#these two have taken over my brain and i cannot get them to leave

[rxttenfish]

In regards to your AU, what's Aaravi's relationship with Bellanda like? I feel like it's safe to assume she doesn't care for Laudanda and Amanda, so I'm curious as to how well she gets on with the sister Miranda's closest to.

(Also, thank you for opening my eyes to Miravi. I was pretty neutral on it until I stumbled across your art and ramblings about them, and now I have three fanfic WIP's for them and am currently naming their fankids)

ironically i havent been writing very much about bellanda yet, despite her having a fairly large role in the story regardless. mostly this is just me not being happy with how i write her just yet - i know WHAT i want to do with her and how she acts, but getting her voice nailed down in my brain is a different matter (and one that i always struggle with anyways)

the important thing to understand first about bellanda is that her and miranda are heavily codependent.

like. heavily, heavily codependent. its not necessarily healthy, no, but given their circumstances it is VERY understandable. bellanda and miranda are unusually close in age for the inheriting children of a royal (being only five years difference between them, though i might fudge this number a little going forward just to make sure the timeline works out, regardless theyre still extremely close in age compared to any of the other sisters), and for that they mostly got raised together. royals tend to be raised by a group of nannies and caretakers, with very little interaction with other merfolk at their same age (beyond other heirs from other families they might interact with when their families are doing business together, but they're discouraged from keeping these as anything other than temporary, since theres a fear of unfair advantages later in life, as well as the other family using their younger heirs as weapons against their own), so they all kind of grow up disconnected from themselves and their own childhood and have a harder time forging connections outside of the setting of the courts and royal business as an adult. it also keeps their social connections pretty intensely tied to their family in comparison, which helps form the basic differences between the community system for everyone else and the family system for royals.

however, as i've mentioned before, merfolk are hypersocial and will readily form social bonds anytime they can, so being raised together meant that bellanda and miranda essentially became each others entire social lives. they were the one person the other knew they could trust with 100% certainty and often physically relied on each other in a way that they couldn't with anyone else. in bellanda's case, since the queen died only a few months after miranda was born, she became the default adult and "parent" in miranda's life, far moreso than their actual parent.

so, within the merkingdom, they ended up intensely relying on each other with no other avenues for close emotional connection, which was only enabled by their respective roles, being that bellanda being head of military meant that she was a defacto guard for miranda and literally protecting her, in a way that was intended because she was the crown princess, but ended up being because she was literally bellanda's only friend, her sister, and the child that she was going to have to take care of.

and all of this mistrust of other people and intense closeness did come out of a place of necessity within the merkingdom, when backstabbing and blackmail and doing anything to anyone before they can do anything to you first was the norm (and still is, this stint on land is very brief, all things considered) and something to be genuinely feared and guarded against, alongside their connection being looked down upon already as them giving unfair advantage to each other in their court dealings. when multiple suitors have tried playing the loverboy card to get close to both of them, there's a very good reason they would mistrust anyone trying to get close to them and fear anyone coming "between" them.

but it stops being so reasonable and necessary once miranda was sent up to the land to act as ambassador for the merkingdom.

which, miranda absolutely still acted the same as before when she first came up. she was suspicious of everyone and mistrustful of any attempts to get close to her, and this generally contributed a lot to her being deep in culture shock and freaking the fuck out over how deeply out of her element she was and how (reasonably) terrified she was of experiences that she had never had in her life. it was a very rough, very hard time for her, and while that doesnt excuse how much of a massive, raging asshole she was during that time, it DOES explain her behavior and why it was so severe.

however, as you can imagine, the present does not take place during miranda's first year or two on land, and in that time, miranda's... gotten used to the land, basically? she's figured out she can have friends! she's figured out she can bond with people! she has more people who she can trust and who will defend her! she has people who she wants to protect as well! she's much more relaxed than any other time prior in her life, and that means she comes off as much more affectionate and open.

of which, ALL of this is vital to understanding why bellanda is the way that she is.

because bellanda didn't get sent up to the land during those first few years. bellanda was still inside the merkingdom, still overseeing business there, still dealing with the same things that she's dealt with for her entire life. she doesn't know miranda's friends, she's never talked to them, she has no reason to trust them beyond miranda's word, and miranda HAS placed her trust in people that she shouldn't have before, they both have. she IS still dealing with a deeper culture shock, and DOES come across as overprotective and stifling and even possessive over miranda BECAUSE she's so scared of being alone, and of someone hurting miranda, and of someone betraying her trust again. her entire life shes been shoved into the role of the single person who has to take care of miranda and ensure that the newest heir to the throne doesn't die, been told that's her entire purpose in life, been put into this role when she herself was deeply vulnerable, and that's not just something she can stop doing overnight. it's fucked up, but its what they're both used to.

which is why bellanda can also come across as. a huge fucking bitch, sometimes. she can be aggressive, and rude, and judgemental, and takes shit WAY too hard against miranda's friends and any landfolk she gets used to. and, to be fair, miranda gets this. she knows what bellanda's going through and she's not using it against her sister, especially because she is still deeply dependent and close to bellanda in the first place, but like. she's been through this too. she knows what's going through bellanda's head. she wants her to open up and to have a little faith in her friends, and she knows bellanda can go over the line, but she knows that bellanda can get through this too. she's known bellanda for all of her life, she knows what she's like.

still, she can be... incredibly harsh on anyone who isn't miranda, and aaravi ABSOLUTELY got a lot of that at first.

mostly it was due to the whole... monster hunter thing. as you can imagine, bellanda being told that her little sister was getting close to and toying around with someone who's entire job and life has been figuring out how to kill people who are quite a fair bit like miranda, did not go over so well. bellanda has a lot of reason to not trust people, and she had a lot of reason to not trust aaravi too. anyone coming around with live weapons around miranda is automatically something of note and something that bellanda has to take care of, and she wasn't too excited by the thought of miranda going down into a dungeon, full of things both capable and willing to kill her, with someone else who was fully capable of killing her or leaving her for dead, and with previously stated intentions to WANT to do that.

meanwhile, from aaravi's side — by the time she started actually talking to bellanda, she just thought bellanda was dope as hell. i mean, she walks around with a cleaver half the size that she is (and she IS something like 12ft long), and she has a cool spiky pauldron that she never takes off, and an eyepatch with huge scars on her face, and, entirely unlike miranda, bellanda is a brick shithouse of muscle and terror. bellanda is not only head warlord but she's damn GOOD at her job and cuts a figure that's equally as imposing.

of course bellanda was like fucking catnip to aaravi. how could she not be. miranda already was constantly talking up bellanda every time she got brought up, and she mentioned sparring with bellanda and her being where she learned to fight (and miranda does ABSOLUTELY know how to fight, to an impressive degree), so aaravi was already coming in with a high opinion of bellanda. bellanda was cool as hell. bellanda was someone that aaravi was looking forward to meeting and sparring with herself.

which is likely the sense that they first got especially acquainted with each other. bellanda's visitations already meant that miranda would be getting touched up on her lessons, and pulling aaravi in was natural from there, especially since aaravi already wanted to at least watch, if nothing else. miranda's schooltime castle DOES have an armory and a built-in training area, so this was something that was expected and fully planned for long ahead of time, and bellanda declining just wasn't an option with that type of setup.

which... she wouldn't have declined either, because bellanda might have initially been using the sparring as an excuse to be, as i've mentioned already, a total hardass on aaravi. as in, perhaps using this less as a chance to train and to teach aaravi some new skills, and more as a chance to have an excuse to beat aaravi up and have it be socially acceptable. it was not an honorable thing to start with, but it did help bellanda vent some steam and use it as an excuse to try and scare aaravi off, if not actually injure her and terrify her away from miranda and away from talking to miranda.

though, again, aaravi actually took this in stride? she's a slayer. she's used to the things she fights trying to beat the absolute snot out of her, and her training already was fucked up enough on its own, and to aaravi this was FANTASTIC. it was like a roller coaster ride to her, providing a HELL of an adrenaline rush that she didn't otherwise get when she sparred with people. she liked bellanda already, she thought she was cool as hell, and bellanda putting up an ACTUAL fight???

oh, aaravi LOVED it. it was GREAT. it was everything she was imagining and even more, and if she seemed like a puppy following along behind the elder butch, then she didn't notice it nor the fact that bellanda didn't like her very much.

(or, rather, aaravi did notice the fact that bellanda didn't like her and even outright hated her at times, but... again, miranda had already warned her that she was an asshole, but who was sweet and lovely if she did manage to get on bellanda's good side. and at this point, she's already started to hear some things about the merkingdom, and how fucked up it is, and likewise came to the conclusion that. yeah, she sees WHY bellanda is like this. she can't really blame her for that.)

which was all very good, because. well, bellanda isn't immune to cute things either. she's close to miranda, after all. she likes cute little bastards who don't know what's good for them and keep trying to pick fights because they think its fun. she IS still a big sister, after all, and there's only so long she can tolerate having a baby butch follow her around with stars in her eyes before she gives in.

just look at aaravi. look at aaravi's "FIGHT ME" attitude and lack of fear regarding people who are way fucking bigger than her. tell me bellanda wouldn't fucking adore her.

all of which likewise ends up giving aaravi an edge over miranda's other friends - as aaravi oftentimes DOES end up understanding miranda and bellanda and understanding where they're coming from and why they have to be cautious. like, she knows what its like to have siblings end up turned against each other. she knows the entire complicated tangle that is family and loving someone and hating someone and dealing with their massive pile of flaws and how much its fucked over your own life and yet still desperately being close to them. she knows the way this dance goes. after all, despite all the frustration she feels towards salil, despite the fights and despite him deciding to go and side with their dad, she still can't bring herself to hate him. he is still her little brother. she still wants to protect him, despite, despite, despite.

so... yeah! aaravi and bellanda actually likewise end up fairly close, and with several things in common (which gives miranda relief, since she wants to introduce her ul'kiha into her existing social bond with bellanda, as is the norm in merfolk society, and they're actually getting along and getting close to each other, as opposed to the rest of her friends who she can't fit into the same relationship hierarchy). bellanda gives aaravi an outlet for her energy and is someone who can keep up with her, and aaravi is someone who bellanda feels safe trusting and relying on, hence helping her slowly open up as well. against literally all of her in-laws, aaravi actually has a pretty damn good relationship with bellanda.

(and it's funny you should mention fankids - i have one fankid for miranda and aaravi already! their name is Virina Mishra, named after aaravi's mom.)

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.4 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 3 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - you don’t need help with your biology anymore, you need help understanding the chemistry that seems to be growing between you and spencer.

warnings - jealousy, dickhead guy, unwanted flirting, awkward spencer, mentions of getting run over and pouring rain, studying.

genre - college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer, fluff, angst if you squint, jealousy trope

a/n - i hope you all enjoy this part. comment or put in a req to be added to the convenience taglist, if you’ve already asked and i haven’t mentioned you please message orso i can make sure you’re on my list for the next part! love you all 🫶

sat in a plush office chair, in a cool room, in a comfortable dress shirt, surrounded by the people he trusted most, spencer couldn’t seem to live in the moment.

now that’s not something you would suggest to the man when he’s sat in front of multiple gruesome photos and case files, usually he would be 100% focused, no bullshit, no wandering thoughts.

but suddenly he felt light, airy, like these cases were just another day and he would be confident either way. it wasn’t completely untrue, but it was odd. everyone else seemed to notice.

“spencer, are you okay?” aaron hotchner startled the man with his stern and concerned voice, everyone looking up at spencer as a natural reaction. spencer looked around the table, noticing a growing grin between garcia and morgan.

hotch continued, “if you need to sit this one out, by all means.”

spencer shook his head and adjusted his posture, picking up a profile to skim over. there was a small giggle from garcia that brought the attention of aaron.

“what’s going on?”

“reid’s distracted because of a certain someone…” morgan replied, biting the end of his ballpoint pen. garcia slapped his shoulder.

“don’t tease him, meanies. keep going, hotch.”

they were right. he was distracted and felt far away most of the time. he wanted to go somewhere comfortable, like a convenience store with a pretty employee to talk to.

ricky, a handsome guy a few years older than you, was annoying logan with questions he could’ve answered himself. he tagged along with logan to your weekend study session at a small cafe not far from the college. the tall man was mostly agreeable, except for his apparent obsession with straight black coffee. he had had two cups of it already.

“so, y/n. what do you study? wait don’t tell me. nursing, because you seem to be healing my broken heart. psychology, because you’re making me crazy? or is it music, because your voice is like a song?” he leaned forward from across the table, disregarding the punch in the shoulder from logan. you only glared and returned to your expensive textbooks, leaving your drink to turn cold in its abandonment.

“don’t try anything, ricky. she’s basically taken.” she warned with a smirk. you lifted your gaze and rolled your eyes,

“you’re nonsensical. you’ve had too much coffee,” you stop filling out a questionnaire, “he’s not even that… he’s… ugh, i don’t know.” you place your pen down and stretch in the stiff wooden chair.

ricky laughs, clapping his hands together, “okay so you totally have a crush on a guy.”

“i do not.”

“i guess i’ll back off with my advances, unlessss, you truly don’t have a crush on your lover boy?”

“i do not- but still please back off, you’re gross.”

logan and ricky shared a glance and went back to their work silently. like they knew something you didn’t. your brain had turned stuffy, you need to get some air, you needed to get away from the truth.

garcia and morgan appeared so suddenly spencer thought turbulence had pushed them into their seats in front of him. his gaze snapped from the airplane wing to their two giddy faces and immediately knew what this conversation was going to be about. it only made him a little bit uncomfortable, these types of conversations. girls, flirting, being happy around someone he doesn’t work with, it was all unfamiliar. it seemed he chose the best people to talk about it to though; garcia had given him a little too much information about his crush from her unwanted snooping, and in the process morgan was also given all of this information.

“yes, okay, i told derek all about your girl but i couldn’t help it! he’s very persuasive!” garcia pouted. spencer thinned his lips and nodded, expecting a surge of conversation but he was only met with silence. morgan and garcia shared a glance.

“look, spencer. we’re only doing this to distract ourselves from the case we just closed, and to help you. if you don’t want help, if you think this… thing, will die out, then tell us. but, if you do want some adviceee…” morgan spoke smoothly, quiet enough to avoid attention from anyone else.

when spencer stayed silent, thinking about how he could never use you as a distraction, morgan whispered, “if nothings happening, you gotta light the match.”

you were standing on an uneven step ladder when the doorbell rang with 10 minutes to closing. you rolled your eyes, thinking you’d have to stay even later because of this customer. but your demise quickly turned to calmness, a little bit of panic, when spencer appeared in the entry way.

you nearly fell off the ladder, dropping the pile of juice boxes in your hands onto the floor. you cursed under your breath, watching from above as spencer picked them up for you.

“thank you.”

there was no need for formalities anymore, it was like you had known each other forever. spencer was silent again, it was becoming his thing.

you clear your throat, “i changed my medication.”

he glanced at you, brown eyes observing your tired expression. he came here unconsciously. he had already had some take out, he didn’t need any coffee, and his fruit bowl was stocked to the brim. spencer walked to this convenience store, the result of the action being evident through the pain in his feet.

the phone in your back pocket caught spencer’s attention, before he promptly looked elsewhere to avoid looking like a creep.

“good, im glad.”

are we really back to this? was one awkward conversation all we needed to go back to strangers?

you stepped down, “no more bruises.”

spencer placed his fingers delicately on his healed cheek, holding back a smile that you actually remembered that.

he asked, “who’s texting you so much?” without much thought. he didn’t think about how it sounded, like he was protective or worried, or what it implied. he didn’t even have your number, why should he be so upset?

“oh it’s just logan and ricky.” you replied simply, folding up the ladder and glancing at the clock placed above the register desk, “are you getting anything?”

because it didn’t seem weird if he came here for you instead of his groceries.

“like your brother, ricky?”

there was a small match burning in his stomach at the sound of those names. he felt like taking your phone and snooping until he reached the end, until his fingers hurt. spencer felt like asking intrusive questions, before he bit his lips to stop himself.

you made notice of his hands fiddling in his pant pockets, rolling your eyes. that made his tongue slip.

“how many guys do you know?”

you looked at him with surprise, walking over to the register, “you think i’m a whore?”

spencer’s heart skipped a beat, “no not at all, i just- i didn’t word that right.”

you shook your head and laughed quietly, starting to count the change sat on your swivel chair. something was off. the street was empty. “did you walk here, spencer?”

spencer’s breath hitched. oh god, were the only words circling in his brain. when you used his name, it was different. this was weird, he needed to get out of there.

you looked so effortless. he looked so anxious.

