be wrong.

[arcielee]

She Walks in Starlight

Summary: A goddess comes to ask for help to save her friends. Paring: Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Word Count: 4358 Warnings: Mention of character(s) death. It’s HotD and Greek mythology, so there will be incest.   Author's Note: So, the whole Aemond as Hades trope has been done before BUT NOT BY ME so lets go. My inspiration came from this Aemond drawing: artist. It’s so nifty. Also, huge shout out to @aspen-carter for her ceaseless patience and helping me edit this. I am so grateful to have her as a friend because her writing is just top tier and her insight is so wonderful. ♥ Also! Gō vys is Valyrian for Under world. Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @aaaaaamond (slash means I am unable to tag you)  Series:  Act I -  Act II - Act III

ACT I

“Little goddess, you are far away from where you belong.”

This was the truth spoken, for she never before dared venture away from her mother’s watchful gaze, never pressing beyond the boundary she swore she implemented for safety. Today it was fate that propelled her soft steps to follow the trodden pathway that wove from her realm into his. 

His tone was low and voiced with authority, but she did not feel threatened despite the grim scenery she now found herself in. The Underworld seemed just a shadowed, desolate reflection of the mortal realm above; it was not shroud in darkness, mostly void of pigmentation save the veily blue hue that enveloped all around. She watched the souls make their way towards the ferryman, unaware their fluid steps were not solid against the grey sand that spread the shore of the river Styx. 

“Aïdōneús,” she used the ancient moniker, for who else would be present other than the lordship to the realm of death? She spoke his name as she heard from the hushed whispers of the mortals, who were afraid to misstate and bring unwanted attention from the king of the dead. For her, it was an ancient tongue known to the gods and it spilled like a sweet nectar from her wet lips. She pressed on the ball of her foot to turn and face him. 

Throughout the ages, many adjectives have been used to describe him and beautiful was the first to her mind. 

The contours of his face were sharp as the marble stones that the mortals would carve the gods’ likeness into and it gave a severity to his expression. She saw the left side of his face, marred from his heroism from the tales of the Titanomachy, with a gash that began above his brow and cut through, curling into his cheek. His bravery had been rewarded with his kingship of the Gō vys and a brilliant sapphire stone that was set into his scarred socket. 

Cold and stern, was often used, a firm accountability held for the laws held. Monstrous. Menacing. She assumed these descriptors were spoken by cowards, for all she could see was an esthetical deity.

He towered over her, his arms were tucked behind his back and it emphasized his broad shoulders. Silver scars littered over, brilliant streaks in contrast to the plum chiton draped over his lithe figure with golden thread knotted around his slender waist. The dark tones he wore gave a luminous intensity to his alabaster skin, like a godly beacon in the realm of grey. 

He kept his distance, but she saw his head tilt from the gleam of the red ruby set in his crown and the soft glimmer of his silver tresses that spilled forward with his subtle movement. 

“I have come to ask you something,” she continued, her voice unsteady, but her eyes boldly returned his steady gaze.

There was a haunting beauty to the mismatched coloring of his stare, his lavender eye and the glint of his sapphire eye, that caused her heart to reverberate within her chest.

“You traveled all this way to ask me a question?” His baritone continued and there was a flicker of amusement, the slight curl to his lips with his mellifluous words. “Please ask so I may best assist the goddess of spring.”

She felt the flush of pleasure. He knows who you are, the thought flutters throughout her head and she cannot stop her smile. “I wanted to ask if it was at all possible for a soul to be returned to the mortal realm?” 

A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat and he took a deliberate step to close the space between them; the flicker of amusement is gone, his expression now as cool as the marble it was carved from. “This cannot be done, little goddess,” his silver words carefully chosen for his silver tongue. “It is the fate of every mortal to die and once that threshold is crossed, they cannot return to that life.” 

Her renewed grief comes with its sickening hold, clenching her heart and the threat of tears pricked her eyes. She swallowed thickly, only then breaking her bold stare and instead she looked over the spirits that continued forward, awaiting their turn to cross. 

It should have been me.

“Who did you lose?”

His soft tone pulled her attention back and she can see his brow is furrowed. “My friends,” she refused to cry in front of the king, no matter the kindly concern etched onto his features in the moment. “They were taken suddenly and do not have the gold to pay the passage.” 

He hummed a second time, still low but thoughtful. “They are not yet lost, little goddess,” and the familiar curl of his bow lips gives her the flutter of hope. “Come back tomorrow and we can see what may be done, but,” his gaze rolled over her, locking onto her face once again. “I would advise not to return empty handed when you come to beg a favor from the king of the Underworld.” 

+ + + + + + +

He dared teased the goddess of spring and then he relished in her response to the reminder of such a timeless courtesy. The rose coloring flushed her ivory tones, her embarrassment clashed with the thrum of her vitality beneath and it brought out the sun speckles across her nose and cheeks. 

How divine the thought of his lips to kiss each one. 

She left chagrined and he was certain he would not see her again, save the movements when he would slip to the surface for a reprieve from the dead, a shadow in watch of the gods who resided in the mortal realm. He had not expected her to return the following day and with a basket she showed was filled with delicacies of cheeses, olives, figs, and more.

He saw her coming, her steps almost familiar with the pathway that led to his realm. “You returned, little goddess,”  it was a statement more so than a question. 

“I have, Aïdōneús.” 

Aïdōneús. A name long forgotten, spurned from the fear it held amongst mortals, but she was dauntless with her pronunciation, just as she was bold with her stare. It was the sweetest sound, both familiar and unfamiliar, a sound that he would spend his immortality to follow its every behest.  

Even though her tone was cool, he noted her white knuckled hold on the wicker basket. “I have returned and I have brought you an offering,” she continued, shifting her weight to rest it on her hip. “You also may call me by name or you may call me Kore, if you desire.”

Desire. There is an unbridled fervor in his gaze as it rolled over her curves, so sinfully wrapped in the peplos linen but his posture remained reserved, his arms crossed behind and one foot stanced.  

“As you wish, Kore.” 

He did not say another word and his hand reached for hers; he was pleased that she took it without hesitation and his skin prickled from the warmth of her palm. He whisked her forward and he felt her grip tighten, looking back to see her eyes wide from the abrupt movement. He pulled her closer to his chest, his other arm wrapping around her waist with a firm hold. 

He brought her to a pomegranate tree that is curled on a ledge overlooking the knolls of silver grass, decorated with aimless spirits. 

There was almost an ache when he released his hold and he kept his arms open, watching to make sure her steps are balanced on the solid earth. “I apologize,” his voice was almost sheepish with his realization. “I am so used to getting around and I forget…” 

He is grateful that she does not press him to finish his thought. Instead, he fell back and watched as she spread the cloth, the white billow of fabric that settled on the ground, and placed the basket in the center. She offered to pour him a glass of wine and only then does he take a seat, breaking the bread, while he shared that their view is the asphodel meadows where good souls reside, a neutral ground for peaceful spirits. 

He wanted to bring her here and show her. “This is where your friends will eventually be,” he finished, lifting his goblet to his lips. 

Her eyes watched the bob of his neck as he drank the wine and she admitted, “This seems so dreadfully dull for the good souls.” 

“They no longer have the tedious shackles forced on them from the mortal realm,” his lips curled upwards with his further explanation. “They feel nothing and this allows them contentment to wander these fields.” 

Her nose scrunched. “I understand this,” she breaks a piece of the bread, allowing the wine to dye it red. “That, however, does not change my initial opinion.” 

This is a moment that broke through the kingly demeanor that he carried with his every step, his every movement within the cosmos. She watched, wide eyed and rosy, as his laughter lines his cheeks with dimples, the king of the Gō vys has dimples! She savored the genuineness of this moment and she cannot help but giggle as well. “It is beautiful, though,” she continued with a shy smile. “I see why you chose this spot.” 

His demeanor darkened and he smirked. “Kore, this pales in comparison to your springly creations. I only brought you to show you the bit of vegetation that can survive within my realm.” 

She tilted her head upwards, looking at the deep burgundy of the ripe pomegranates that hung low on the branches. “Are they edible?” 

He leaned onto his side, propped up onto one elbow and his fingers traced the decoration of the gilded goblet. “It is, but without the same savory flavors as,” and he gestured towards the basket that slowly empties with their picnic. “There is a cost of their consumption,” he cannot help the edge of bitterness to his voice. 

Her eyes widen, not with fright but curiosity, to the animosity of his words. “What is the cost?”

“Anything eaten or drank chains you to the realm,” he answered, solemn, and was surprised by the glint in her eyes. 

It draws his gaze to her and, again, he can see the thrum of her ichor beneath her ivory skin, her eyes focused on him and framed with dark lashes, her stare as dauntless as earlier. 

“It is the cost to rule a kingdom,” she offered, blinking and it is seemingly gone, her expression now doleful as it looks over the silver hills that spread infinitely before them. “It is better than to be destined to be the forgotten goddess, tied to her mother’s shadow and just a decoration who nurtures flowers.”  

He was watchful in this somber moment; there was a silence that was not uncomfortable, but he felt the returned fervor from before to ask more, to understand more. There was a tingle in his fingertips to reach for her hand, to knit his fingers so perfectly with her own, just so she may remember she was not alone. 

Instead, he waited.

She pulled herself to stand and reached her hand towards him, the radiance of her smile returning, a divine glow amongst the eerie meadow. “Come and show me more of your kingdom.”

And he obliged her. 

+ + + + + + +

Time, she learned, was different in the Underworld. 

She allowed herself to tour the Gō vys, tucked so close to his side and allowing him to show his kingdom, from the Asphodel to the Erebus, to watch the passage of Acheron and learn the ferryman was men, twins who let a foolish misunderstanding result in the simultaneous slay and he offered them an alternative to serve him. She met Vhagar, the rumored three headed beast who in truth wished for belly rubs and she happily inclined. 

There was a panicked realization when she resurfaced and saw the moon bore overhead. Her steps were quick homewards, muttering prayers to Gaia, to Rhaenys, to whomever was listening and she begged her mother would be unaware of the time lost. 

“You smell of death.”

Rhaenyra was the golden goddess of harvest and fertility, her mother the very embodiment of the sacred laws of the cosmos. Her eyes narrowed on her arrival, but she managed only a hint of anger to touch her overwhelming interrogative tone. “Where have you been, Kore?”

She hummed a lie, something enough to dissuade further suspicion her mother may hold, just a silly little goddess who had gotten lost within the cosmos. She continued to add another promise she would never dare return. 

This was another lie. 

“Aïdōneús,” she greeted him the next day and was pleased with his expression, which was almost incredulous at her return. 

“Kore,” he responded with the same warmth, the curl of his lip when he reached for her hand. She allowed him to take it without thought, a blush crept over as he brought her knuckles to his lips, the tickle of his breath to her skin. “Please, I meant to say this yesterday,” he did not release his hold, his dichromatic gaze watchful. “You may call me just Aemond, if you wish.” 