“yeah. i did.”

you nod, “okay, you can help me lock up then.” you pass him a set of keys for the window covers, and add, “you can walk me home, to make up for the other day.”

spencer nods with a small smile and begins locking up.

you lead the way out of the store and around the corner to a set of traffic lights. the streets are silent and misty, but neither of you felt the need to jay walk in an attempt to speed up this process of awkward walking.

spencer watches you from his advantage point. at how you bite the inside on your lips, how you look at the concrete pathway.

“what’s wrong?” you don’t react, instead push the pedestrian button and sigh.

“it’s monday, spencer. you were going to ‘retry’, ‘be better’? i’m not 100% sure what you meant by that, but you said that right after you told me you were going to ask me out so.”

spencer gulps and nods, hands going back to their safe space in his pockets. “yeah, i said that. but i’m going to have to delay that again. this isn’t really,” he motioned towards the weeds, litter, and flickering street lights with his eyes, and you nod with a smirk.

“romantic?”

“romantic.”

you smile at each other, and for a second he’s utterly entranced before a wave of wind and tires pass him. before a soft hand is hard on his upper arm. his eyes trailed the car, heart beating nearly as hard as it does when he looks at you.

“jesus, are you okay?” you asked worried, and when he nods with a simple stare accompanying it, you look away.

light a match.

you hand leaves him quicker than it got there.

in front of your apartment building, you notice logan’s window alight behind white curtains, and turn to face spencer.

“thank you for walking me home. i would invite you in but it’s 1:20am and i don’t really… know you.”

spencer furrows his eyebrows slightly, looking at you expectantly. your faces turns cold, slightly sorrowful.

“spencer, i don’t know you. i know things about you but i don’t actually know you.” you yawn, wiping a hand over your eyes, “maybe i’m just tired and overworked and…” logan’s voice echoes through your head as you look over the tall, tired and handsome man in front of you, “if you’re not going to ask me out first i’m going to ask you out. so, make a decision.”

it felt wrong being so stubborn and solid with him, but with school and family stress you truly didn’t need any unknown feelings to topple on as well.

spencer was taken aback. he didn’t know one couple where the girl asked out the guy, he didn’t know someone could like him that badly. he didn’t know what to say.

“goodnight, spencer. i’ll see you.”

you turned and pushed on the pull door, before pulling on it. heart thumping in your ears, you slowly held a hand over your mouth, impressed with yourself.

but you lied, you weren’t going to ask him out. you have no idea how to ask someone out.

the convenience store wasn’t so lonely tonight.

logan was arguing with ricky over his choice in deodorant almost louder than the terrible radio music playing throughout the store.

the beating of rain was creating a calming background to this chaos, as well as keeping customers away. all but one, of course.

spencer had an excuse, he was supposed to bring food for the team tomorrow, and this was the closest store. totally. but as he stood under the cover of the stores overhead steel, he felt another match being burnt in the bottom of his stomach.

a tall and toned man with bright blonde hair was leaning over your register and talking to you, making you smile and laugh. your arms were crossed, you were leaned away and you avoided eye contact, but spencer didn’t see any of these signs as the waves of jealousy drowned him.

spencer looked out onto the street. he had no right to feel that way, this was his own fault. he felt even weirder and out of place than he usually felt.

the doorbell rang and your fake smile turned real. logan watched from the toilet spray section and smirked when she recognised the purple-sweater adorned man. ricky stopped his flirting and turned to meet spencer’s eyes, they sized each other up. the blonde man smiled and looked back at your much happier face, “so this is lover boy?”

you smacked his arm hard, receiving a squeal in return. “what? no. ricky this is spencer, spencer this is ricky.”

spencer gulped and ignored the stranger and you. he went for the fruits section. ricky glanced at your confused face, “i might be a threat.”

“in your dreams.” you rolled your eyes and pushed his elbow off your desk. logan approached the counter with a basket full and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. you noticed ricky’s change in expression when looking at her and held back a smile.

“you didn’t get anything for me?” he asked, voice teasing. logan took out a block of mint chocolate and threw it at him, which he caught perfectly with a smirk on his face.

“what’s wrong with lover boy?”

you glare at her, deciding avoiding that nickname was out of the picture. your shoulders slump as you begin scanning her items while making sure spencer wasn’t in earshot. “i mentioned you two, and then he went weird.”

“i mean, if i liked a girl and she told me about two guys- sorry, two people with guy names- i’d be pretty jealous,” ricky inputted.

“is that all? some jealousy got to his head?” logan pressed.

you seriously doubted he would be jealous over that, he seemed smarter than that. he was smarter than that.

logan paid and left, literally dragging ricky behind her, as he waved and winked at you through the windows.

the store was eerily quiet, the only noise coming from the thunderstorm brewing outside. it felt uncanny and uncomfortable. you needed someone’s cologne to wade through or something.

turning while shaking your head, you grabbed out some posters taller than you and turned to have the life scared out of you.

“jesus! i thought i told you to walk louder.”

his groceries were perfectly in line to be scanned, a small smile appearing before promptly vanishing. spencer avoided your eyes, a beating all he could hear.

“he’s your…”

you sighed, disappointed spencer even thought that dumb blonde was someone to you, “acquaintance.” you finished his sentence. “i’ve known him for two days and he a flirtatious dick. everyone named ricky is a dick.”

he pulls out his slim wallet to hand you a $20 bill, fingers skimming each other. one glance.

spencer nods and nearly leaves before you stop him, “can you help me?”

spencer is on the top of the ladder outside, barely staying dry underneath the steel overhead cover with the top corners of a food poster in his hands. you tip toe to give him a piece of double sided tape. the laminated photos wave in the wind, spencer sticks his tongue out in concentration and you smile at the innocent act. leaning against the wall, quickly glancing inside to make sure nobody wanted to check out, you begin talking.

“thank you for doing this, i totally would’ve fallen and died if it weren’t for you. what can i do to repay you?”

spencer thought for a moment, looking down at you, “nothing. you don’t have to do anything. just keep talking.”

so you did, because you didn’t know if you’d see him again after tonight.

PART 5

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[repulsiveliquidation]

When I’m with you, there is no one else because I get heaven to myself.

Leah Williamson x Reader blurb. If you recognize the lyric of the title, tell me! I was inspired when I heard the song come on on the plane and pulled my iPad out to write it!

It’s not formatted how i like because im doing this on my iPad and Apple is an asshole. Okay it is because my OCD cannot handle it.

“Leah?”

“Yes love?”

You walk into the room, plopping yourself on the couch beside Leah who was watching some film.

“Why do you love me?”

Leah is taken aback with this question, looking at you like you’ve got two heads.

“There are many reasons, my girl.”

“Yeah, what are they?”

Leah thinks for a second, pondering on the correct things she wants to say. There were your eyes. They were so radiant and enticing. There was your hair, so soft and it always smelled like roses. There was your skin, smooth and a canvas for her art and devotion to you. There were your lips, strawberry flavored and always gave the best kisses. There was your body, every curve and valley she had memorized and knew at the back of her hand. There was your smile, a smile that Leah would give her right leg to make sure you always could smile that way.

But there also was your brain, so smart yet so witty and stubborn sometimes. There was your heart, the kindest Leah ever did see; a heart willing to do their utmost best for its loved ones. There was your soul, old but gold. There was your personality, bubbly but shy, reserved yet still somehow outgoing. It also loved dogs more than you did Leah, she sometimes thought.

“Have you got time? We’re going to be here all afternoon,” Leah grins, taking your hand and pulling you to sit in her lap. You settle, legs thrown over her legs with your chest pressed to hers.

“I love your eyes. they’re so radiant and enticing, i could get lost in them; i do get lost in them.” As she says this she tilts your head to look at her, her blue eyes piercing into yours.

“I love your hair. It’s so soft and always smells so good, I love burying my face in it when we cuddle before bed, it somehow lulls me to sleep.” She drags her fingers through it, untangling a few little knots.

“I love your skin, it’s so smooth and supple. I love leaving marks all over so everyone knows you’ve got someone to come home to.” She caresses her palms down your arms, kissing your shoulder.

“I love your lips. You always have that strawberry chapstick on, it fucking drives me crazy when i can still taste it on my lips when we’ve stopped kissing.” She leans in for a kiss, pecking your lips softly. She smiles, muttering “See, strawberry.” You giggle, tucking your face in her neck softly mumbling for her to continue.

“I love your body,” she starts, hands grasping your hips and thumbs rubbing your waist. “I love every mark, scar, dip, fold, valley, crevice, all of it. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve had the privilege of laying my eyes on and i am so thankful that you love me the way you do.”

She keeps going, rubbing your back and smiling to herself softly when she feels her neck get a little wet.

“Then, we’ve got your smile. Oh hell, your smile can make any bad day go away. Seeing your toothy grin when you’re excited makes me ready to fight anyone that dares take it off your face.”

“Your brain’s next, so sarcastic but so fucking smart. You’re stubborn and it doesn’t help that I am too. But that brain has gotten me out of situations where I didn’t think i would ever survive. You’ve been with me through injury, loss, pain, rejection. I could not have handled all that if it weren’t for you.”

“Your heart is the kindest I have ever seen. You would give someone you knew for about 20 seconds the shirt off your back if they asked. But you love so hard and so raw that anyone that has ever experienced even a sliver would be so lucky. And i get to love it and have it love me all day every day so I must have won the love lottery.” You giggle wetly, snuggling into her lap more.

“Don’t stop please, Leah,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw.

She nods, “You’ve got an old soul, it’s old but gold and that’s the best kind. Compliments my youthful one.”

“You’ve got a special personality, so bubbly with the right people but shy until you get to know them. You’re reserved in serious situations but so outgoing when we’re alone or with friends and family. And the fact that you love dogs sometimes i feel more than me annoys me but seeing you with Bella always makes my heart clench, darling.”

“The way you love my family is what let me know that I wanted to marry you. You know how much it means to me and seeing you get along with them sealed the deal for me. Thank you for loving me for who I am, darling. It’s all I could have ever asked for.”

You both sit there together and just take in Leah’s words, you finally pull away, wiping away tears.

“You really mean all that you said?”

“Every word, my girl.”

“I love you, Leah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you too, baby. When I’m with you, there’s no one else in the world, because I’ve got heaven all to myself.”

[satoruzlove]

very random hcs that i have for hq characters

sakusa kiyoomi , suna rin , atsumu miya

sakusa kiyoomi loves bubble wrap. as a kid whenever his mother would open packages he’d immediately go and snatch up the wrap and pop it as he watched tv. now as an adult, when opening his own packages you see him completely by passing the product in the box at first and taking a fist of the wrap - squashing it all at once - and pausing.he’s still with the wrap balled in his fist. it’s like his brain is soaking it in. once he’s done , he will proceed with his package.

sakusa kiyoomi has a thing for long eyelashes. he himself has long, thick lashes. they’re very curly and hard not to notice. he always feels when one falls and he always. makes. a . wish. on. it. he’ll hold the small hair on his large finger, muttering under his mask and then lifting the mask to blow it. when he met you, he’s always quick to chime a ,” oh , you have a lash,” and he carefully takes it in his hand so you can blow it with a wish.

sakusa kiyoomi cries when he expresses his feelings. personally, i do this too and it comes from two things . first being that because he doesn’t do it often, it really overwhelms him when it bubbles over and second being that he doesn’t understand why he can’t articulate how he feels. it’s very frustrating for such an intellectual person to not be able to understand how he feels. so when he vents - he ponders for a bit, he may even stutter and his voice becomes thin, weak like glass. tears wash over his pretty lash line and spill when you tell him to take his time. it’s a very difficult thing to take dow his walls, and he cannot help but to be super emotional when doing so.

sakusa kiyoomi - does in fact- not smell like sanitiser ; but very strong lavender AND HEAR ME OUT N O W.

my first point of reasoning is that kiyoomi likes clean things, he likes feeling clean and smelling clean. his sister has a lavender tree at her home and he once grabbed some, the feeling of the liquid held in the leaves on his fingers. he brought it up to his nose and he was inlove. immediately got his own and got EVERYTHING lavender scented.

second point, kiyoomi is a pisces and he’s going to be inclined to feeling anxious a lot. he doesn’t like crowds. lavender is used commonly for anxiety relief and relaxation. kiyoomi tries to make it as strong as possible so that he can simply sniff his jacket if he’s feeling too overwhelmed. it’s a big comfort to him.

suna rin has an abnormally high body temperature. it’s mainly because of his high metabolism, but really he can’t explain it. he can’t wear anything warm and he always takes off his school blazer five minutes into registration. when you first felt his hand, you were severely taken aback by the feverish warmth of it. you asked if he was sick and he shook his head in confusion. you felt his neck, his forehead- same story. rin was just extremely warm. he loves putting his warm palms up your sides or on your cheeks, squishing them together and placing fat kisses on them. he’s your personal heater - and although he gets quite bothersome during summer- he will not be considerate. despite your pleas of “ rin, you’re hot-”,” oh? thanks , babe, but it’s bedtime-”,“get off me.” he will not move. he wants his cuddles.

suna rin doesn’t like babies. he likes kids, not babies. he will straight up say that a baby is ugly if provoked. even unprovoked too😭. will straight out say ‘ damn, that’s an ugly ass child’ earning glares from everyone around you. it’s funny , for the most part , how his words contradict with his actions . said ‘ugly ass child’ is in his arms a few moments later and he looks as if he was born to hold it. he peers down at the babe affectionately, cooing at it, and when you’re alone with the baby he musters ,” aren’t you the ugliest little thing?” in the sweetest voice he can. you nearly choke on your laughter, slapping his arm and telling him to quit it. still thinks the kid is ugly.

suna rin got the habit of taking pictures of everything from his mother. she loves capturing moments and even as a child she’d often take pictures of him doing mundane things such as playing with his baby sister or talking to his dad. rin grew up with the sentiment because he always wanted to remember little things for entertainment and the fondness of the memory. he takes candid pictures of you, sneezing or sleeping even, his answer to your many enquiries have the same answer : “ i never wanna forget anything that happens when i’m with you. “ for a second you think someone’s taken your actual boyfriend, but when he scoffs at your warm cheeks- calling you a simp- you’re sure he’s just the sweetest person you’ve ever met naturally .

atsumu miya is scared of butterflies. he thinks their little legs are absolutely horrific , and they’re basically flying ants. when his family visited the butterfly farm years ago, they put one on his palm and he immediately burst into tears. he shook his hand to remove it and when his mother calmed him down he explained that ,” it jus’ feels so icky, ma! they’re gross!” and he NEVER spoke of it again. whenever you see a butterfly and grab your phone for a picture, he grimaces. “ why do you like those ugly things, babe? they’re fuckin’ awful.” he mutters to you. you give him a bored look, and retort quickly ,” you mean you’re awful- and you have no balls an-“,” heYY WATCH IT!”

atsumu miya is the hairiest man you’ll ever meet. it’s just everywhere. thick, dark brown hair coats his arms, legs, chest at a young age, he has a wild happy trail and his eyebrows are extremely thick. they used to be very unkept until highschool , when he was made fun of for both his eyebrows and trail- so he shaved them. in college he became less self conscious, and you started tweezing his brows for him. he would sit you on his lap, watching you focus and yelping every few minutes. “ ah- baby, gentle with me now,” he whines softly.you mutter a small apology and rub the now hairless spot, to which he hums and holds your waist tighter.

atsumu miya is a daddy’s boy. he’s so close with his father it’s crazy. his mother tended to side with osamu, and she was the one who taught him to cook, so atsumu just leaned towards his dad. of course, the man never minded it and took in all the love his son had to give. they spoke about everything, and on his dad’s 70th birthday atsumu had gotten him a new car. there was a letter on the front seat that read ,” i could never give back what you did for me, papa, but i’ll try anyways. just know that when i’m workin’ hard , i’m tryin’ ta be like you.” they both cried that day. it was beautiful.

[vexwerewolf]

I’ve been wracking my brain for a while to try and make a Melee and/or Grapple Manticore build. Just standing directly next to things and being a menace. I was wondering if I could get your thoughts on something like this. Thanks for reading regardless if you respond to this one. Love reading your stuff.

Luckily for you, this concept did spark joy.

-- HORUS Manticore @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] IPS-N Blackbeard 2, HORUS Manticore 3, IPS-N Tortuga 1 [ CORE BONUSES ] Improved Armament, Titanomachy Mesh [ TALENTS ] Duelist 3, PANKRATI 2, Skirmisher 2, Brawler 1, Combined Arms 1 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:19 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:9 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:+1 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:8 EDEF:10 SENSE:10 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: Chain Axe FLEX MOUNT: Chain Axe HEAVY MOUNT: Nanocarbon Sword [ SYSTEMS ] Synthetic Muscle Netting, Lightning Generator, Beckoner, Siege Ram

I call this one YOUR PUTRID FLESH WITHERS UNDER THE UNBLINKING GAZE OF MY DIVINE CONTEMPT. We're making a Manticore build; this is not the place for subtle or pithy names.