“Aemond,” and she said his name with the same sweetness and reverence, enjoying her familiarity with the king and how the rose color dusts his cheeks when she repeats it. “I admit, I have come to ask another favor.” 

“More souls you wish to return to the mortal realm?” 

He regretted his words the moment they left his lips, when he saw the pain that danced across her eyes. His apology was caught in his throat, the explanation for his tasteless jest, but she already shook her head and that pain was gone. 

“I wish to show you a place that is dear to me,” but her tone is careful. “Are you able to come with me to the mortal realm?” 

I would go anywhere you asked of me, he does not say and instead he nodded, the shimmer of his silver hair. “I can leave, though not for long periods of time,” he shifted his gaze. “It is a tether to the Underworld. There is a pull, almost an ache, that grows the longer I am away.”  

A smile returned to her lips, pink and inviting. “I will not keep you too long from the duties of your kingdom,” she promised and offered her hand to him. 

Traveling within the Gō vys requires a celerity to his movements; there is a rush of wind with his quick motion from one place to the next, whereas she seems to frolick, pulling to keep him at her pace as they flit from the shadows and move towards a small isle. At first glance, it only holds the wreckage of the temple to appease the averter of evil, its ruin ironically from a temper tantrum of the gods. 

“But why here?” Aemond was curious as he looked over the cracked stylobate and the broken pillars split, with stone embedded into the soft earth around them. 

“There is beauty in the broken,” she smiled and pulled him to follow. “After Daemon and his temper tantrum, the mortals abandoned it, but I wished for it to blossom with new life.” 

He watched her climb over a fallen pillar and she peered up to him, beckoning him to follow. He dropped softly at her side, while the soft echo of her words, there is beauty in the broken, remained in his ear. Aemond saw her focus was ahead and he followed her gaze. 

His eye followed the curl of a turquoise moss that curled and decorated the stones, blooming with pastels. It continued to the reflection of the morning dew glittering off the almost iridescent petals, gleaming brilliant in the rising run; it showed the sea scheme of colors that stretched around them.

She was the goddess of spring, of vitality personified, and he is the darkness. But in this serene moment, there was an emotion, an almost tangible passion that entangled with the ichor of his veins when she reached for his hand again.

There was a spark as their palms fit together, as his slender fingers curled around her hand. “It is beautiful,” he said and his tongue wet his lips. 

She peered at him, the flutter of her own heart when she saw how his features softened in the intimacy of the moment, a satisfaction to be privy to the reserved pleasure that played on his face. There was the intrusive thought that begged her to touch his jaw, to press up to her tiptoes and dare to taste his mouth, and she wished to bring back a piece to his kingdom, just so she could relive the hint of his smile on his lips. 

“It is,” she agreed, tucking the thought away. 

+ + + + + + +

That night, she tucked herself into the athenaeum to pour over the scrolls her mother stored away, with Rhaenyra both pleased and proud of her rekindled passion for her role within the cosmos. 

Kore did not correct her. She needed her focus to return to what initially brought her to the Underworld, the fate she shelved and the growing burden with that neglect. She told herself that Aemond would be more amenable with an offering more tailored for the god of death, but in truth, she also wished to understand the growing thrum beneath her breastbone whenever she was within his proximity. 

There was a simple spell that would serve both. 

Though he would never admit to waiting for her, she was still pleased to see him on the edge of the plane, close enough for the sunlight to touch and give an ethereal glow to his chiseled features. There was a gentle breeze through his silver, silk tresses and she stopped her steps so she could admire him, the glimmer. 

He tilted his head. “Kore, what is it?”  

“Aemond,” she breathed. “You really are beautiful.” 

His jaw steeled with the compliment and she was quick to grab his hand, leading him below like a silver beacon into the blue hue of the Gō vys. Once they were in the shadowed realm, she turned to press against his chest, her softness melting against him and with her whisper, “Aemond, take me back to the meadows.” 

He, of course, obliged her. 

There was a comfort with how his arms, so strong and lined with silver scars, wrapped around her waist with a hold she knew could be trusted. The jarring movement still caused her stomach to lurch, but it was quickly replaced with the exhilarating rush and her laughter spilled from her lips. Only when she felt the tickle of the silver grass beneath her soles did he finally release his hold of her and they were back beneath the pomegranate tree. 

She curled with grace onto its roots and beckoned him to follow. He paused for a moment to appreciate how her robes nestled against her curves before he sits, close enough, with one leg up to rest his forearm on and the other arm pressing himself upright, his palm resting on the earth. His expression begs curiosity, but he is quiet. 

Kore and her sweet smile elicited his hummed response and he watched as she began to rub her palms together. A soft glow emitted between and her focus returned to Aemond, a golden goddess with the light, before she pressed her hands to the ground. Her eyes closed for a moment, her thoughts poured into the practice incantation with the wordless flutter of her lips. 

She opened her eyes and smiled again, his gaze shyly dropped to watch her hands lift and reveal the bolt of green that begins to stem upwards. He watched as its leaves unfurled and the red bulbs bunched together began to blossom.

His expression is one of awe, his jaw slack from seeing the life sprout from the grey earth and flourish with color before him. Aemond looked pained when she reached to pluck one, cupping it in her palms with a whisper, the same golden glow, before she presented him the enchanted flower, the petals unbruised and a vibrant red. 

“This will match the ruby in your crown,” she explained, shifting her weight to look at him. 

His expression was stoic, just a red reflection in his sapphire eye. “What are they called?” He asked when she opened his palm, his fingers spread as if his touch would shatter it. 

“These are called snapdragons,” she shared, her pride aglow with her creation, her validation. “They are able to handle the cooler weather, but their lifespans are not very long, which is why,” and her fingertips tickled his palm as she picked it up, careful to pin it to his chiton, “I made this one for you. This one will never wilt.” 

His gaze fell to it, his slender fingers pressed into the fabric around where she snugly fastened it, still cautious to touch. “Is this magic?”

He did not see the touch of pink to her cheeks, how she hemmed for her words to reply to him. 

She sought out this spell in the archives of her mother’s anethum, that would allow a flower to eternally hold its blossomed vibrance with a condition in place, an emotion from the spellcaster, something that hinted its existence from the day they spent together at the temple.

An emotion she felt irresolute to share now. 

She had thought it to be carnal at first. Desire, the unbridled passion that hummed within her when she first laid eyes on the god of death and his aery beauty. It was a fervor that burned within her as she drank his deliberate movements, the glimmer of his silver hair, the perpetual smirk that played on his pink, bow lips. 

This will fade, she told herself. She returned, undeterred and with purpose to save her companions, the fate that brought her to the Gō vys to begin. With her offering rested on her hip, she allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, flitting further into his kingdom. It was his touch that sparked something more, the sweet candor of their conversation, how she swore his steady gaze able to see her bones beneath. 

She felt confirmation at the temple ruins, from the moment she watched the colors of her masterpiece absorb into the exquisiteness he carried with him. She saw something, she felt something. 

There is beauty in the broken.

He was a timeless deity that had seen the fall of Titans and she was only the little goddess of spring. 

In part, she was proud of her power that grew, the vibrant glow of the snapdragon, but she also knew it stemmed from an emotion from her that he would never reciprocate. 

So all she said was, “Yes. Magic.” 

Her cheeks grew warmer still with his steady gaze, her silent prayers that he would not press for the truth of it because she knows she would never be able to lie to him. Aemond seemed to accept the words and then said, “I accept your offering, Kore. Tell me your favor and I swear I will do the best that I am able.” 

So she spoke of the fate that brought her to the Underworld. “I wish to pay the passage for two souls.” 

Her question did not anger him, but there is a sadness that crept to his features. “Kore, I would not be able to allow this,” he sighed, unable to look her in the eyes. “If I am to make an exception for you, I would have to offer the same courtesy to the rest and…” there is a pregnant pause, a moment that allowed her to choke on the emotion that threatened to break through and she saw the glimmer of silver when he tilted his head to watch her. 

“Persephone,” he said with his low baritone. “Why do you ask for this? What brought you to my realm?” 

She wore her shame like the chiton draped over her curves. Her tongue wet her lips as her mind tried for the words to express the suffocating guilt that built with her every visit. Begin at the beginning. On that day, there had been an enchanted flower that she and her companions, Baela and Rhaena, came upon. 

“A flower,” Aemond hummed, his expression unreadable. 

His comment left her feeling childish, ashamed to admit what followed. The flower seemed otherworldly, its petals glittered in the sunlight and beckoned to her, but she balked and stayed within the parameters Rhaenyra had placed. Baela and Rhaena teased at her sudden shyness, pushing beyond and dared to pluck it. 

In return, the earth rumbled to split open and swallowed them both. 

“I know that it was planted for me,” she finished, her fingers fidget with the rope tied around her waist. “What other purpose would an enchanted flower serve than to lure the goddess of spring?” Her cheeks were tearstained. “It should have been me.”

Aemond hummed again, the severity returned to his gaze and he looked away. She allowed herself a breath, the slow intake and exhale through parted lips, to relax her posture and rest her hands into her lap. He reached for her hand and she allowed him to take it.

It was with his touch that she could admit she loved him. There was a tenderness to his large hands, how his slender fingers were gentle to hold her own and the soothing gesture of his thumb making circular patterns on her palm.

“Kore,” he began and she looked up at him. “I will look further into this. I meant what I said that I am unable to return souls to the mortal realm, it is beyond my power, but I will find…” he hummed again. “Will you please come back tomorrow night?”

I will always find my way to you, but instead she only smiled, nodding her head. 

[cowboydisaster]

Christmassy idea idk if I’m too late with this but I just thought of it- Arthur dresses up like Santa to surprise Aspen and the new baby🥹🥹

* ˚ ✦ Starlight * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 900 a/n: Merry Christmas!! Thank you for this prompt, im glad you enjoy the little christmas universe.

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: CHRISTMAS DAY!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

“Aspen? Honey, I think someone's at the door.” You nod towards the threshold, a smile tugging at your lips as she peeks up from her seat at the table, abandoning her gingerbread men to look towards the door. 

“Who momma? Is daddy home?” She asks, a little spark in her eyes at the thought of her father. You pull the curtain back gently. Starlight trickles in as you fight a smile. 

“I don't know, baby. Why don't you bundle up and we'll go see.” 

She nods, and you help her zip up her coat, pull the boots over her feet. You add a scarf and gloves too, always erring on the side of caution. Aspen is so sweet and patient, waiting excitedly to check outside. She waits until you scoop Iris from her bassinet, and bundle the two of you up. 