This is a melee-only build, which I normally recommend against. I think it's good for a build to have at least some sort of ranged attack capability, but in this case, there's just no room for it. We're ride or die here, and diluting the build by hedging our bets is just going to tip the scales towards "die."

You are not particularly fast, so we've got the Pankrati valiant charge and Beckoner to help you close gaps. What you want to do at that point is slam in as fast as you can and try to connect with a Main melee attack (Duelist gives you an accuracy to help with that) - not your Heavy, one of your Mains. You then immediately use Duelist 3 to spend the Blademaster die you just earned to free-Grapple the target, and then you use Titanomachy Mesh to follow up the free-Grapple with a free-Ram (and because they're Grappled, Brawler 1 turns on, making your Ram more accurate, and because being Grappled causes them to become Immobilized, Pankrati 1 also turns on, making your Ram EVEN MORE ACCURATE). Knock your enemy Prone but do not knock them away.

To summarize: your target has taken Main Melee damage from you, become Grappled, then been rammed Prone. Because Grappled causes Immobilization, they cannot use their regular movement to stand up from Prone, and because of Synthetic Muscle Netting, unless they're larger than you, they cannot ever gain control of the grapple.

If they don't have weapons or abilities that knock you away, they have two real options to get away from you. The first is to spend a quick action trying to escape the grapple, which they can fail, wasting the action entirely. Even if they succeed, they still either need to crawl away provoking your Overwatch (use your Heavy for this) or use their entire regular movement to stand back up, then their other quick action to Boost away, again provoking your Overwatch.

The second, if they're the same size as you or larger, is to Ram you back. This is more effective, since your Evasion is low, and knocking you away will break the grapple. This still only leaves you one space away from them, which is still within Threat of your Nanocarbon Sword, and unless they have a modifier that deals damage on Ram (which, to my knowledge, no vanilla NPC does), they've spent 2/3rds of their turn just getting 1 space away from you and standing upright. If they decline to move away from you, you can just stand up on your turn and Skirmish 2 spaces towards them to do the whole thing all over again.

If they are a melee class, their best bet is to focus you down, but with 2 Armor and resistance to two types of damage, that's harder than it looks - and if they're focusing on you, they're not attacking your team's squishies, which is the whole point of the Defender class.

If they're a ranged class, they're fucked. With you up in their grill, their attacks against everyone including you become inaccurate. Artillery NPC classes don't tend to have much HP, and rely on staying far away from players. If a weapon has Ordnance, they can't even fire it at you at all if they're in engagement.

On your next turn, if your target is still grappled, activate your Lightning Generator, and then Barrage. Your attack sequence looks like this:

Chain Axe -> free Ram (Duelist 3), no knockback -> free Ram (Titanomachy Mesh), no knockback -> Nanocarbon Sword

Against unarmored targets, this has a damage floor of 9 assuming all attacks hit, and will slam for 5 even if all your attacks miss. Lightning Generator will do different amounts of damage depending on whether you're in the Danger Zone, but Charged Exoskeleton will always trigger off of Lightning Generator (if you choose) and will always deal 2 AP.

Note that if you're in control of the grapple (which, thanks to SMN, you usually are), you can still make your standard move. This means you can drag your victim 4 spaces towards or away from your friends.

When you turn on your ult, enemies have an even more miserable time, because now not only are there two forms of damage you're resistant to, you're also resistant to Heat (which means you can Overcharge for half price). Worse, any Heat or Energy damage you take now increases a doomsday clock.

Be warned that this build only has 19 HP, and even with 2 Armor you're not going to last forever, but on the other hand, enemies must focus on you or you'll just be able to tear them apart one by one.

[mudandmire]