The baby yawns, big blue eyes peering around, looking for her daddy no doubt.You smirk, holding her swaddled form close to your chest, leading Aspen towards the door. Your dog Bear rushes out first, barking loud, playing in the snow.

“Go on.” You smile warmly when she looks up to you, and then she pulls the door handle, revealing her surprise. 

Snow falls in beautiful intricate flakes, coating everything in white, falling upon fence rails and the big red wagon that is stopped in your front yard. Sugar and Jasper, yours and Arthur's steeds, stand proud at the front, decorated with red bridles and harnesses. 

The two horses bump their noses together, whinnying and entertaining each other as your husband– no, as Santa Claus himself steps down from the red wagon. 

Arthur had been gifted the outfit from an old friend, a designer from Saint Denis; his name was… Wasp, something or other. The rest had been Arthur's idea. The beard, the wagon, he'd planned it all. You had let him go along with it, seeing how much joy he gets out of spoiling them, making Christmas magical. 

“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa calls– with a particularly southern drawl, you note– as Aspen runs across the yard, a fit of giggles erupting from her chest. 

“MOMMA!” Aspen turns back to you, screaming. Her little cheeks are pink, a smile stretches ear to ear, “It's the real Santa Claus!” 

You rock Iris in your arms, watching the scene play out. Wishing you could live in it forever. 

Arthur helps Aspen climb into the wagon as she marvels at all the bells and whistles. She tells him how good she's been, how much she loves her family. She also tells Santa that her baby sister should be on the naughty list for crying too loud sometimes. Santa has no qualms with that one. 

Iris is far too little to stay out in the cold for very long, so after her nose begins to turn pink, you nod to Arthur, signaling that you'll be stepping back in the house. 

From your seat in the living room, rocking your daughter, you can see the pure joy in Aspen’s eyes. She sits on top of the wagon with Arthur, and he takes her for a ride around the property, talking to her all about Christmas. 

Iris stirs when the door flies open, your little girl running through. 

“Santa took me on a ride!” She hollers, pinks tinged pink from the cold. She pulls her scarf and boots off, dropping them by the front door, “He said ‘Goddamn!’”

Your eyes pop open wide, flickering up to your eldest, “He said what?” 

“Yep! He tripped and he yelled Goddamn!” 

“Baby–” You snort, covering your face with your hand, “Please don't say that word, okay?” You try not to laugh, knowing it will spur her to keep saying it. She nods, pure joy lingering in her eyes. Magic.

“Good, thank you.” You smile at her sweetness, “Go ahead and get in bed, honey. It's way past bedtime, and we have to get to sleep so Santa can sneak our presents under the tree before he leaves. I'll be in shortly to read you a story, alright?” 

— — — 

Bear’s head raises from its comfortable position as Aspen slides out of her bed. She knows it's way past her bedtime, knows that she should have stayed put, waited for you, but she can't help it.

She has Arthur's curiosity. She has your knack for mischief. The door doesn't creak as she pushes it open, little feet padding across the chilly wooden floor, down the hallway.

Ponderous eyes peek around the corner into the living room, going wide as dinner plates. There is a small pile of foil-wrapped presents under the Christmas tree, but more of her attention is locked onto the scene in front of the Christmas tree. 

She gasps, her little hand covering her mouth, suppressing giggles. She runs back to her room, and this time, her little padding feet reach your ears. She jumps back into bed, pulling the blankets up, giggling.  “Bear!” She whispers, gripping onto his big face, “Momma was just kissing Santa Claus!!”

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola @calcarius445

[buckets-and-trees]

You're such a wicked menace, Eva!

Title: Insatiable Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 1845

Summary: Your new boyfriend comes along when you pick up the keys for your new apartment and conduct the move-in inspection.

Content Warnings: explicit smut (oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal penetration, hint at overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, cream pie)

Logistical Notes: Fulfilling my February box for @buckybarnesevents Build-a-Bucky Bingo event (forehead kiss, fingering). Follows our Desperate couple but can be read as a stand alone piece.

Additional Notes: Honestly I didn't have any plans to return to our rivals-to-lovers couple from Desperate and Uncertain and Sure again so soon, but this gif hit a certain inspiration and may pull from some literal "reader insert" vibes as I'm moving into a new apartment right now... Also thoroughly inspired by this post coming across my dash today thanks to @ghotifishreads.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You couldn’t help the permanent smile on your face.

Yes, moving was going to be a hassle, and you didn’t have a clue how everything was going to fit into this tiny one-bedroom apartment, but being back in the place again, keys officially in your hands, the place really yours, standing in front of the bright living room windows that made your heart sing when you first saw the place, that feeling that this was your place warmed your whole chest again.

It was hard to break away from the light streaming in through the windows, but you turned your head to look at Bucky. “So? What do you think of the place?”

He was new to your life, too.

The kidnapping and rescue in Paris had been only a month ago. Over that month, you and Bucky had been figuring out what the revelation of your feelings for each other meant outside of a life and death situation. Parts of that were easy, other parts were trickier, but nothing that made you want to abandon ship.

“I think it’ll suit you well,” he answered. His smile was soft. You loved seeing this side of him, especially after so many years of angst and rivalry between you.

“You’re practically glowing with excitement,” he added.

Your smile grew to a grin, and you shrugged one shoulder. “It’s smaller than the place I’ve been, but I couldn’t resist all this sunlight.”

You turned around and looked at the empty living room that bled into the kitchen area. “I want to try and measure things and figure out where everything will go before the movers bring the furniture in tomorrow. I’m still worried about whether all my shelves will fit or not.”