Contrasts

Azris Week - Day One: Contrasts

~~~ Hello hello! I found the Azris ship and the community this year and have absolutely been consumed by it. I love this idea, I love these two characters, and I love that there's so much potential between them and for them to feed and inspire such a wonderful community. I've never participated in the acotar fandom apart from this, and I'm so excited! Thank you so much to @azrisweek for putting together this event, I have had so much fun letting my brain run free like a dog off a leash with these prompts :D ~~~

Tell me

Azriel calls him tatlım, and Eris doesn’t know what it means.

It’s a secret, he supposes he can accept it—relate to it. Nooks and hidden corners itch and snarl with the weight of his own. An enchanted drawer he keeps in the washroom holds his greatest wonder and his greatest shame.

The journal weighs heavy in Eris’s mind. He traces back the parchment pages with intangible fingers during lulls in his father’s council meetings. The drone of bees, lazy and fat in the afternoon sun becomes the hushed whisper of a canyon gale through dried grass. The lines he inks, stroke by stroke, Azriel matches in full, thrumming strides. Words next to his are clean, unbroken, while Azriel’s remain thick, written in charcoal with smudges at the corners from where his fist has run over the line.

When it’s dark, a time when even shadows cannot creep and loom larger, Eris presses his own fingertips to those words. The smears of charcoal because Azriel had told him early on in their budding friendship when they were young that he can’t use quills.

“They're too thin, my hands shake too much.” A smaller version of Azriel speaks the memory into his mind. The whorls and pockmarks on his hands hidden between the gap of his thighs.

Eris had taken it as a challenge—and now he revels in it. Azriel is messy with his charcoal pencil, too free with his mistakes and smudges and it leaves Eris half a country away and entirely breathless.

‘Tell me what bothers you, tatlım.’ Azriel had written him earlier, the familiar scrawl of his heavy hand appearing stroke by stroke in the filled pages of Eris’s enchanted journal.

Two were made, Eris gave one away. He could not bring himself to regret it even if his life were on the line.

‘Tatlım?’ Eris had asked, his letters looped and coiled together in the way they get when he rushes, when he needs answers.

There was no sound save for Eris’s own steady pulse, the whistle of air through his nose as he waited for a response. And yet he could’ve swore he heard Azriel’s laugh, the breathy one, brush against the point of his ear.

The words appear in the space between one breath and the next: ‘Maybe one day, gach’lilit, I will tell you. For now, stop avoiding my prying.’

Eris places a hand on the rise of his chest. Holding in something that seems to be rising from his stomach to his throat and lands gently on his tongue like the orange and black patterned butterflies in the garden.

‘Tell me now,’ he begs, ‘and I will tell you whatever you wish, Azriel.’

‘Come back to visit me, sweetheart. That’s all I ask.’

It had formed a pause in their effortless back and forth. Eris wanted to—Azriel knew that. No, the issue wasn’t in Azriel’s plea, he knew just how much Eris longed for the little village in the Illyrian steppes. The stable in the field and the small, knobby kneed, black lamb that follows Azriel around like ducklings in the Forest House pond in spring. He misses the creeping, ruby red moss and the yellow and sage aspens that crop up from out of the golden plains like the jagged teeth of a cliff.

Most of all, most desperately of all, he misses Azriel. There is not one inch of his soul that doesn’t.

The inked tip of his quill hangs over the page, a knife poised for the final push. Through skin, muscle, bone, to the heart of everything—the rot that waits, festering under the floorboards of his adamant desire to run. It is one thing; it is also a collection of things Eris has stored like the most gruesome of trinkets, the most harrowing of trophies.

Because Azriel calls him sweetheart. He writes in his tongue letters of longing and punctuates them with words like tatlım, and gach’lilit. As much as Eris wants to stitch those given titles to his chest, he already has one.

Eris Vanserra. Heir of Fire. Son of Autumn.

Sweetheart. Tatlım. Gach’lilit.

He cannot have both. The heir who wears the crown, who feels it’s golden spiked thorns pierce the thin skin of his head knows this. Eris Vanserra was not born with room on his chest for titles other than this: his father’s son.

When his quill meets the page, a heaviness in his hand that wasn’t previously there, he knows Azriel already knows what he will write.

‘Soon,’ he lies, ‘when the festival of the summer sun comes, I’ll visit.' Eris Vanserra cannot flaunt about the wilds of the Night Court without purpose or reason. Even less if the hint of the reason is his desire to see an Illyrian male—but he can set out on inter-court business to strengthen alliances, break down information, and gather intel. Eris Vanserra cannot winnow straight from the quilts of his bed into the hay-strewn floor of Azriel’s stable.

No matter how much he wants to.

His chest pinches, a sharp point digging into the sensitive skin between his ribs when Azriel takes a minute longer to reply. The page remaining horribly empty with their spare words, their delicate dance.

‘Then I will just have to hold onto these words a little longer, besheirt. I wish for you to hear them in person, for they are as sacred to me as you are.’

Something cracks, folds then splinters and out pours a smile like evening sunlight through the painted colors of autumn leaves in the canopy. The tension building in his shoulders leaks down and pools around his feet, an unwanted puddle he completely forgets about Eris may be an heir, a son of autumn, and child of a loveless, forced marriage; but he is also sacred. Something holy and divine by only the rights of Azriel, and Azriel alone.

Eris has his titles. The stitched corners of his heart taken up piece by piece, but he will forever play the game of keeping himself in between the two if it will let him keep Azriel.

He has his own titles to give him.

~~///~~///~~///~~

(Key for words:)

Tatlım - ‘Sweetheart’

Gach’lilit - ‘Firefly’

Besheirt - ‘Notion of a soul mate, but mostly means Intended in terms of spouse’

aH. Alright okay cool I'm so normal about them. This is a short little thing, and it doesn't follow canon lore lol sorry about that. I really loved the idea of contrasts because for me it's what first drew me to this pairing. At first it seemed like there were too many contrasts for them to even be compatible, and then through softening my perspective of both of these characters and their flaws (and no small amount of delusion in which we merely squint from afar at SJMs portrayal of these characters) I found that maybe these contrasts actually enhance their chemistry. what crazy imagine that.

[niallhoranhasthat1thing]

I just finished watching All The Light We Cannot See and I need to rant cause I’m loosing my damn mind.

First off, they took the character names and minor plot points and created their own story with them so at that point just crest something else and if you cannot handle showing the nuance of Werner’s character then you are not the right person to adapt this.

This is going to be filled with spoilers so be warned now.

Werner is a German boy who lives in an orphanage with his younger sister and one day he stumbles upon a radio and falls in love with it. He fixes it and him and his sister Jutta start learning about science and what Germany is actually doing by listing to a French broadcast. Two boys in his orphanage join the Hitler youth and Werner scared for his and Juttas safety destroys the radio which leaves Jutta furious with him. But it’s already too late. His entire town knows how capable he is with a radio and the nazis come for him to put him in a school. Werner who is very much living in a fantasy world in his head believes he will go to this school and will learn and learn and learn and by the time his finishes the war will have been lost and he will never have to contribute to anything, he may even win a noble prize. Jutta still furious with him has this conversation with him

and that’s the last time she ever sees her brother. Werner leaves willingly and you as the reader understand why, you know that if he were to refuse but him and his sister would be killed. You understand it and you even justify it.

Once at the school he meets Frederick and you instantly don’t want to like any of those other boys because they’re not like Werner, he’s there without having a choice. But you learn that Frederick is there only because his father is a high ranked nazi and his mother is waiting for the Jew up above them to be taken away so they can get the top apartment and they made sure he got into the school despite not being able to pass the tests to get in. One night the boys at the school are sent outside in the cold winter to torture a prisoner with cold buckets of water. When it’s Werner’s turn, he does it despite not wanting to and you understand it. He doesn’t have a choice. He would be killed if he refused. Once it’s Fredericks turn he refuses to throw the water. He’s beat and beat and beat. Everyday he is beaten worse and worse until he gets brain damage. Frederick had a choice. He chose the possibility of dying over throwing away his morals. Werner didn’t do that. Because of that your views on Werner begin to change.

Werner ends up going into the field to find illegal radio broadcasts, and while he himself never kills anyone he is directly responsible for many deaths. He ends up being sent to Saint-Malo to find Marie-Laure and her uncle and tracks them down instantly and upon seeing her he decides he’s not going to turn them in. To speed this along Werner ends up saving her life during the siege and they spend a few hours together where in his head he creates this fantasy of them living happily ever after which is juxtaposed with Marie-Laure allowing this German boy to wear her uncles clothes but knowing damn well that he’s not going to be able to hide his German accent. They part ways with Marie-Laure not giving him a second thought because she only wants to go find her uncle. Werner ends up dying a few days later.

You then go over to Jutta who along with the other girls form the orphanage have been sent to Russia to help the war efforts and when Germany looses the Russians take it out on the German women. She learns of Werner’s death and it doesn’t phase her. You fast forward to the 70s and Jutta is a married math teacher with a son, who is so deeply embarrassed and ashamed of her brother. A German man shows up at her door once day with a bad of her brothers belongings and it takes her weeks to open it. Upon opening it she finds the very notebook she had sent Werner to remind him of who he was. She opens it and is reminded of her brother’s innocence and decides along with her son that she is going to go to France to find out what happened to Werner. Jutta eventually finds Marie-Laure and her first thought upon seeing her is that her brother hurt her. Through the conversation Jutta is finally able to mourn her brother and realizes that it’s a lot more than bad vs good. But Marie-Laure is still conflicted with her thoughts on the German boy who saved her life. He doesn’t fit on either sides of the war.

You then jump to 2014 where Marie-Laure finally comes to terms with her thoughts on Werner.

Jutta and Marie-Laure’s feelings on Werner are also the readers feelings on him. The show completely stripped those feelings away. Werner in the show is a perfect human being and everyone forgives him within minutes of meeting him. Marie-Laure even kisses him and then fears for his life and wants to sneak him out of the city and meet up later so that they can spend their lives together.

Werner is such a complex character who you are so desperately rooting for while also feeling completely torn on him. The show is not willing to crest that conversation and beats you over the head with how good of a person Werner is, they rip Juttas character apart in order to make Werner more likable.

I don’t understand how this was made the way it was, I’m honestly still in shock. I had to laugh multiple times through out watching. I knew this show was in trouble as soon as I seen it was only 4 episodes. I hope one day this book gets a second chance and is made by people who understand the material.

[dira333]

Of Swings and Snakes - Matsukawa x Reader

part 1 - this is the angsty start, for someone who likes angst to fluff, leave a note so I can tag you in part 2

Warning: Angst, Relationship ending, failed communication

tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain and my angsty Mattsun Anon

The old swingset creaks loudly as you push yourself forward. It’s the only noise in the park and it would probably be creeping you out if your thoughts weren’t occupied as is. 

You barely have enough energy to push yourself forward, but you cannot stay in place either and the loud, whining creak is enough to cut a little slice out of the gloom that’s been settling heavily into your skin.

“This seat taken?” 

You don’t look up. Makki settles in the swing next to you without waiting for an answer.

For a while, there’s just the sound of two swings creaking, the soft sound when your feet hit the floor to push you forward just a little more.

Eventually, though, you come to a stop. Makki follows, puts his feet down so hard dirt flies through the air. 

His left hand moves over to take yours, folding around your cold fingers holding the cold metal.

“I’m staying with you, okay?” He says, “You’re not going to be alone.”

Finally, your tears start to flow.

-

When you’re dating in high school, the reactions are always the same.

There are the ones who think it’s cute.

“Youth,” they’ll say with a wistful smile. “To be young again.”

There are the ones who think you’re too young. 

“You’ll regret this later, trust me. Don’t bind yourself to someone else too early.”

And there are the ones who look like their heart breaks just at the thought of it.

“I wish you the best,” your mother had said when you brought home the news, “I hope it turns out better for you.”

You hadn’t thought to ask then, what she meant. Would you have decided differently, if you had? If you’d heard about her own love story at seventeen? How she loved and lost in much the same way?

Or maybe you’d have told yourself that you are different. 

Only to realize that you are not.

-

“Please welcome our new manager to the team.” 

You wave shyly as the boys turn toward you. Your Middle School Volleyball Club was way smaller.

There’s talk of them making Nationals this year and you do your best to help.

“Oikawa made a name for himself in Middle School,” they say like he’s the Messiah that will bring new life to their hopes and aspirations.

And he’s good, that’s easy to tell. But where your Senpai seem to forget that Oikawa isn’t the only first year, you can see all of them gleam and glitter in the background, like Stars, unable to outshine the moon with their light.

Iwaizumi is a little shy, but you stay back to help him practice his spikes sometimes. 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa, or as they ask you to call them, Makki and Mattsun, tend to goof off most of the time during training but it’s not hard to call them to attention. Watching them play together is something you will not get tired of.

“Hey, Manager, can you help us?” Makki calls out to you, “I wanna practice blocking with Mattsun.”

“Coming!”

.

You don’t make it to Nationals this year. Shiratorizawa has also gained a new star and if Oikawa is the moon, outshining the stars, Ushijima Wakatoshi is the bright midday sun, burning away all memories of the night.

“You are a good manager,” he finds you in the hallways later, face set in a passive frown, “you should come to Shiratorizawa.”

And you’re sure it’s a compliment, in a way. But there’s no question of your loyalty.

“I wouldn’t be half as good as you think if I’d just abandon my team the moment someone asks me to.”

There’s surprise evident on his face that soon falls away.

“Come on, Ushiwaka, we’re going to be late,” a redhead calls for him just as Mattsun appears at the corner, waiting for you.

“We’ll meet again,” Ushijima promises and you shrug before turning around. You suppose there’s nothing you can do about it.

-

“Mom, can you give me my water bottle?”

Silence falls over the Gym, then laughter.

“What?” Watari asks, hackles rising.

“You just called our Manager Mom,” Sawauchi points out.

“No, I didn’t!” Watari defends himself and you pity the poor first year.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind-” 

“You don’t mind?” Makki leans heavily onto your shoulder. You don’t know how he could appear so fast out of thin air. “Mattsun, did you hear that?”

“Hm, I did.” He leans heavily on your other shoulder, winking down at you when you look up at him. Mattsun’s so close you can see every single one of his unfairly long lashes and the slow growth of his lazy smirk. 

He’s terrifyingly good looking and you suspect he knows it too.

-

“Mom!” Kyoutani yells through the Gym a few weeks later, the Nickname stuck like glue.

“Coming,” you yell back, emergency kit ready. “Jeez, you guys need to stop being so rough. Everything okay, Watari?”

“Yeah,” the Libero’s clutching his nose, blood dribbling out from under his hands. “Just managed to receive with my face.”

“Thanks for calling me, Kyoutani,” you tell the other boy who nods gruffly before returning to the court as if nothing happened.

“Come up,” you say, but he stays on the floor, growing paler. 

“I don’t feel so good,” he mutters and your head flies around, looking for someone, anyone who can help.

“I’m here,” Mattsun calls out immediately, already by your side. You didn’t see him come over, nor do you know why he decided to do it, but you’re too thankful to think about it now. 

Together you manage to get Watari out of the Gym where he empties his stomach into a nearby shrub.

“Let’s get you to school nurse,” Mattsun decides before looking at you. “That okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

With Watari supported on your left and Mattsun’s right arm, the walk is more than a little wobbly - height difference and all - but your mind is going elsewhere, unable to focus on the first-year’s health.

Mattsun’s arm rests under yours on Watari’s back, warm and steadfast and safe.

He smiles softly, reassuring, whenever your eyes cross.

He doesn’t have to say anything, he just has to be there.

-

“Hey, I was wondering…” Mattsun’s rubbing the back of his head and you stop to give him some time to think.

“Yeah?”

A pink blush grows on his cheeks. You wonder if this is really what you think it is.

“I really like you. A lot. And I was thinking… if you’d want to be my girlfriend.”

You swallow thickly, look around for any signs that this is a prank.

“Are you being serious?”

“When have I ever not been- scratch that, yes, I’m serious.” He stretches out his hand as if this is a business offer, realizing half-way how weird it looks.

But it’s too late, you’ve already clamped both hands around his and shook it.

“I want to be your girlfriend,” you blurt out, just as awkward in your affection as he is.

A wide, satisfied grin spreads over his face and the blush intensifies to your delight.

“Wait,” Makki calls out from somewhere behind him, “Does that make Mattsun my Dad? I’m veto-ing!”

“You don’t get a say,” you declare just moments before Mattsun pulls you in, face mushed into his chest.

“If we run now,” he whispers, “we can outrun him.”

-

“If you miss this serve, you’re buying Ramen!” Makki declares.

“I want mine with pork!” Mattsun immediately adds on.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. They might be playing an important game, but this team knows better.

“I want mine extra spicy,” you call out from the side, waving when both Mattsun and Makki give you a thumbs up for the order.

.

“What are you going to do now?” Kindaichi asks after their loss.

“What do you mean?” You ask back.

“Are you still going to come to practice? You’ve got your exams coming up.”

“Are you trying to steal my girlfriend?” Mattsun hooks his head over your shoulder, trying to stare Kindaichi down.

“NO! No, no, I just… it will be different without you there.”

“Yamagata-chan will be helping you just fine,” you assure him, smiling at your feisty first-year manager. “I’m not sure yet, it depends on how well I’m getting on with studying.”

“Lies,” Mattsun whispers into your ear when Kindaichi turns his back on you for a second. “You’ll be back. You care too much.”

And isn’t that the truth?

-x-

“Where’s he staying?” You ask, your hand curled around the doorframe. Even from this distance you can tell that Mattsun’s missing.

Later you’ll find your suitcase missing, along with his suits and a few sets of underwear. He’s never been a materialist.

“I-” Makki pulls his head in as if to avoid the question. 

“Please?”

“He’s staying with Kyoutani for the moment,” he sighs, moves as if to hug you but pulls back when you step out of reach.

“I’m staying with you, okay? You won’t have to be alone.”

“What if I want to be?”

Makki cocks his head to the side, eyeing you curiously. “No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “but you’re making Dinner. I’m going to take a bath.”

“Don’t drown.”

You flip him off.

Though when you’re sitting in the hot water, surrounded by remnants of this lost relationship, you can’t help but weep.

-

“What’s this monstrosity?” You ask when Mattsun drops his hands from your eyes. There, on the shower curtain, is a giant cat in Seijoh colors, flying through space.

“Do you like it?” Mattsun asks, giggling, “Kindaichi ordered it.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t, Kunimi ordered it. But Kindaichi paid.”

“Poor guy,” you huff, “but I suppose we can’t get rid of it now.”

“You always wanted a cat.”

You snort. “Yeah, and I guess I got one now.”

“And look, Kyoutani got us this kitten soap dishes to match. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

You sigh. “It is. At least now I’m glad I had the foresight to steal towels during my time at Seijoh.”

“You didn’t,” Mattsun gasps, “I’m dating a criminal!”

“You do,” you sling your arms around his shoulders and press a kiss to his jaw, “gonna kill you if you sing.”

He laughs, dips you like you’re dancing. 

And yes, your apartment is barely big enough to fit the two of you, but it doesn’t matter. Not as long as you’re together.

-

“What’s for Dinner?” Makki asks, closing the door behind him with a snap.

“I wanted to make Lasagna but I only had Ramen Noodles left, so I don’t know what to call it,” you announce from the stove.

“Oh, LaRamna, my favorite,” he chirps, going straight for the snack drawer until a well-aimed spoon cuts him off.

“No chocolate before Dinner.”

“But-”

“You can set the table.”

“Fine,” Makki huffs, sticking his tongue out at you. “I brought wine with me, by the way.”

“Oh, how classy of you. Are we pretending to be something other than College Kids?”

“Who’s pretending what?” Mattsun’s still in the door, wet hair hanging into his eyes.

“Oh baby,” you coo, walking over. “Did you forget your umbrella again?”

“Mhm,” he leans down to kiss you, leaving droplets of cold running down your skin. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you hum back. Mattsun leans in to kiss you again though this time he stops, turns and “Makki, no Chocolate before Dinner!”

-

“You good?” Makki asks, pushing an open bar of chocolate in your direction.

“Yeah,” you hum, doodling yet another heart into your book.

“You don’t look it.”

“Just lonely, I guess,” you admit, “I’m not used to Mattsun staying out this late.”

“How long is this course going?”

“Two weeks,” you groan, rubbing your eyes.

“That’s not that long.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not.”

But the gloominess doesn’t really go away that night.

.

“Another course?” You ask, focus on the carrots you’re cutting.

“Yeah,” Mattsun’s at the table, going over the bills. “This one’s not mandatory but I’d get ahead much faster. My uncle said I could start working part-time for him as soon as I’ve got through this one.”

“You wanna work for your uncle?” You ask, turning to look at him.

He purses his lips, taps the table with his pen.

“I mean, it’s honest work, right? I don’t really have any passion to follow and it pays good money.”

“Yeah, but what if you realize you hate it?”

“I’d figure it out then, wouldn’t I?” He cocks his head to the side to look at you. “Do you think I wouldn’t like it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… I don’t like those late classes.”

“I know,” he coos, getting up and walking over. “I know you hate falling asleep without me.”

“That too,” you huff and lean into him. “I just… I didn’t know growing up was this hard.”

“It won’t be for long, I promise.”

-

The numbers on your alarm clock are a bright, annoying red and a slap in the face.

It’s two hours past midnight yet the other side of your bed is cold and empty. 

There are no new messages on your phone as you slip out of bed and stalk around the room, chewing on your lower lip as you consider your options.

Call the police? Call Makki? 

You call Mattsun, because that’s always been your go-to if you needed help.

The familiar ringtone cuts through the silence, muffled only by the closed door.

When you open it, you’re greeted by the dim lights over the stove and a long body stretched out on the Couch. 

He fell asleep waiting for the Microwave to get done and though you want nothing less than to curl up beside him, he looks far too exhausted for you to wake him up.

So you tuck him in the best you can before you slip back into the bed he should be sharing with you, unable to get rid of a chill that has started creeping in.

-

“Instant Ramen?” Makki’s stopped halfway to the fridge, staring at your choice of Dinner. You shrug and dig your chopsticks into the meal.

He looks like he wants to add something, but instead, he picks a pack out of the drawer Mattsun pretended to hide them in. A few minutes later he’s sitting across from you, blowing on his own bowl of Ramen.

“I thought they’re not healthy.”

“They’re not.”

“Period incoming.”

“Had it last week.”

“Hm.” Makki squints, takes a first sip, and curses when he burns his mouth.

“Okay,” he huffs finally when even that doesn’t make you smile, “Spill. Why are we eating Instant Ramen instead of the usual healthy stuff you like to make?”

“I hate cooking for one person.”

Makki stops, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

“But you’re not cooking for one person,” he says, confused, “You always cook for-”

You stare at him until he breaks off in the middle of his sentence.

But Makki wouldn’t be Makki if he could be convinced to shut up by a glare alone.

“It’s only a few more days until the course is over.”

“I think he’s cheating on me.”

Makki’s chopsticks drop into his bowl, spraying broth everywhere. But you don’t care. Not about that, at least. 

You eat on, try to stare a hole into the wooden tabletop, right there, where you usually put Mattsun’s bowl when he sits down for Dinner.

“You wouldn’t-” Makki stumbles over the words. “He wouldn’t- Why do you think-”

“Working late,” you count on your fingers, “coming home later than the course needs him to, smelling like perfume. Do you need me to go on?”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yes,” you nod sharply, “but apparently it’s a secret I’m not supposed to know.”

Makki sighs. “It really is, I know it and it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

You freeze. Makki dares to show a small smile and you look up at him, surprised at your own feelings.

“I was actually kinda relieved,” you admit, voice hollow, “because that would have explained why he doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”

-x-

It’s hard, getting up in the morning after your first - and worst - breakup.

It’s hard, getting through the day and coming home again only to realize that this is it. This apartment will never be filled with life again, not in the way it was supposed to be. 

Makki only leaves your side for work, sleeping on the Couch as if it’s his bed and not a torture instrument created to destroy your back muscles. 

You think it’s sweet of him until you realize that Mattsun’s probably camping out in Makki’s apartment now. 

All the friends you have are tied to the two of you.

And while none of them pick sides, you kinda want them to.

You want them to tell you that this is wrong. That you should have stayed, that you should have tried harder. 

Because if everyone’s just sympathetic, doesn’t that mean you don’t have any chance to mend this? To have a future with Mattsun in it?

You’re not home when Mattsun comes to pick up most of his things.

All those feelings come back up again at the sight of empty spaces where his things should have been.

The mountain of blankets because he likes to wrap himself like a Burrito. His movie collection. The sweaters you loved to curl up in when he wasn’t around.

But he left the shower curtain and seeing that still hanging feels like the worst betrayal, a knife straight to the heart. 

You’re not doing the best job taking it down, but you’d rather spray water everywhere than look at it again, be reminded of what could have been but didn’t.

-

This time he wakes you up.

Makki must have told him, managed to get a hold of him between classes and work and this stupid course. You can see it in his face, can feel it in the way he holds you, not too close but never too far.

“I’m not cheating on you,” he assures you, shadows under his eyes from not sleeping enough, hair disheveled and sweaty, “I swear, I promise, I’d never do something like that.”

And maybe it’s the late night or the loneliness, watching him be so nonchalant about all the time spent apart, or something else you haven’t yet faced, but the words slip out like snakes, quiet, quick, and unstoppable.

“I want a break.”

“A break?” His voice is high, frightened, like that time he dragged you to a haunted house and realized he’s so much worse at getting through them than you are.

“A break. I can’t go on like this. I don’t see you anymore. I don’t… I don’t know if I love you anymore.”

Mattsun sinks into himself, shrinks until he’s barely tall enough to look at you. 

This is what you did to him, you think, this is what he did to you.

“A break like Rachel or a break like Ross?” He asks, voice wavering.

You stare at the wall behind him, at the absence of a mess in the bedroom because you keep it tidy and he falls asleep on the Couch more often than not.

“Like Ross,” you say because you’ve always believed in clean cuts over jagged edges.

The worst thing is that he doesn’t fight.

Mattsun doesn’t argue with you over the end of your relationship.

If he had, this might have turned out differently.

But he doesn’t, he just sneaks back to the Couch in the living room, curls up in the blankets like a dog that’s been banished to his corner.

He doesn’t even wake up when you sneak outside, unable to sleep, unable to stay in one place.

It’s not Mattsun who finds you at the swingset, the place you always go to when you have to think.

It’s Makki.

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[byoldervine]

What's your routine when it comes to writing?

I’m literally just writing everything I can think of because I don’t know if I have a routine exactly but hopefully something here answers your question

My writing goal is 1K words per week, and I’ve been able to keep up with this since the start of this year. It’s not much, but it gives me a minimum amount of consistent progress without burning me out, which is incredibly helpful

I work Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so I get most of my writing done outside of that, and then Mondays are usually busy for me so it’s up in the air how much writing I’ll get done that day. For the last few weeks I’ll write a little on Monday, then get the bulk of it done on Thursday and/or Saturday, which leaves Sunday free

I can’t have too many background distractions or I’ll zero in on that even if I’m not interested in it, but I find I work best with quiet background noise of some variety to ensure I’m not understimulated. My favourites tend to be a writing sprint video I love and custom soundpads I’ve made on TableTop Audio, which allows you to easily create soundscapes for whatever setting it is you’re writing about

I like writing on my laptop more than anything, with one tab being my writing and another being my notes. Any tabs that aren’t related to my writing need to be closed or they get too tempting. I cannot use my phone to research in this time or I will definitely get distracted

I work from two locations; in my bed or in the living room set up on the recliner. Both locations involve open curtains and blinds for natural light and a blanket over my lap while I write. I even have a dedicated writing blanket which has largely been taken over by my dogs, who will snuggle up whenever I get it out. I have to frequently stop them from laying their heads on my keyboard and creating shortcuts

If it’s a good motivation day or I’m at a point where I need to write a lot today or I won’t meet my deadlines, I’ll put on the writing sprint video and work within those parameters; 25 minutes writing, 5 minutes taking a break, repeat three more times. This is what got me through NaNoWriMo

Otherwise, I’ll turn on my soundscapes and tell myself I’ll just write for ten minutes and then I can stop if I want to. After ten minutes my brain wants to at least finish the part it’s on, and then I question if I want to keep going. Usually the answer is yes, so I’ll keep going. If I get to a point where my interest is starting to wane, I’ll tell myself to give it another ten minutes, and if I’m still disinterested I quit for the time being

After I’ve finished my weekly goal, I always try to reward myself with a snack or something fun. Lately the desired treat has been chocolate chip muffins

Once I’ve hit the goal and am no longer writing, I tend not to pick it up again until the next week because my brain thinks ‘well anything I write now won’t count to my immediate goals, so why bother?’ even though logically it’ll mean less of these sessions in the future. I do usually get at least 1100 words each week though, and I’d say my average is around 1200-1500, so I’m not too worried about that. I don’t mind so much if this all takes me a long time, it’s all for fun anyway

[themotherofblood]

Love on the Brain

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Tears of Gold AU

A/N: Like I’ve said before, a lot of stuff in this series is not going to be canon.This is the readers world, hence my world.

TW: mentions of rape, abuse, misogyny, SMUT! vaginal fingering, handjob. Mutual masturbation vibes.

Grief is an unimaginable and intangible villain. You were sound of the body but your mind yearned for home, you’d found yourself watching the sunrise and within a moment it set. You’d sit between a horde of noble ladies, giggling and gossiping, none of it registering in your head. The world spun away while your body had stuck frozen. The nights felt longer as your dosages of nightshade had been lowered to keep your children safe. A few moments of comfort were rewarded when you felt them within you, moving and kicking while their father read to them. His hand rubbed the bump as he tried his best to get you to sleep. One particularly cool night, The King summoned Tywin to the throne room, while your husband wanted to walk you back to your chambers as you promenaded through the royal gardens. Instead, you chose to go with him, not wanting to be alone at that very moment. Both you and Tywin entered the room with your heads held high, your arm clutched on his extended elbow. Joffrey sat up top the throne, smug just like his mother; both you and your husband bowing before His Grace. More like bowing as best as you could while growing two humans within you.

“Is that the lowest you can go, my lady” Joffrey spoke up first. 

“I’m afraid so Your Grace.” your voice came out quiet and meek. 

Tywin walked forward as you stood behind with his nights. You cannot deny that watching Tywin tower over Joffrey wasn’t satisfying. In your time here at King’s Landing, you've come to realize that a crown gives no ma power, sure he might have armies or money but influence and wisdom reigned above it all. The boy king wanted to be counselled and so he was, they spoke of Stannis, the young Targaryen girl. What made your heart fill with warmth though, is Tywin holding his council meeting in the hall at the Tower rather than the red keep, so that he could be closer to you. The duties you’d taken up were completed each day as your husband watched in admiration of your strength to set your own sentiments aside as serve. That night was the first night you curled up to him since the news of your family’s death.

“Do you think we might win, should Stannis march on the city,” you whispered while tracing patterns on your husband’s chest “he knows of the city’s gates, he’d know where to attack,”

“We will hold him off, don’t you worry about that wife,” his voice rumbled through his chest as his hand played with your hair “you forget that I was the Hand of this city, long before Stannis Baratheon could even wield a sword.” He pulled the thick covers up higher to your shoulders, “Sleep, my lady. I will be right here when you wake up.” 

The next morning, the sun greeted King’s Landing yet again, the leaves were going to soon begin changing colour but you remained sullen, heavy-hearted still. That morning you had been awoken by one purring Lion, curled like a loaf of bread, on top of your husband's chest where your hand laid. His warm belly heated your cold palm while your feet pressed into Tywin’s calf, breaking him out of the glare he had fixated on the orange feline. 

 “Dear god, woman,” His raspy voice scolded you in a hushed tone, still unwanting to break the serenity of this new morrow. “Your feet shall put northern winters to shame.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You quickly apologised while pulling away but Tywin’s hold tightened on your waist, keeping you in place. His eyes look down at your figure. 

The sun shone directly onto your martial bed, making your skin glow in a way that would bring every man in Westeros to his knees, your eyes that held so much sadness in the still twinkled as though an entire world existed within them. Tywin brought his hand up to stroke your cheek with the back of his fingers, making you hum as you felt them on your warm cheek. Your hand instinctively comes up to hold onto his hand, and another little meow finds a use for your other as your gentle pet through Lion’s little body. 

“My lord…” A few knocks end up interrupting the little cocoon you’d found yourselves in this morning, making Tywin groan and squeeze his eyes shut before pushing himself to get up. 

“Come find me at noon,” he says while gently picking up Lion to put on his pillow. “So long, wife’” He presses a kiss to your temple, longer than it needed to be before standing straight and looking at Lion, “Take care of your mother for me, will you.” before walking away to get dressed for the day. He showed you his face once more before leaving, but you were confused as to why he was in full armour. With the deep red chest plate and the gold lions on his shoulder guards, he stood tall and proud, looking more regal than ever. However, he silently assured you that there was nothing to be worried about before walking away, as the sound of clacking metal faded into the distance 

You too had gotten up for the day shortly after, you were to meet with Margery Tyrell today. You’d begun to spend time with her during your frequent visits to the city, going to the markets was mainly a detour to take food down to Flea Bottom. You remember that day clearly. 

It was quite hot for a day this late in the year, a red comet shone in the sky as you walked further past the merchant markets to Flea Bottom. Your armada of ladies loyal to you carrying baskets of food, toys and clothing, you’d particularly had your ladies, guards and yourself dressed lowly to not attract too much attention. A scuffle had caught your ear as you made your journey to the orphanages. Your guards created a circle around you and your ladies as you pushed through the crowds, a woman in the middle of it all was being beaten and stripped, she didn’t scream or fight back; she appeared to be murmuring under her breath. Her eyes closed, body tanned and all but wearing a metal choker with a giant ruby on it, hair as red as blood. 

“Stop them, Fred.” You nodded at him. Frederick remained loyal to your house and accompanied you since the day of your marriage under your brother’s command. He simply walked over and sacked his sword on the behinds of both men to make the cower away and scatter. You’d walked over to the woman to help her up, shielding her body with yours as best as possible. 

“Where is your home miss? Let us escort you there.” You offered as you covered her up with one of your guard’s cloaks. 

“It’s the last house off of the merchant markets, big glass windows, pale white walls. Do not fret my lady, I can walk there myself.” Your eyes widened at the mention of my lady, how did she recognize you? 

“Nonsense, lead the way.” You walked behind her until you saw her house. You wanted to ask her about what caused today’s scene but who were you kidding, most men were monsters, noble or not. Your own grandchild by law, the king of the seven kingdoms himself held demons of his own. 

“My lady, you must come in. I do not have much to offer but what I have is yours.” She bowed as she held her door open for you to enter

“Some water would be nice, please.” You smiled at her and turned around so that she could change, all your men and ladies turned too. You hadn’t realized you were thirsty until you downed the whole cup in one go. 

“Forgive me, you must think I’m a brute.” You chuckled while handing her the cup back and wiping her mouth with the back of your palm. “Alright then, let’s head off.” You clapped your hands twice as your company poured out of the redhead’s house. Right before you turned, she caught onto your wrist tight. 

You looked down to where your hands met and then you to her eyes that were flared with a kind of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Her gaze held yours until you frowned trying to pull away. 

“You must remember me lady Y/N, the lord of light awaits you.” You were perplexed, you had heard of the Lord of Light from your mother, lore from the west, from Volantis. You merely pulled your hand away without thinking too much about it. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as lady Margery stood in front of you smiling. 

“He agreed, didn’t he?” You looked up at her knowing the only thing that smile could mean 

“Oh yes, yes he did.” She took your hands in hers and shook them in excitement as she sat next to you. 

“Tywin did too.” You gave her a tight-lipped smile. Both of you might or might not have batted your eyelashes at your partners to sanction the building of asylum, for women and children to stay in and to supply food every weekend. 

“Oh, this will be so good for the realm.” You nodded in agreement with her, slightly wincing at the pitch of her voice. “I have to tell my grandmother, my lady.” You nodded once more so she could take her to leave. 

You’d often sit here in these gardens, you’d grown this small section yourself. With the help of whoever was chaperoning you. Colourful daisies and sunflowers, tulips and a small bunch of orchids. A healthy growing line of lush green pothos plants curled around the pavilion stands. You’d watch the waves crash below onto the shore, someday hoping that you could just sail away back home. 

“My lady.” You shut your eyes in annoyance as a shrill man’s voice called out from behind you. 

“Lord Baelish.” You bowed your head as he came over to sit next to you. “I had heard of a growing escape in the Red Keep, though I might say you’ve grown a piece of heaven here.” He compliments looking around the garden. 

“Thank you, Lord Baelish.” You nodded at him before looking back at the sea. 

“My lady, I have come to you as a harbour, though what I say must stay in confidence.” Peter’s voice lowers and your attention is completely fixated on what he had to say. 

“I have offered to take Sansa Stark home, I could bring you with us too. My lady.” Peter whispers 

“Why would I wan-“

“Do you truly think Tywin Lannister would keep you after you bore him a son or two for that matter? Forgive me, for sounding curt but skinning a stag together like yesterday does not mean love, my lady.” You looked at him with your brows in a tight furrow as you took in what he was saying. In reality, there was some truth in his words, Tywin had not confessed to any love, though you had no idea what true love looked like anyways. “The things he does to people that are of no use are tales too atrocious to tell, I’m sorry I shouldn’t speak any further. 

“Go on, what do you mean by that.” You urged him to go on.

“You must have heard of what he did to Tyrion’s wife? Had her raped by fifty of his men to prove to annul his son’s marriage, to make it a sham.” Your eyes widened to show him that you were shocked and looked away. Only to spot Sansa sitting on the other side of the gardens, looking out to the sea. 

A small part of you wanted to go tell Joffrey of this plot, you know he would torment both Sansa and Baelish to their graves. You wanted Sansa to feel the pain that her family had caused you. You hated yourself for thinking this. 

“Speak no more of this, take Sansa home if you can.” you stood up and walked away before you could say anymore. Your legs moved as last as they could, walking back to your quarters, eyes nearly tearing up at wanting to cause someone else harm, at the thought of your husband discarding you, the thought of your dead family. 

“Milady, are you alright?” Your chambermaid asks as she walks faster to keep up with you. “Shall I call for Lord Tywin?” 

“No!” Your voice slight rose “No, just draw me a bath, please.” 

You sat in your bed with your hands shaking in anxiety, rocking back and forth to stop your head from running a hundred miles an hour. Once your bath was ready, you had yourself stripped immediately and dipped into the bath. Even with your maid’s protest of it being hot. It wouldn’t burn you but it was close to scolding, you’d simply sat down and dismissed all your maids. 