You set your bag down on the kitchen counter and began to pull out a measuring tape, the blue painters tape you planned on using to map out the furniture shapes on the floor and rummaged for the hastily scribbled together list you’d made of your furniture dimensions.

Bucky had remained silent – he was often so silent you could forget he was present when you got immersed into something – and you spun back around to see him still in the same position across the room by the windows, studying you.

“What?”

“You know what we have to do before anything else,” he said seriously.

“What’s that?”

He licked his lips.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped.

“Bucky, we can’t–”

He chuckled. “You have the keys, it’s officially your place,” he said, stalking toward you. “We absolutely can.”

Before you could utter another word, he reached for your elbow and tugged you into his arms, planting a sound kiss right on your mouth, swallowing all protest. He coaxed your lips open, and his tongue licked into your mouth, drawing an eager moan from you.

Damn, he was too good at this, you thought as your hands came up to clutch at his back.

He pressed your bodies together, and you were not surprised to feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. One thing you had learned about Bucky over the last month was that he could be ready to have you on the turn of a dime, and he could be insatiable. That your body responded so quickly to him as well was both blessing and curse. Less than a minute and you were melting completely against him, eager for more, and you could feel the slickness already growing at your slit.

Your hands dropped down his back, but only to reach the hem of his sweater before dipping under so your fingers could eagerly climb up against his naked skin. He grinned into the kiss.

With his sweater quickly halfway up his torso, Bucky broke off the kiss momentarily to pull it up and off the rest of the way. Then he coaxed you down to the floor, spreading his sweater down on the hardwood floor and laying you gently on top of it. His body covered yours, and he began kissing you in earnest again, his vibranium arm planted next to your head while his other hand began deftly working at the buttons on the front of your blouse.

It was only another moment or two before he’d pushed your shirt open to bare your torso to him, and Bucky wasted no time in trailing his hot lips down your throat to blaze down your chest, paving a heated path between your breasts, over the band of your bra, and down your stomach. He gave your belly button a playful lick that had you gasping and a giggle bubbling up your throat.

“Bucky!”

He chuckled, and reached down to pull your shoes off as he pressed more kisses over your stomach. Then, with both shoes discarded, he knelt above you to unbutton and unzip your jeans, before pulling them down and off your legs. As your legs came back down on either side of him, his hands skimmed slowly along your inner thighs, and when they reached your core, he pressed one thumb at the base of your clothed slit and brushed it up over the damp cloth of your panties, the other thumb following just after and teasing you again there. You canted your hips up, wordlessly asking for more.

Bucky smirked, but he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and quickly pulled them off, tossing them to the side as well.

“Please,” you begged.

“Happily,” he whispered, then lowered himself down to wedge his shoulders between your thighs, pressing them wide to accommodate his broad frame. He licked a stripe up your dripping slit, moaning at the taste of you.

Your stomach swam with butterflies and your cheeks heated slightly. You had never been with anyone so unabashedly open with their desire for you as Bucky. He held nothing back when expressing his pleasure, his desire. It was a heady thing to be on the receiving end of, and you it still had you between feeling slightly flustered and drowning further in the depths of how intoxicating it was to know the effect you had on him.

He applied a second, slower lick over your folds, and then he began to kiss your lower lips the way he did your mouth, and your entire body coiled up for him, back arching, hands grabbing for his short hair, legs contracting.

“Bucky, god, yes,” the words tumbled out as you quickly began to lose more and more of your coherence.

But he was slow and torturous in his ministrations. You squirmed for more, but he held your pelvis down with one firm hand, while the other gently caressed your hip. Your fingers found his vibranium ones, and he entwined them with yours and started to fuck your cunt with his tongue.

When he heard a little whine escape from you, he began to suck your clit diligently. The orgasm that he’d been building you toward escaped from you briefly, but the switch picked right up on building that tension again, and he flicked his tongue a few times across your swollen nub as he sucked, and then you cried out as you finally tumbled over the edge of ecstasy.

He pressed a kiss to your cunt, then shifted up, quickly maneuvering his hands beneath your back to unclasp your bra and pull off your last piece of clothing. It was the only moment of reprieve he gave you, because then his mouth dipped to suck at one of your tits, and one of his hands worked into your folds, slowly stroking in and out of your tight channel. Two fingers curled into your pussy, and he quickly found one of his favorite places – that spongy spot on the front of your walls, knowing he found exactly the spot he needed as you gave a debauched moan. He slipped in a third finger, and as he sucked the hardened nub of your nipple and lapped at it, he worked to rip your second orgasm from your soul more quickly. It was clear nothing was going to deter him from his plans to ruin you in the empty apartment, and you could only be glad you were up on a floor high enough you didn’t risk any neighbors seeing in your open blinds to see the way he was taking you apart right there on the floor.

The second orgasm burst through your body unexpectedly, and it stole the breath from your lungs.

It had ripped through you so powerfully that you didn’t register the clinking sound of his belt buckle coming undone and hitting the floor as he unzipped and pushed down his jeans and boxer briefs.

But you noticed he wasn’t finished with you as he slipped one hand under your thigh and angled your hips to slot the head of his cock between your puffy folds.

You whimpered, fighting to open your eyes and plead your case as you looked into in the depths of his heated blues. Whether you were pleading for him to stop or for more, you really didn’t know or care at this point.

He hitched your leg up around his hip and slowly slid his fat cock fully into your cunt. “So damn good.”