Tywin had returned from his venture a while back, he awaited you in the garden fine but you hadn’t shown up. At first, he chuckled it off as you getting slower the more pregnant you get but after half hour he grew worried. He spotted one of your maids and questioned them of your whereabouts and they informed him of you being in your chamber and having dismissed them all. 

Tywin’s feet took them up to his quarters as fast as they could while maintaining composure. When he entered he found the receiving chambers, varenda and both the bedrooms empty. He’d checked the bath upstairs after, that’s where he found you. In a humid room that smelled of Lilies. You were sat in the bath with your legs pulled to your chest, while your head rested on them. A slow break in the pattern of your breathing told him enough, you were silently crying. 

The jangle on his armour was enough indication of his person, so it didn’t startle you when he approached and sat next to the bath, his hand found your back and rubbed his palm back and forth. 

“Why didn’t you call for me, wife?” His voice sounded almost doting like he was speaking to a child. You turned your face to look at him, a small pout on your bottom lip and eyes red. 

“I want to go home.” A stray tear fell from your eyes. He knew of what you felt, but he wouldn’t agree or promise something he couldn’t give you. You gulped and closed your eyes and pushed yourself to stand up. If he loves you, he will make love to you right now. You needed to know that, all of the things he made you feel weren’t just for making a baby. His hands shot to your arms to help you stand, his eyes wandering down your body. Though it would fill a man with lust, it filled him with pride. His children were swelling out of such a beautiful woman. 

You got out of the bath, one foot after the other with the help of your husband. He looked confused as to what you were trying to do or had upset you. Your hands went up to the buckles on his shoulder guard as you began to remove them, the chest plate next. Though Tywin had to help you lift that one off, due to the strenuous weight of the armour. The chainmail and sword holster after. 

“Did you want me to bathe with you?” He cocked his brow at you, his reply was you smashing your lips together as your hiked yourself up on your toes. He was slightly taken aback but hummed in approval, bending down as one of his hands tangled in your slightly wet hair. “Easy, now.” He mumbled between kisses as you lifted his undershirt above his head. 

“Go on, get back in the bath.” He was slightly concerned at how hot the bath might have been when you got in because the water still held the perfect amount of heat for a normal bath. He undid his pants and breeches and stood before you in all his glory.

Your hormones make this a lot easier, it makes your mood change faster than the Iron Bank chooses its bet. You held your hand out to him and pulled him into the water once he grabbed ahold of it. His back against the head of the tub, you turned to straddle his legs. The tub was huge, much bigger than the one back home. Almost like a tiny pool, built into the floor of the upper veranda while the rest of the room was covered in blue and gold tiles. 

You began kissing him harder, he knew what you wanted but absolutely would not give it to you and began to push you away. A dread settled at the pit of your stomach. Peter cannot be right. Tywin registered the hurt on your face and quickly explained 

“We cannot do this. It isn’t safe in your state.” It wasn’t a good enough answer and you still looked hurt, making him elaborate further “Believe me, my sweet girl. I have wanted nothing more since the day they started to swell.” His hand lifted to your breast, one thumb going over your nipple, making them harden almost instantly. His other hand pulls you closer to his centre, his hard length a proof to his testimony. “You are carrying my children, and I will not endanger them.” His eyes darted between yours, hoping you would believe him. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew exactly what you were thinking. It’s what any woman would feel out of a political marriage. You were afraid that your marriage would be a sham after you bore his children. 

“Though that does not mean there aren’t other ways to pleasure you, my lady.” His eyes dropped low as his voice darkened. He took one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking on it before releasing it with a pop. All the while his eyes were fixated on you, while he repeated the same with the other; he moved on the side of the breast to suckle on the flesh right there a little harder. A soft mark began to redden, as his eyes dismayed further. His hands slowly turned you around and sat you over one of his legs, the water sloshing around the sides as he did so. His mouth found your neck as he pressed soft kisses all the way up to the back of your ear, making your body erupt in goosebumps. 

Tywin lowered the hand around your body, to the warm flesh of your cunt, barely grazing his hand there as he tweaked your nipple in his other. “What do you want, my lady?” He whispered in your ear 

“I wa- want you to touch me.” You stammered back as your brain already felt in shambles over how oversensitive you were from being pregnant 

“I am touching you, aren’t I?” He pushed further. His cock almost always throbs harder in need when he hears something filthy come out of a sweet flower like you. 

“Touch my pussy.” You whispered quickly, he wanted to press you further, make you enunciate. However, he knew from experience, to not tease a pregnant woman if he wanted his goods intact. 

His fingers began to rub into your needy nerves, making you gasp and push your hips out towards his hand, his other hand mindlessly playing with your tits. You worked up the courage to hold onto his cock, you had never done this before so you looked up to him for guidance. His hand wrapped around yours as he moved your soft hand up and down his shaft, before nodding at you. 

He entered a finger into you slowly to help open you up after being untouched for over a month, then popped another finger in, moving them in and out of you at a slow pace, his thumb all the while rubbing your clit. Your hips mindlessly ground against his hand, as you broke out into soft moans, your state of pleasure making you grab onto Tywin’s cock harder making him hiss. You looked to him to see if you hurt him and he nodded no 

“Doing so well, my little wife.” He groaned in pleasure as his fingers picked up pace within you, massaging that little spot within you that pushes you further to bliss. You matched his pace onto your husband's cock. “Here, touch yourself for me, my lady.” He brought your vacant hand onto your clit, guiding it to rub in circular motions. You looked at him panting as he nodded for you to continue. 

“Ahh, this feels, it feels.” Your world jumbled in you mouth as the knot in your belly grew tighter 

“I know, my sweet wife. Ease up for me and let go.” He urged you own as his own peak chases behind him. Your hand rubbed faster you clit as you wound yourself up to your peak. 

“Tywin, gah! I need it.” Your hands stroked his cock faster, your own hand growing tired before out of nowhere the bubble in you bursts, sending you right over the edge as your legs tremble, your hands still shakily stroking your husband's length before he too follows you; all the while fingering you through your own peak. 

His head rested against your shoulder as you rested against his heaving chest. Both in post orgasmic bliss as Tywin’s hand drew patterns on your inner thigh. 

“That’s one way to have a bath.” Tywin’s chest rumbles into a short chuckle. What breaks you out of your trance is meek meow. Which makes you duck further into the water and look to the door of the room. There sat Lion, with his big round eyes, he might be a feline, his eyes looked as though he’d caught the two of you committing a crime. 

You looked up at your husband horrified. “You don’t think he knows?” You asked him, making him chuckle again. 

“You wanted the cat, my dear.” He said before pulling himself out of the bath and shooing Lion away. “Come let’s get you washed, we have to get something in those two and you.” You reached out for him to pull you out of the water. He took special care in washing himself up and you, using the pails of water before drying the two of you up. 

Peter Baelish had to be wrong, sure Tywin might never love you but doesn’t mean he’d discard you. You were sure of it, you had to be. Tywin had called for your maids to help dress you up before he held his arm out and led you down to the dining gardens, where reheated food awaited the couple.

next chapter

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Fireleaf (Part Five)

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

Thank you so much for all the support I've had on this story so far <3 I cannot express to you how much my lovely friend @greeneyedivy helps with this story. I very much consider it our story, because while I do the writing, her brilliant brain cells come up and help with so many of the ideas and plot points, so she deserves just as much credit<3

Warnings: None for this part!

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“A masquerade?”

Two weeks later, Dion strolled beside you, sliding his hands into his pockets. A considerable distance was kept between you as the two of you braved the crisp air.

“It’s a type of ball where everyone wears masks—”

“I know what it is,” You cut in, snorting. “I’m just not sure why we’d be invited to a masquerade ball in the Spring Court.”

“We are…tentative allies with Spring. And Lucien is a friend of the High Lord, Tamlin. We were invited out of courtesy.”

Lucien seemed to have friends all over the place — something you’d only learned from your snooping, brought about entirely by boredom, over the past fortnight.

You’d certainly noticed a change all around — namely, and gradually, in Dion’s behaviour. It seemed that without the staring eyes of gossiping nobles, he no longer felt the need to be so openly affectionate towards you; as though the public displays of your courting throughout the festival had merely been for show. The touches had begun to become less and less, few and far between. Gone were the subtle brushes against your hand, the kisses to your temple, the sweet remarks laced with suggestion. By now, all of it had been replaced with behaviour much more appropriate in a platonic relationship. You were acting like friends.

And you found yourself not even slightly bothered by that. Whether that spelled doom for your nuptials, you hadn’t decided.

“It’s seen as an honour — for one court to be invited to another’s event.” Dion said. “And it’s also not a bad thing for us to present ourselves as a good ally to their people. We’ll be decked out in Spring Court attire as a mark of respect.”

Spring Court attire. You didn’t know what that looked like. You’d never seen another court — never even glimpsed another High Lord. The idea of leaving the lands you’d grown up in and seeing, hearing, smelling an entirely new place…it almost made you giddy with excitement. It was almost enough to tune out that ever-present panic and sorrow gnawing at you.

Because Dion’s change in behaviour over the past two weeks hadn’t been the only difference that had jarred you. It was how quickly you’d been thrown into wedding preparations — how only the day after you’d sparred with Lucien, you’d been subjected to a lesson by Beron about all the important members of his court, all the vital people who would be coming to your wedding and where you would have them sit. That same afternoon, you’d pored over gown materials with the Lady of Autumn. All of it had taken off so damn fast, and had made for a chaotic two weeks that’d left you grasping, in your own time, for some sense of self. You knew you’d pushed the limits a few times – that the High Lord himself had spied you wandering places you had no business going, and taking horses out for rides without his permission. You’d even offered, at times, to help the servants with their work. To do anything that you had chosen to do, that made you feel normal. And if Beron got sick of your behaviour and sent you back to your family…well, you certainly wouldn’t be complaining.

So — yeah. You could really use some fun.

“So I get to dance and enjoy myself?” You knocked your arm into Dion’s. “Or do I have to stand by and be a pretty piece on your arm?”

“Well,” His grin was wicked. “That’s the beauty of the masks, isn’t it? They offer you enough anonymity to throw caution to the wind.”

True, you thought. You may never have been to a masquerade ball before, but you could imagine what a tantalising combination the masks and the wine and the dim lighting were. A real chance for you to let your hair down; you could have cried with relief.

“In that case,” You slowed to a stop, turning to Dion. “Perhaps that night, we can just…be Y/N and Dion. No pressure on us. No worrying about who’s watching. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

His mischievous grin softened into a gentle smile, and he nodded. “I like the sound of that. Just Y/N and Dion.”

⤲

You were so excited, you couldn’t possibly sit still.

Already, you could feel the urge to dance rippling through your bones. Could feel the draw to a night of freedom that awaited. You wanted to slip your mask on and be somebody else for a while.

Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court, did not do things by halves — a fact you became all too aware of a week before, when he’d sent his own personal designer, tailor and seamstress to the Autumn Court to have you all appropriately outfitted for the ball. It was the first time in a while that you hadn’t cared about being poked and prodded and rotated while your measurements were taken, and a sketch of the gown you were going to wear was brought to life. The first dress in a while that you were excited to put on.

Anyone could be forgiven for thinking you were a Spring Court female, you realised, as you stared into the mirror on the night of the ball. The tulle gown was a soft, sage green, tight-fitting at the bodice and pooling to the floor in a swish of gauzy material that felt light and easy to move in. It was more daring than the gowns you wore in the Autumn Court — with delicate, off-the-shoulder sleeves that left most of your arms and shoulders exposed, and a neckline that dared to dip a tad lower than your usual dresses, you’d never felt so—

Sexy. You felt sexy. And light on your feet, and airy. And the mask that had been made to match the gown — an utter artwork in itself. It covered half of your face, and was of the same green shade as your dress. Adorned with glittering petals and jewels and stones, you’d spent a while just admiring it before you’d allowed the dresser to fasten it on your face. And perhaps your most favourite feature — the flaring green feathers on one side — possibly those of a peacock — that swept brilliantly upwards towards your hair, styled into an immaculate updo and accented with little vines of green Spring Court leaves and butterflies crafted of painted glass.

Now this — if you could wear this to your wedding, you’d marry any of the damn Vanserras.

A light rapping on the door had you straightening yourself out. You looked up, half expected to see Dion in all his finery.

Your stomach twisted a bit when the High Lord sauntered in.

You watched, in the mirror, as he approached you from behind. He didn’t yet don the mask that had been made for him, but the tailored green-and-gold brocade suit was undoubtedly a thing to behold, giving a hint of the sculpt of muscles underneath. Beron Vanserra was, indeed, a handsome male.

But inexplicable nausea always arose in you whenever he was around.

He stopped behind you, a mere hair’s-breadth away. The warmth of his breath fanned your exposed neck, and you felt yourself go rigid, taut.

“High Lord,” You greeted quietly, dipping your chin.

“Look at you,” One corner of his mouth quirked up, his eyes raking over your reflection. “My son is certainly a lucky male.”

You swallowed, wondering how subtly you could inch away. “I appreciate the compliment.”

“Hmm, I’m sure.”

You watched – watched so carefully as he slowly circled your body, stopping in front of you. Dark, empty eyes stared down into yours. Assessing. Cold.

“I don’t suppose,” He hummed, reaching out to touch a stray curl that hung loose from your hair, “that I need to remind you not to embarrass my court tonight.”

You lifted your chin. Stared up at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His lips twitched into a calculating smile – like he didn’t believe your words for one second. “I would hope not,” He said. “But I’ve had my eye on you these past two weeks, since your family returned home. It would seem that you’ve been a tad restless. Perhaps you’re trying to cause trouble in the hopes that I would call off this engagement and let you leave?”

Your eyes narrowed at him. Had your behaviour, your thoughts, truly been that blatant? It threw you off – made you feel less confident before him.

And he could see that; he seemed to be aware of every minute expression on your face. The way your features were begging to be kicked up into a sneer that his mere presence naturally provoked.

He smirked, letting go of that one curl he’d been toying with. But his hand only moved inches, settling at your neck, his rough thumb sweeping strokes over your throat. “If you miss your dear family so much, we could always invite one of your sisters for another visit.”

Knowing him, he was fully aware of the tensions that existed between you and Molly – would probably send for her just to spite you–

“The youngest one — Willow, is it?” He tilted his head. “You seem to be quite fond of her. And I’ve heard she’s had some…marital issues. What a poor situation for the poor lamb to find herself in. Our court is always open, should she ever crave a higher echelon of Autumn males.” That wolfish smirk widened. “I think Jareth got quite taken with her, too.”

You knew you’d frozen, gone entirely rigid – and not because of his hand still brushing your neck. Sickness unfurled inside of you like a wave, and you wanted to reach, to grab for anything to steady yourself. For Beron to be so aware of your closeness with Willow…for him to have already concocted calculating thoughts about it, to now be standing in front of you with a glimmer of threat in his eyes, his voice…

You swallowed. Eased yourself back a step. “My sister is unavailable for the foreseeable future. But I thank you, High Lord, for your thoughtfulness.” Gods, the pleasantries were nauseating. They physically pained you.

And Beron could see that. He seemed to be trying to rein in a laugh as he flicked his gaze over you once more. “I’m glad we have an understanding. If you behave as you’re expected to, I’m sure no measures will have to be taken.”

Such clear calculation in his words and his tone. And yet all you could do – for Willow – was dip your chin in acknowledgement. That you understood his threat. That you would heed it, like the obedient little female you were.

“Come.” The High Lord straightened himself out, offering you his arm. “I shall escort you to the sitting room. The others are waiting. We don’t want to be late.”

⤲

They were lined up in a row. All five of them.

And yet you stopped dead in the doorway. Gaped at them. Eris was the only one you could pick out immediately – only because he favoured having his hair cropped much shorter than that of his brothers’.

But the similarities between the other four were almost frightening. They all wore the same tailored outfits – a deep green, velvet version of Beron’s, accented with leaves. All had the same green-and-gold, cat-like masks that covered half of their faces, leaving the full lips and sharp jawlines as the only real visible things. And with Dion, Lucien, Jareth and Rian all leaving their long, red hair unbound, cascading around their shoulders, it took you a moment of intense scrutiny to actually pick your fiance out of the four of them.

Took Dion stepping out of line, towards you, for you to be absolutely sure.

“Mother above, look at you.” He grinned, his eyes flicking over you in appreciation. “I hope I get to dance with you before you’re stolen away from me.”

You smiled, inclining your head in thanks. “You clean up quite nicely yourself.”

He reached a hand out to you. “Shall we?”

His hand was warm, as you slid yours into it – not at all like Beron’s touch on your skin. And you found yourself sidling closer to Dion, found yourself wanting to make sure you didn’t catch yourself alone again any time soon.

“Let’s go,” Beron stepped forward. “I’ll not have us being late.”

And so Beron joined hands with the Lady of Autumn. Eris with Lucien and Jareth with Rian. And in a sweep of lurching darkness, you each jumped from Autumn to Spring.

⤲

The smells hit you first. Crisp and floral. Like freshly mown grass and rose petals.

Your group came to a stop on what appeared to be the lawn – though the size of it was more like a damn field. And as your eyes took in the sights before you…the pinks and oranges as the sun set over Tamlin’s estate, the expertly-trimmed hedges, the masses of different plants and flowers and trees, flowing fountains and pristine walkways that wended throughout it all…the only thing you could do was gape in utter awe.

If it looked like this in the dying light of evening time…you could only imagine its beauty first thing in the morning. Or bathed in warm afternoon sun rays.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Dion smiled, also drinking in the sights.

Behind you, Jareth scowled. “If it doesn’t make your nostrils sting, yes.”

“I seem to remember you complaining about that the last time you visited, Jareth.”

Every one of you turned at the deep, gravelly voice that came from behind. And it took only one sweep of your eyes to know that this — this was Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court.

You’d heard about him, of course. Heard that he was quietly handsome and rugged. Heard that he could shift into a beast on command. You believed that was entirely possible as you studied the broad expanse of his muscles. The male was huge.

And looking directly at you.

He, too, was showcasing what you were quickly realising was considered Spring Court Green. And he looked every bit the High Lord with his golden locks flowing around his face and the glimmer of emerald eyes you peeked through his mask of the same colour.

“You must be Y/N.” He greeted you politely. “Welcome to my court.”

You dipped your chin. “It’s very beautiful.”

“What, I don’t get a special greeting anymore, Tam?”

You glanced round — just in time to see Lucien step forward, the biggest smile on his face you’d ever seen. It was glowing, breathtaking. All you could do was stare.

“As if you don’t visit often enough and eat all my food?” Tamlin’s answering smile was just as broad. He clasped Lucien’s arms. “You’re looking well, friend.”

You watched the interaction, trying not to gape…because in the time you’d been at the Vanserra Estate, you’d never seen Lucien show the tenderness for his family that he currently displayed, unguarded, to Tamlin. It stirred something inside you that you couldn’t quite place a finger on.

Maybe…maybe there were other places that Lucien felt more at home.

“Thank you, again, for the invite, Tamlin.” Beron stepped forward. His strained voice told you just how rarely he thanked anyone for anything, but he squared his shoulders and forced himself to be pleasant.

“It’s my pleasure.” Tamlin smiled, and you tried not to gawk at the pure radiance of it. He turned to you and Dion. “And, of course, myself and my court extend our deepest congratulations on the news of your engagement. Shall we go in?”

Huge he may have been, but he was a picture of utter grace as he turned and headed towards the ginormous doorway – that was, until Lucien playfully shoved him, and then draped an arm around his shoulders. You watched the whole display as the rest of you followed; read the ease and lightness with which Lucien walked. An ease and lightness he never seemed to possess around his blood.

You glanced at his brothers. All of them had seen, and yet none of them seemed to care.

The thought made your shoulders slump slightly.

“Don’t be nervous.” Dion slid a hand to the small of your back. Misread your demeanour entirely. “Remember what we said. Just Y/N and Dion.”

You tried not to think about how odd it sounded as you followed him to the wine.

⤲

Such a brilliant thing – faerie wine. Not that you’d ever had the opportunity to try much else, but Linden had once told you of a time he’d drunk human wine – and likened it to muddy water.

But within two hours, every reservation, every worry, every sad thought…just gone. The other masked, dancing people around you didn��t matter as Dion spun you around in his arms, and the two of you laughed and chatted like there was nobody else in the huge ballroom. You were…euphoric. On top of the world. And if this was what it was like to be on Dion’s arm…you thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

He gripped hold of your hand, spinning you with a fluidity that he, himself, didn’t quite match. He wasn’t a bad dancer by any means, just…not a natural. Not light-footed and nimble like Eris had been when you’d danced with him on the final night of the festival. But with the wine, with the music, the masks…none of it mattered. You felt like you were walking on air.

“Shit.” Dion snorted as he watched his own steps, his back and shoulders stiff. “I’m definitely not a natural dancer.”

You grinned up at him, a laugh bubbling from your lips that was barely loud enough to be heard beneath the music. “Not a natural, no. Not smooth like Eris.”

He scowled playfully, his hands landing on your hips. “Eris is a show-off. He practises this shit in the mirror – do not tell him I told you that.”

You couldn’t help laughing again, throwing your head back and leaning into the pure joy you felt in that moment. It felt good to enjoy yourself. To enjoy someone else. And even though you were flushed all over, and giddy, and the mask was tight on your face and the dress too hot on your body, you thought you might like to stay like this forever. To dance, smile, laugh, forever.

The room was big enough that you only got the odd glimpse of Vanserra hair – but aside of recognising the short length of Eris’s, there was no telling which brother passed you by, or which was dancing with the pretty Spring Court girls, or which was necking wine at the tables pushed against the wall. And you liked it this way – the anonymity. Having a night where no eyes – not even Beron’s – were interested in following you.

“How about,” You grinned up at Dion, placing a hand against his chest, “you go and grab us some more drinks, and when you get back, I’ll show you how to relax your posture.”

Dion snorted, brushing long, orange locks from his face. “Alright — deal.” He squeezed your waist. “I’ll be back.”

Pressing his lips to your fingers once, he released his hold on you and disappeared into the sea of people, the sight of him becoming swallowed up immediately by flamboyant masks and extravagant gowns and the slick dances happening around you. You stepped just slightly out of the way, watching from the sidelines, in utter awe of the lethal precision of the moving bodies.

It only occurred to you – as you waited and waited for Dion’s return – just how thirsty you were. But you wanted to get back out there, to throw yourself into the hands of the music and feel alive. You fidgeted restlessly as one song drifted into another, the beat quicker, more frenzied. When it was nearing the end, and Dion still hadn’t returned, you scowled and pushed your way through the crowd. No doubt, he’d got distracted talking to somebody.

Hands grabbed for you as you passed, trying to pull you into dances that you politely declined. Your eyes scanned for every flash of red and orange in your periphery – bouncing over Eris, who was dancing expertly with a light-footed female, and a woman wearing a mask bedecked with glistening rubies; another who twirled around in a gauzy gown of a burnt orange colour. Another song was starting by the time you finally spotted your fiance – sure enough engrossed in a conversation with a Spring Court male, an almost-finished glass of wine in his hand. He turned away from the male as though he’d sensed your approach.

“Hey!” You reached him, grabbing his hand. “Come on. Don’t worry about the drinks. I wanna dance.”

You didn’t wait for his reaction – didn’t wait for him to finish his conversation, prising his drink from his hand and setting it aside. You were light as air and euphoric as you dragged him back onto the dance floor, twirling your way around the other dancers and finding your way to the middle. You preferred it there – felt more secure. More…anonymous.

The two of you fell into the dance easily, that extra glass of wine having done wonders for his fluidity. One of Dion’s hands clasped yours whilst the other was secured at your waist. His grip on you was firm, pleasant, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so good as he pulled you around, matching your steps and keeping up with you. Clearly, you hadn’t given him enough credit – he was a much better dancer once he relaxed and let go.

“I love this one,” You shouted over the frenzied tune, barely loud enough to reach him. “The rise and fall of the notes – all of it. I love it.”

“You know this music?” His voice floated to you as he spun you around confidently, brilliantly, all earlier reservations about his dancing gone.

“I never cared much for dancing as a girl,” You fell into step, your front pressing against his, “Because it was something I had to do, I didn’t like it. But when Linden began to train me, he made me realise that what I wanted to learn from him, and what I hadn’t wanted to learn from my dance teacher, were actually very similar things. He took me to a dance, once, to prove it – and this was played there.”

“And you enjoyed dancing that night?”

You smiled at the memory, nodding as you moved with him. “I did – I think for the first time ever. Because I had chosen to go with Linden that night. I had chosen to dance that night. And I realised that was all I’d wanted.”

“Choice.” Dion stared intensely down at you, your glazed eyes snagging on the moving lights and shapes behind him. “Because choice makes a whole world of difference – doesn’t it?”

It did. And to hear him say it meant more to you than he probably realised. To know that he understood…that you may not have been each other’s choices, but he understood, still, what it meant to you.

He got you. And you…you thought you got him.

It made some small, fiery thing alight inside you. A thought that perhaps…perhaps this didn’t need to be doomed, just because you hadn’t chosen it for yourself. That you didn’t need to oppose it on mere principle.

Dion was a good male. A good male who listened to you, who got you. And here, like this, in his arms…his hands touching you, his hair splaying around him beautifully as the two of you spun around, his presence that felt safe and right…you thought that maybe you could choose him.

Thought, for the first time, that maybe you wanted to.

You stared up at him, the upbeat song coming to an end and transitioning into one that was slower, much more sensual. Both of his hands immediately tried to pull you into a more languid dance – but you stilled him. Met his gaze with your own.

“What is it?” He cocked his head.

You didn’t answer. Merely cupped the back of his neck with your hand and pulled his face down to yours.

The dancers around you didn’t spare you a glance as you caught him in a searing kiss. Burning. Passionate.

And without even a second of hesitation, he was kissing you back immediately, his hands sliding around your waist.

The kiss was deliciously hard as he lifted you just slightly, enough for your body to press against his. Enough for you to slide your hand into the silken strands of his hair and somehow pull him closer to you, to press his mouth firmer against yours.

It was the most delicious, heady kiss you’d ever had. And you wanted more – to taste his tongue around yours, to inhale that delicious scent – the familiar, earthy smell that all Autumn males seemed to have, but tinged with something different tonight. Something that bizarrely made you think of early morning daylight, wrapped up in crisp bedsheets. Perhaps the result of Autumn and Spring mingling. Whatever it was, you wanted to gulp it down greedily.

But neither of you had taken a breath. And only when you were both gasping for air, huffing into each other’s mouths, did you pull away.

You stared at each other, chests heaving, breaths panting. Dion glanced at your lips again.

“More.” His voice was a deep growl as he took your face in both of his hands and leaned in, the music seeming to encase that one, daring word just between the two of you–

But his kiss didn’t have a chance to land as another dancer backed into you. As she stumbled, her wine flute slipping from her hand and tipping towards your dress. Dion tried to pull you out of its path, but the liquid had already sloshed over one side of the gown.

The young female blanched, blinking at you. “Oh gods—I’m so sorry—”

Her eyes caught the vibrant shade of Dion’s hair, and you could see — see the fear in her eyes, her mind already considering what Beron Vanserra’s reaction might be to someone embarrassing a member of his court — even by accident.

“It’s absolutely fine.” You tried to make your face as reassuring as possible behind your mask. “No harm done.”

“Your dress—”

“It was an accident,” Dion leaned down, collecting the fallen flute and returning it to her outstretched hand.“We were…distracted.”

The woman’s wide eyes tugged at your heart enough for you to gently lay a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about it — really. I just need to clean up.”

She dipped her chin in thanks — looked so grateful, you thought she might well up. You turned to Dion before she could, shooting him a flustered gaze, your eyes once again snagging on his lips.

“I’ll meet you back out here once I’ve sorted this.” You said.

He nodded — and glanced at your lips, too, before you turned from the mass of dancing bodies.

⤲

It took so long — so long for you to wash the wine out and dry your dress that by the time you returned to the ballroom, some of your intoxication had lifted. You felt clearer, less foggy — and just as ready to dive into the dancing as you were before.

Your lips were still tingling from Dion’s kiss. And the fact that he so readily, so greedily, wanted to kiss you back…you liked it. Felt the undeniable tug of something deep inside you that was thrilling and giddying and beautiful. You wanted more of it. To kiss him again. Feel his big, steady hands clutching you again.

The formation of dancers was far different when you returned. Instead of couples filling the floor, small groups clustered in circles all around the room, their hands joining. You frowned, searching for the brilliant orange hair of your fiance — and felt a warm, gentle hand grab yours.

“There you are,” Dion’s voice filled your ears as he leaned down. “The circle dance is just starting. Come on.”

You turned in his arms, smiling up at him. “The what?”

“A Spring Court dance,” His answering grin was wicked. “You have two circles, see?” He pointed to the group closest to you. “An inner circle and an outer circle.”

Sure enough, inside the ring of dancers — around ten of them joining hands — was another identical one. They each faced the person in front of them.

“The music plays, and one circle dances clockwise while the other dances anti-clockwise,” Dion explained. “And then when the music stops, you have to kiss whoever is in front of you.”

You snorted, smiling up at him – and almost blinked at the dusting of pink creeping up his neck. The way he swallowed hard – nervously, his earlier confidence gone. It warmed your heart, and you knew…knew that your eyes said it all, that they were reassuring. That you were going into it knowing who you wanted to kiss when the music stopped. That you wanted to kiss him again.

“It’s starting.” He smiled, tugging you over to the group. “You join the inner circle, I‘ll join the outer.”

And so you did just that, joining hands with two Spring Court females as Dion stood in position in front of you. And then the music began.

It was like…taking off. You wondered if this was what flying felt like, as you gave over the control in your body and allowed yourself to be pulled into motion. Your surroundings blurred, the speed of the dance picking up with the tempo of the music, and then there was nothing but you and light and music and flashing shapes. You could feel yourself laughing, feel your head falling back in ecstasy as you spun and spun, and you didn’t know how you hadn’t been entirely lifted off your feet — nor did you care. Not as you became the music.

And then as fast as it had taken off, it stopped. The music halted, and you were yanked to a standstill, your head still spinning as you forced your feet to ground you. Your laughter mingled with that of the other dancers.

With that of Dion’s, who had stopped in place before you.

“What a coincidence,” He chuckled deeply, gazing at you as the other partners leaned towards each other.

You snorted, stepping forward. Your hand reached for his, fingers brushing. “That it is.”

That one hand latched onto yours, the other coming to cup your jaw. Dion stared down at you, and he seemed to be…to be nervous, as he swiped his bottom lip with his tongue and released a breath. Because this was different — not the heat of the moment first kiss you’d shared earlier, when no one had paid attention. It felt more naked, somehow, now. Like he was trying to grasp for any scraps of his earlier confidence with people watching — expecting — this kiss.

You smiled reassuringly — communicated, with your eyes, that you wanted this — again. And the room seemed to melt around you.

He leaned down. Pressed his lips to yours. You reached up to touch your free hand to his cheek.

It was a different kiss…to the one you’d shared earlier. Not as passionate or searing, but…soft. Sweet. How you supposed your first kiss should have been, unlike the surging need you’d shared in the middle of the dance floor. Dion’s lips were almost tentative, careful…and maybe it was just because of the many other people around you, or perhaps because you’d sobered up a bit, that it was just…different. Not bad. Different.

But you didn’t care; not as the lightness in you continued. The best you’d felt in weeks. In a year.

You buried your fingers in Dion’s hair, deepening the kiss just slightly—

And he broke away – no, was pulled away, you realised, as he was yanked into a different circle of dancers. Your heart was thudding, mind reeling and cheeks scorching as you touched your fingers to your lips, just managing to dodge out of the way as a Spring Court female tried to tug you closer.

You smiled politely, stepping back. The room was heavy, pressing, and you knew if you didn’t feel the brush of fresh air on you soon, you may just collapse.

“Fresh air.” Was all you explained, before turning on your feet.

You’d already lost sight of Dion completely, the music once again picking up as you wended your way through the sea of bodies, some still dancing, some still kissing – some just talking. You didn’t have a clue where you were going, but the press of cool night air and the sudden influx of floral scents told you that you were headed in the right direction. You turned a corner, pushing through a pair of huge double doors, and found yourself stepping out into the sprawling gardens.

An inky, starry sky bore down on you as you came to a stop on a private patio. A few people milled about, strolling through the hedges, but nobody seemed to care that you were there. It helped you to relax as you pressed your back against the wall, feeling the cold bite of the concrete seeping through your dress.

You gazed up at those stars, breaths still heaving as you smiled to yourself. Tonight had been…fun. The best night you’d had in a while. Perhaps even the best night you’d had since you’d found out you were to be married, over a year ago now. Your mind had been so crowded since that day Barric had come to your family’s estate; crowded and suffocating, with barely any relief.

But tonight had been a relief. Tonight, you’d felt more like yourself than you had in a long time. The feeling was beautiful, familiar, and you were excited to carry on that way, to lean into the euphoria and light you’d craved for so long–

Until someone snorted from beside you.

You started, pushing off the wall. You turned back to the doors to find Lucien leaning against the frame, no longer wearing his mask. He stared at you with an unreadable expression, cocking an eyebrow.

You shrugged. Stared back at him questioningly. “Problem?”

“You know,” He chuckled, stepping out onto the patio, his boots clipping against the concrete, “For someone who claims to not want to be caught with her hand between her legs, you sure seem eager to replace that hand with the first male that walks by.”

You gawked at him.

Gawked at him, and clenched your hands at your side.

You’d barely run into him over the past fortnight. Certainly not shared a word between you, and his glances were sparse and scathing, too.

And yet here he was, mouthing off. Again.

“What did you just say to me?” You demanded.

Lucien shrugged – the picture of ease, as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think you need me to repeat myself, Lady.”

“If you have a problem with me kissing my soon-to-be husband,” You snapped, “Perhaps you should peel your eyes away and go annoy someone else. It’s not like we won’t be doing far more than that on our wedding night.”

Lucien snorted again, shaking his head. “At least you know what’s expected of you, I suppose. I see you’ve really thrown yourself into the role.”

You were entirely lost for words as he stared at you, his lips twitching – perhaps to smirk, or perhaps to sneer. You didn’t feel like waiting around to find out – especially not if he seemed hell-bent on ruining your good mood.

So you squared your shoulders and brushed past him.

“How about minding your own damn business, Lucien?” You murmured, and slipped back inside, the warmth enveloping you immediately.

And you didn’t look back to find out which one it was – a smirk or a sneer. Or perhaps both. His eyes remained on your back as you strode away, and something told you that he probably knew–

That for whatever reason, his words got to you far more than they should.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[sh1-n0bu]

Ayo heard you want horny brainrots well I (🦝) have been summoned.

I don't know what your preferences are. Men, women, both, neither but personally I would fuck just about anything that is off age and willing so that being said

I absolutely adore Beidou. She is so fucking hot. She's powerful, strong willed, breathtakingly gorgeous and overall just step on me, captain I am actually begging. On top of that, she wields a claymore, the back amd shoulder muscle she must have? On God?? Yes, MA'AM.

Realistically she probably has a bunch of scars and a sun tan and overall I think Beidou might be the hottest woman in all of Genshin. Genshin has many hot women but no one surpasses her. My queen. My goddess. My love. My main since day ONE. (that's a lie but she was in fact the forst character I pulled)

Alright I'm going to take my brain and wring it out like a wet towel to give you some more asks. Cya in the next one

✿ 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 ♡︎

characters: beidou x gn! reader

warnings: fluff, angst, there will be nsfw but it’s not as wild as my other posts, both reader and beidou are switch, cute domestic shits, kazuha being y’alls adopted son (kinda)

notes: 🦝anon, my beloved, i have already made it clear that i’m a raging bisexual so yes, women♥️. women, men, sexy human look alike puppets with god and inferiority complex, idc gimme them all! went with head cannons format with this one i hope you don’t mind. also i’m so sorry my beloved 🦝 anon, i took so long to answer😭😭

aahhh yes beidou

i’m pretty sure everyone took one look at her and went “i’m sat”

and yes 🦝 anon she would have the muscles, sun tan i mean come on she stays out in the sea for as long as she wants, scars and damn did i mention muscles whew it’s getting hot in here

absolutely would spoil tf out of you

jewels, foods, all kinds of trinkets from the places she’s been to before

and if you were to talk it out with her and won’t get seasick easily, she won’t hesitate to ask you to come with her on her ship alongside the crux

after basically adopting kazuha, you two would almost become his pseudo parents in a sense

beidou is the fun carefree mom while you are the parent that frets over him as if he’s a baby

and everytime she sees you scolding kazuha over the smallest of things such as scratching his pretty face she won’t hesitate to tease you in all kinds of ways

general nicknames would be “darling” “your highness”(teasingly) “my treasure”

“[NAME]! MY TREASURE! GUESS WHO CLAPPED THE BIG NOBUSHI GUYS’ ASSES BAREHANDED!”

“OH MY ARCHONS BEIDOU YOU’RE BLEEDING!!!”

if you were to ever kiss her scars or wounds while treating her she would just melt

“ahaha… oh darling, what did i ever do to deserve you?”

due to her past of being hated by the village she was taken in, sometimes beidou would have a very horrific and detailed nightmares or thoughts of you leaving her because she is ‘cursed’

would hate to burden you but will gently stir you awake to ask for cuddles and kisses

“i-i’m sorry, treasure. i-i just… please? hold me?”

please don’t degrade her even as a joke

since you’re someone so dear to her heart, even if she were to laugh it off as a joke on the outside, she would be thinking all sorts of bad thoughts on the inside

i feel like she would give the best hugs and piggyback rides

if you’re both walking around and you’re getting tired or wounded, she won’t hesitate to squat down in front you or carry you bridal style

is so so incredibly gentle with you

she knows she’s strong, she knows she’s powerful i mean she struck down haishan, the leviathan while visionless

and due to that knowledge she’s afraid she might accidentally hurt you in some way, even when she knows you’re not some fragile doll

i can’t really see her being a sub honestly

i feel like she would be either a switch or a soft dom

is into face-sitting and i cannot stress this enough

whether it’s you sitting on her face with your juices gushing and squelching, your legs trembling to hold yourself up she won’t stop until she’s satisfied

“shh it’s okay darlin’ you’re doing sooo good. come on sit on my face, i wouldn’t mind and you know that”

or her sitting on your face as she grinds her slicky pussy into your mouth while moaning and calling you a good girl/boy as she grips your hair