You moaned openly, completely debauched on pleasure at this point, but clearly your pussy wouldn’t refuse him plying you with even more of it.

Deep, slow strokes.

You felt every aching inch of him as he thrust slowly in and out of your tight channel. He still made you stretch around him, and it was exquisite for both of you.

Full, so full.

In and out.

So deep inside of you now, and you could do nothing but make incoherent noises beneath him, gasping for air. “I know, sugar, I know," he murmured into the crook of your neck. "Gonna give us what we both need.”

And he fucking does, as he does every time, using your body as if he’s had you for years. He rewarded you both with an orgasm that truly leaves you boneless and breathless once he finally pushed you over the edge and then sped up his thrusts to chase his own release as your vagina squeezed around his throbbing cock. He groaned as he spilled hot ropes of cum inside of you, thrusting until he’d emptied himself in you completely. Finally, he collapsed on top of you, and pressed kisses into the crook of your neck, then along your jaw, allowing you to try and catch your breath before finally kissing your lips again.

You whined against his lips, and he rolled over, taking you with him, and letting you lay half on his chest, half against his side. He continued to kiss you lazily.

You didn’t know how long he continued to make out with you, but the sun’s rays had shifted significantly once he pressed a kiss to your forehead and you rested your head on his bare shoulder.

“It’s a good floor,” he said, almost mundanely.

You laughed softly.

“We’ll need to check the counters a little later,” he added.  

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

Cornsnake Shopping List

So, you've decided on a cornsnake - great choice! Cornsnakes, Pantherophis guttatus, are great pets, and they're popular for a reason! You can expect an adult cornsnake to grow 3-5 feet long, with males being generally bigger than females. Cornsnakes can live to be around 20 years old with proper care.

Enclosure setup shopping list:

You will want to set up your enclosure so your snake has room to stretch out, climb, and explore! You will need to set up a temperature gradient of 88-75 Fahrenheit.

Enclosure. For a young corn, a 20 gallon is fine, and a 40 gallon works well for yearlings. As an adult, your snake will need a 4x2x2 enclosure at the absolute minimum, and bigger is better! Check out Animal Plastics for affordable, high-quality enclosures.

If your enclosure has a screen lid, two sets of screen clips. Never bring a snake home without screen clips!

A dome heat lamp with ceramic sockets. Any big reptile brand is fine - Fluker's, Zoo Med, and Exo Terra are all trustworthy brands here. Make sure your dome lamp is rated for the wattage of bulb you will be using - 150 is usually a safe bet.

Heat bulbs. I use ceramic heat emitters for my corns. You can choose to provide halogen light and UVB if you'd like. Arcadia makes high-quality heat sources your pet will love. The wattage you choose will depend on your enclosure size and the temperature in your home.

A thermostat to plug your heat source into. Vivarium Electronics thermostats are excellent but pricey; you can go as expensive as you like but here is a cheap one I swear by.

Digital thermometer/hygrometer reader with probes - Zoo Med and Exo Terra make great dual gauges

At least two identical hides, one on either side

A container to make a humidity hide. Simply cut a hole in the lid, fill with damp moss, and you're set! Providing your snake with a humid hide will help them have perfect sheds every time!

A large water bowl

(Insider tip: if you go to the grocery store and buy a pack of black plastic food storage containers, you can easily make hides, humidity hides, and a water bowl out of them! Here's my go-to option, you can easily take care of all that for one baby snake for like 5 dollars!)

Sphagnum moss for your humid hide

Substrate - for corns, you have a lot of options. You can use aspen shavings if you like, but coconut fibers, cypress mulch, and coconut husk are all great options. Whatever you choose, provide your snake with at least a couple inches so they can dig.

Climbing branches and other decor - climbing is a must, and vines, rocks, and tunnels made from cardboard tubes are other great options.

General care:

Feeding tongs.

Food for your snake. Even baby corns can eat whole pinky mice. Your offered food should be about 10% of your snake's body weight.

A soldering iron, believe it or not! A cheap soldering iron will serve you well throughout your snake's life - you can use it to easily melt holes in bowls and containers to make hides.

A small snake hook can help you with handling your snake, especially if you're nervous.

And some common beginner mistakes:

Don't move your snake to a separate enclosure to feed. It's a myth that will make your snake "aggressive" - it can actually cause more mistaken feeding bites as they associate handling with being fed!

Don't worry if your snake spends most of their time hiding, especially while young. A hiding snake is a happy snake!

Don't over-handle your snake, and always give them at least a week to settle in before offering food for the first time.

Never handle your snake for two days after they've eaten - that could cause a regurgitation.

Cornsnakes are some of the best pet snakes out there! With proper enclosure setup, you're all set for many happy years together with your new friend.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

to start off this is long and rambly but please bear with me

you occasionally reblog pro/antiship discourse on the side of "real people are not haunted by fiction or people's opinions" and you generally seem to be very much against the idea of trying to hold people's thoughts against them etc in not phrasing this well but I hope you get my meaning. How does that affect the way you write about Renn?

Aspen and most of the other crew mates are deeply disturbed by him saying that he thinks genetic engineering of brains could sometimes be useful, to the point where his single defining quality is "the guy who supports Lyson projects" and somebody was willing to murder him over it. From a modern perspective what he said doesn't seem incredibly radical (I definitely disagree with the concept, but it's not even close to my least favorite conservative opinion). Maybe I'd be angrier if it was someone minimizing a real tragedy like he was in-universe? That probably played into it.

I'm not trying to imply Aspen's thoughts are your thoughts, or that you should've written them more similar to you, but it is a really interesting dynamic and wondering how/why you came up with it.

Lyson projects have nothing to do with genetic engineering. They're about emotional/behavioural control via brain damage.

I'm not really sure what you mean about people's opinions haunting people. People's opinions influence their behaviour, which absolutely can cause problems for other people. Somebody who thinks gay people are mentally ill predators out to corrupt children is dangerous in groups, in the voting booth, and in general life because they hold that opinion.

I don't agree with Aspen on most things, and this Lyson disagreement got into the story the same way all the other ones do -- I come up with a topical conundrum about care, community, liberty or justice, and throw as many different viewpoints at it as possible from different crew members. Which crew member I personally agree with is more or less random; their positions are chosen by their personalities, not mine. I'm interested in giving the reader a space to consider a messy issue, not forcing them to listen to my opinion specifically. (If I wanted to do that, I'd just get into online discourse about it instead).

In the case of Lyson projects, the issue is pretty obviously the question of risk and autonomy in the care of vulnerable patients, and the question of benefits of certain treatments vs. their potential for abuse. I was specifically thinking about euthanasia and MAID when I wrote it but there are literally uncountable other examples of the same conundrum, including the more literal (long discontinued) parallel of performing medical lobotomies.

If you're interested in discussing the ethical stuff that shows up in TTOU specifically, the Discord is constantly having those conversations.

[yukiokami]

my tears ricochet

treech x female 7th district reader

warnings: no use of y/n, third-person narrative, angst, headcanons (9th hunger games winner, treech's family), l-bombs, violence, deaths.

summary: she did everything to prevent him from losing her too, eventually losing him herself.

word count: 859

author's note: my first time writing on tumblr, i had a huge wave of inspiration after listening to sad songs and watching edits of treech. english is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes. this is a songfic to my tears ricochet by taylor swift. enjoy, loves.

her name was pulled. among hundreds of others. everything around her is in slow motion, she doesn't hear anything, doesn't see her mother's frightened eyes. she only notices treech's hand rising, he is now ready to volunteer, so she wouldn't be taken to the games. she manages to grab him with both hands and whispers, calming herself rather than him.

"it's going to be okay, i'll be fine, treech."

he shakes his head in disbelief. she can't leave him, leave her mom. die.

and she doesn't understand how she can cope. this is not a self-preservation instinct. it's an instinct to save those she cares about.

"listen, aspen is going to be with me. you can't come with me, please, i can't stand it if you die."

"i can't stand it if you die!" he repeats after her. "i can't lose you!" treech breaks down, despite the huge crowd.

burning tears flow down her cheeks, blurring the dirt on her face, and leaving long streaks.

"that's why i'm not going to die," she looks at him, reassuring. "i'm not going to die, treech. please take care of mom," she says when the peacekeepers grab her when they hold on to each other with the last of their strength.

cause I loved you, I swear I loved you

till my dying day

"i love you, okay? forever," their hands separate and soldiers drag the girl to the stage.

"let her go!" treech hisses, trying to fight the soldiers who are holding him tightly from running after her.

the doors close and she hears him scream.

we gather here, we line up,

weepin' in a sunlit room

when the counter counts down the seconds before the games begin, she can't think, there's a white noise in her head. there are no places to hide in the huge arena. here you can only fight and try to survive. she needs to survive because they are waiting for her at home. treech has no one but her. his parents died in a forest fire, as did her father.

and if I'm on fire,

you'll be made of ashes, too

she starts running towards the center with all her strength and grabs an axe, while two tributes attack two more. they die in seconds. she backs away and a guy from district 4 grazes her arm with a sword, trying to pierce it. she turns around and stabs him in the head with an axe.

the games lasted for several hours, the remaining three tributes, including her, are sitting on opposite sides of the arena, exhausted. aspen was killed by a girl from district 9.

and she's just waiting for the attack.

and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

this is not a victory, but a simple accident. but it doesn't matter now, because she's going home.

we gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean

some to throw, some to make a diamond ring

they are sitting by a small lake, throwing stones into it, which leaves circles, a month after the hunger games. they devote all their time to each other, and treech is insanely happy that she is with him, that she is alive. she didn't leave him.

"soon I'll earn a lot of money and buy us a house, and we will live there. just the two of us. and then I'll buy you a diamond ring and we'll get married," treech often voiced his thoughts, to which she always laughed and said that they would have to work very hard.

and when you can't sleep at night

(you hear my stolen lullabies)

at night, she was tormented by terrible nightmares that she was back in the arena, she was shaking and nothing could help but funny songs sung to her by her beloved lumberjack in a hat, wrapping her in a warm blanket by his embrace and words about how brave she is.

when his name is pulled at the next reaping, she can't breathe. this just can't be happening. they've been through so much together that they've been torn apart again. she's broken up by games. killed by the reaping. at that carefree time, treech guessed that such an outcome could take place, so he was ready. as much as it was possible.

"you were able to come back to me, and i will do everything to come back to you," he strokes her cheek with one hand, and with the other he puts a ring in her deathly cold ones. "i love you."

the peacekeepers take him away.

she falls to her knees and a frantic scream pierces the entire square.

when the neighbors talk about tributes returning, she joyfully runs to meet treech, confident of his victory. there are two coffins at the square, in one of which lies lamina, and in the other her brave beautiful boy. he didn't come back to her.

you know I didn't want to have to haunt you

but what a ghostly scene

you wear the same jewels that I gave you

as you bury me