it doesn’t matter which one it is, she’ll take it

will overstimulate you but in the gentlest way you get what i’m saying?

“aww there there. come on you can cum again. you can cum again right darlin’? yes you can treasure. come on cum for me. you can do it”

or it’s you absolutely worshipping every inch of her body

“haaangg~ oh yes, that’s it. keep mmggff! keep going. ah yeah, you’re making me feel so good treasure~”

sex with her would generally be very soft, slow and filled with praises

aftercare would be you two cuddling together after cleaning each other up and just talking of small topics like today’s weather, the next destination, which destination to go to next etc etc

just,,,, beidou🥹🫶

[princelylove]

hello its everyones favourite slightly unstable 🌸 anon here to comment on everyones least favourite dinosaur-- diego brando!

listen. LISTEN. hes stupid and silly and also has mummy issues. and what do boys who are stupid and silly and have mummy issues look in a partner? SOMEONE THAT RESEMBLES THEIR MOTHER AND ACTS LIKE THEIR MOTHER!

thoughts, your highness?

your favourite peon,

🌸

Peon? That pleases me, anon. I don’t know about my favourite, though. I’m imagining you screaming the last bit and then stepping off of your soap box to gently ask. 

I was just thinking about how I haven’t seen you recently, and now here you are. Do you often come when called? 

I already wrote a little bit about Diego here, but let’s do a little deep dive into his psyche. 

Diego is another yandere I can see picking either a familial or romantic darling. Either way you will not escape the “I’ll never love you more than my mother.” conversation. 

You’re right, anon. He misses his mother. Diego does not really want to be caught up needing someone, it isn’t in his nature to seek someone out and actually keep them. He uses people as tools and then disposes of them as necessary- human life is truly worthless to him. But… his mother is not all of humanity. His mother isn’t one of those vile creatures. Do you know what he is looking for? Mother dearest. Mama. Mommy. He craves someone who is going to coddle him- baby him. Diego loves special treatment, and there’s nothing more special than family. It’s unconditional. (Meaning it won’t abandon him.) He knows that, logically, his mother will never return to him. Is that going to stop him from looking? No. 

You’re what Diego considers to be what mankind should’ve been- and will be, once he’s taken his rightful place on top of it all. He likely found a Mother-esque darling in the race. You don't have to be motherly, you just have to remind him of his mother. It certainly would help him make the connection, though. You might’ve offered him a bit of your food, or water, or suggested he come sit by the fire you made. What a provider. He scoffs, but obeys, and doesn’t exactly resist your advances- he allows you to drape a blanket over him, and only moves your hand away when you’re “being too handsy.” 

His complex isn’t as apparent as someone like Narancia or God-fucking-forbid Jotaro, in a romantic relationship at least. But in a familial relationship? So evident. He doesn’t even hide the constant comparisons. Diego gets it out of his system via constantly comparing the two of you. You made dinner? Mother did it this way, why don’t you do it like that. Why do you keep your hair so short? It’d look better past your shoulders. 

But it’s different if Diego’s love is romantic. He is insatiable. He’s not going to get in your face about taking care of his every need. That’s not what a lover does. He just reacts very, very well to it. He is baffled by the notion that someone’s brain doesn’t rot at the mention of his name, or at the smell of his cologne. In his point of view, the world is his, and humanity consists only of the pigeons that he must guide- it makes sense that he reacts so well to praise and attention and gifts… He just reacts a little too well to it. That’s all. 

If you got out of his lovely estate- say thank you to his ex wife, you know, someone who actually spoiled him- Diego will hunt you down on one of his prized horses. He truly doesn’t mind travelling for as long as he has to, he cannot allow you to ever leave his sight- God (him) forbid anything happens to you and he isn’t there. Diego isn’t the most protective, he’s actually never felt that way towards anyone else before. Who matters more than him? He just doesn’t want someone else to hurt you.  But you’ll have some privacy. Diego is big on dignity- he loves someone who holds themself with pride. Does that mean that he has shame? No. Call him Dio. Brush his hair, treat him like a king. Hold his face in your hands and give him all the attention he’s craving, love him, adore him.

[peachesofteal]

Tell Me

In honor of these two almost getting back together.

Morpheus/reader AO3 2.9k words - This is taken from Chapter 6 of this fic. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Explicit sex, you and Morpheus are fighting (kind of, it's complicated), hint of sad feelings, angry smut, soft smut, hint of d/s, orgasm delay/denial, creampie, possessive Dream. “I have seen your dreams. I know your heart. It beats for me, as mine does for you.”

“You cannot lie to me. I know your truth.” His gaze lifts.

“I don’t want you here.” You tell him. He shakes his head, eyes boring into yours. “You can’t stay here if I don’t want you here.”

“I can. I will. I will greet the end of my existence before I am forced to leave you again.” Forced to leave? The words confuse you, and you shut your eyes against them as he moves closer to where you sit. You feel his hand on yours, and then he brushes a finger across your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized existed. When you open your eyes again, his face is inches from you.

The world goes silent.

It’s like gravity. You’re powerless to stop yourself. You lean forward, grazing your lips over his for a sweet second. Your body melts, your brain turns to mush. Arousal roars awake between your legs. You give more of yourself to the feeling, to the kiss, and his lips return it, moving with yours tenderly. You press your tongue into him tentatively seeking, and he parts his lips to allow you. It’s a dream. It’s the most beautiful dream. The feel of him cradles you in love, in safety, in understanding, and its pure heaven, like the silver city itself. The scar tissue that surrounds your heart softens, and it leaps for him, thrumming in your chest like a hummingbird. You love him. You’ve always loved him. 

“My love.” He whispers the prayer into your skin. You want to tell him how much you’ve missed him, how desperate you’ve been for him, how this world has felt empty and cold without him by your side. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you never intentionally tried to die, that you love him, that you want to make love to him. Instead, you say:

“Don’t call me that.”

He moves like lightning, his hands coming up to hold your face, unwilling to let you turn away. You thrash in his grip, but he stills you and presses his forehead to yours. “I love you.” he tells you, as if everything is just that simple. “I have wronged you. I have hurt you. There will be no explanation that is enough, and you will never know how much it pained me to do what I did.” He’s speaking in riddles again, and you don’t understand. It makes you rage. You push him away from you, and he lets you, stepping back as you advance. You force him towards the wall, and he watches you like you’re a predator, something heated waiting for you in his gaze. You’re too far away, and your body yearns to be against his, to feel him inside of you once more. Your chest heaves with your breath, nipples tightening under your loose t shirt. His eyes track them, and his tongue darts out to swipe across his perfect reddish pink lips. The walls of your cunt pulse. Fuck. 

“Fuck. You. Morpheus.” You can see the outline of his erection in his pants, and you reach for it, squeezing him over the fabric. He’s so hard, so thick and full it makes your head spin. He makes a sound that is entirely unhuman, and it floods you with even more desire. A dream of him on his knees for you, begging, rockets across your brain and you press your thighs together. “I do not forgive you. And I do not love you.” you brazenly lie as your lips crash back onto his and your knees nearly give way. He tastes like your home, your heart, everything you’ve ever wanted and everything you’ve missed. He tastes like the missing piece of your life.

“I do not forgive you.” his fingers wrap around your jaw, pressing into the skin sharply. “You nearly robbed the realms of yourself.” You put your hands on his chest and push him as hard as you can. He moves out of the way as you step after him, grabbing your wrist and folding your arm to press against your chest. He shifts you, your back hitting the wall behind you and he leans his body into yours, the hardness of his cock rocking against your thigh. He’s turned the tables with a snap of his fingers.

“You are the one who robbed me.” You groan at him. He takes your mouth with his, tongue and teeth clashing together sloppily. “I hate you.” You jerk your head back and spit the venomous lie in hopes that it hurts him.

The barb lands. His eyes darken.

“I told you, do not say that to me.” He brings his mouth to hover just over yours. “Do not lie to me.”

“What makes you think I’m lying?” you posture.

“I have seen your dreams. I know your heart. It beats for me, as mine does for you.”

“No, it doesn’t.” you push yourself back into him, shifting your hips so that your throbbing cunt aligns with where his cock strains behind his pants. You moan, high pitched and needy, as the contact jolts your nerve endings. He shifts his head backwards, soft but insistent fingers coming up to hold you by your neck. Your body heats, wetness pooling between your legs and you clench them together involuntarily as you whimper your arousal.

“Is this what you want, little storyteller?” He presses your head back against the wall so that you cannot move, while his other hand snakes down your stomach to reach into your sweatpants. He dips his fingers into your cunt, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he strokes through your wetness. You watch, practically drooling, as he brings them to his mouth, cheeks sucking inwards as he licks them clean.

“I want-“ you choke off when he pinches your clit sharply. “you to fuck me.” His brow furrows in mock confusion.

“Do you?” he lowers his face to yours and licks your cheek where your tears have dried until his mouth sits above your ear. “I thought you hated me.” He whispers. You’re not sure what this is, but you’re into it. Like, really into it. He holds himself almost like a cat, aloof and feigning disinterest as his eyes rake over your body possessively. It makes you want him even more. You reach your hands towards his pants, pulling the free the button and the zipper to get to his cock. There are no briefs, just his perfect skin, and heavy, weeping cock that jumps in your hand when you squeeze your palm around it.

“I need you inside of me.” His mouth is all over yours as he pulls the waistband of your sweatpants to your shins. You shimmy his pants around his hips, dropping them below his ass, and stroke your hand back and forth down his length. Precum dots your skin, and you bring the back of your hand to your mouth, swiping your tongue over his spill. You stretch onto your tip toes and bend a knee to the side, pulling him towards you with your hand in his shirt. He slows for a moment, regarding you with heavy eyes before he’s pushing you upwards against the wall, notching the head of his cock against your opening, and pushing into you. It feels like a punch to your gut as he rocks halfway in, you forgot how big he was, how much he fills you. His face presses into your neck and he moans, your fingers tightening into claws in his back, pulling at his shirt until he’s bringing it over his head while he pulses inside you. You try to relax as he pushes, sheathing himself in you fully, both of you panting against one another.

“Fuck.” You whisper. His grip tightens on your hips as he drags his cock along your walls, pulling out and then plunging up into you again. You scream. It feels so good, so so good, that your brain is struggling putting a sentence together. “Please. Please.” You beg for more. His hands are everywhere now, in your hair, under your shirt on your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples. He strokes his fingertips down your waist, across your shoulders, down your arms. He’s desperate to touch you, you realize. His eyes are nearly frantic as RIPS your shirt off and presses his bare chest to yours. When your skin meets, he stills inside of you and wraps his arms around your body wholly. You can feel him shaking, his bones grinding against yours, his need to hold you overwhelming you both.

“I love you.” he murmurs, and tears bead at your lash line. “I love you; I love you.” his words are desperate, and you scream on the inside, the two parts of yourself tearing into each other. Tell him, tell him you love him. The memory of a dream from months ago ricochets across you, the one where you stood on your hill and screamed at him, at the sky, and he sent you a storm. He drowned you in rain and lightning until you woke up. It jolts you.

“I hate you.” you say, and he tenses, then jerks away. He pulls himself out of you and your own body rebels, crying for him. “I-“ he silences you with a kiss, and you feel his fingers stroke over your hip until he’s touching your folds, a finger stroking through them achingly slow. He lightly taps your clit, sending electrical shocks through your body that is leaning over into him, your head resting on his shoulder.

“I asked you not to say such a thing to me.” He whispers, the tone of his voice low. You gulp. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you from where you both stand, laying you on your back on the cold hard wood.

He yanks your sweatpants off your ankles and folds your knees out, so your legs fall open, exposing you to him completely. One hand holds your thigh open, and the other traces a finger through your folds slowly, your body twitching as he circles the hood of where your clit is swollen and throbbing.

“Oh, my love.” He breathes. He’s staring down at your open cunt and you flush. The pad of his thumb presses down and you yelp, your legs trying to close. He spreads you back open, bending and pressing himself into the softness of your thighs so his mouth breathes just over your folds. His eyes flick up to yours before he leans closer, and begins to suck on your clit. You gasp, body jerking, trying to fold around his head. His tongue works your body perfectly, like it always has, and it takes nearly no time until you’re a shaking, sweating mess. The noises you are making are more animal than human, and you can feel the wetness of your cunt mixed with his saliva seeping onto the floor beneath you. He brings you the edge of an orgasm, once, twice, three times and stops right before you fall over. His nose skims through your cunt, and you can feel him breathing you in as deeply as he can. It’s obscene. It’s so hot. You clench on the finger he leaves inside you, his hand moving in and out of you teasingly slow. You want to come, but he won’t give you enough. It’s torture.

“Fuck, Dream. Please.” You beg. Tears are running down your cheeks.

“Tell me the truth.” He says, mouth still in your cunt. You grit your teeth against a whine. “Tell me-“ he pauses as he sits up, a finger coming to pet a circle into your sopping wet folds. “Your heart still beats for me.” His eyes watch your face, lips slightly parted. He cocks his head as he softly strokes over your clit, just the hint of a touch. You whimper. He leans forward to kiss you, bathing your face in your own arousal while he pushes another finger inside you and grinds his palm against where you throb. “Tell me your truth, my love.” There’s something desperate in his face. Something haunted.

“I hate you.” you hiss. You hate how he is so capable of pulling you apart like this, how he knows your body so well, how he knows you’re lying to him. You hate how you want to hate him so bad that it burns you from the inside, you hate how all you can think about is being with him again, being home in The Dreaming with him, being by his side. You hate that you still love him just as much as you did that day when you woke up and never saw him again.

He watches you knowingly, a devilish smile curling his lips. He pads over your clit again, and again, your hips moving with him, chasing the contact.

“Please. Make me come.” You beg. He shakes his head no. You nearly scream in frustration, your own hand flying down to where you’re burning for release before he snatches your wrist out of the air. He shakes his head again, returning his mouth to taste you.

“Tell me the truth.” He blows, blows, on your clit. The coolness of his breathe tickles you in the worst way, and you groan. He follows it up with his tongue again, pushing it directly against you. You think you’re going to combust. Or pass out. Your breathing is harsh, and every time you get close, he pulls away from devouring you, driving you closer and closer to brink of insanity until you’re crying again, begging him to give you release.  

He rises over you, replacing his mouth with his hand, sliding his fingers back into you with ease. You’re so open for him, your cunt greedily clenching around anything he will give you. You need to come so bad; it’s starting to hurt. You blink up at him with tears in your eyes.

“Please, please.” You whimper. He kisses your cheeks.

“Tell me.” Your mind is hazy, your brain melting as the heel of his palm presses in circles against you, two fingers stroking that soft spot up inside your walls. “Tell me your truth.”

“I-“ you sputter as he bites your earlobe, and then pulls back to look in your eyes while his thumb rubs small, quick circles on your clit. It’s too much, and you finally break apart for him, the words rushing out of your mouth with your cries. “I love you! I love you. I’m sorry, please. I love you I love-“ He works you with more insistence, finally pushing you over the threshold of your orgasm, and you come around his hand with a scream. You see all the stars in the sky behind your eyelids, explosions of fireworks shatter through your body. It's the most incredible orgasm you've ever had. Your body vibrates as it comes down, and he shifts between your legs, smearing the head of his cock in the absolute mess of wetness that leaks from you. He pushes into you with one thrust, bottoming out, hips pressed to yours and then he sets off into a merciless pace, his strokes frenzied as he fucks into you. You moan into his mouth, tongue searching for his, licking and sucking as he sets your body on fire.

“I love you.” you breathe the words again, the desperate adoration you feel rising in your soul overtaking everything else as you stroke the softness of his back.

And then, everything changes. He’s no longer frantic. His body slows, and he looks at you with such tenderness, such devotion that it hurts. His nose skims along yours, and then he buries his face in your neck while moving his hips agonizingly slow.

“You were almost lost.” The words vibrate in your skin.

“Morpheus.” You whisper.  

“I love you. I cannot-“ his voice breaks. “I will not let you go again.” He thrusts into you, the sounds of your bodies together echoing through the house, his skin slapping against yours, the dripping wetness of your cunt squelching as he shoves himself against your cervix. “I need you.” he breathes. You feel the cool slide of a tear against your skin. Oh, Dream. 

“I’m right here.” Your hand twists in his hair. “I’m here. You have me.” You stroke his face, a thumb running across his cheekbone.

“Endlessly.” The word is a vow.

“Endlessly.” You repeat it back to him. He ruts into you once, twice more before a tremor is wracking his body and then he’s coming, filling you up with himself until it’s spilling out of you.

You’re not sure how much time has passed. It could be minutes. It could be eons. You feel his fingers between your legs again, and you try to sit up as he stills you with a hand on your stomach. Oh, holy fuck. You short circuit when you feel him spooning his come back into you, shoving it inside your cunt with his long fingers. You stare at him like he’s lost his damn mind. He stares at you like he did the night he fucked your face on the floor of your old apartment. Possession burning in his eyes like the sun itself.

[wren-writes-things]

Let's see... 1, 9, 12, 13 for the fandom ask games? :)

Oh hey Pixel! Thanks for asking.

OTP? 

Probably Sasharcy (of course in the context of Sashannarcy). I absolutely adore all variants of the Calamity Trio but I just tend to drift towards them. My guess is that the personality contrast, and possibly just how much they both need to grow and forgive each other. I don't know it just intrigues me.

I also really like platonic Zelink from the BotW/TotK iteration.

9. Write a recommendation of someone else's fic you enjoyed!

Hmm... Pixel go read your own fanfic! Joking, probably

And I Know I Kissed You Before (But I Didn't Do It Right) - BearerOfTheBitterMoon (liminal-lesbian on here) - Okay I could put all of Mara's fanfics on here. Her writing style and story concepts are just amazing. But we'd be here all day, so we're not going to do that. This one specifically though, was just such an emotional rollercoaster (without leaving with permanent emotional trauma, ex: The Three Body Problem). It's very sweet, it's very sad and it all just feels so real. If that makes any sense

A Witch In Wartwood - Disect - I haven't finished the sequel fanfic yet, but I love this story. It had a very creative take on a Swap AU, and it did a really good job at capturing the essence of the original show while also completely being it's own thing.

Pinpoint - i'm-at-my-limit - Okay, I need to get caught up on this one, because I love the concept and I find it's characterization really interesting but I'm also behind by like two chapters because I wasn't reading as much for a while.

Across The Seven Seas - Heart_Wit_Strength - Did I successfully trick you into thinking I wasn't going to say this? Did it work? Seriously though this is one of those fanfics that I read, immediately reread and proceeded to think about for the next three days. I actually have fan art of it that I need to complete some day. I don't know what you did, but you succeeded at it.

Then there's this one fanfic about Sasha that I really like, but I cannot find it or remember what it is called.

(I have quite a few others that I really liked, these are just the four that were in my brain apparently)

12. What's the funniest or craziest AU idea you've ever come up with?

So the same week that I created Daren, I also created what I call that Devil in the Details AU. Which is one of those AUs where it could be angsty, but I decided it was way funnier to write absurd shenanigans.

Basically Marcy, a lonely and aimless college student, opens a music box (gifted to her by her academic mentor, Andrias) and ends up with Darcy as the devil on her shoulder. Then Anne and Sasha are sent by heaven to prevent her from becoming corrupted and taken over by them.  

Of course, it’s a massive train wreck. 

Darcy is trying to convince Marcy that she should trust them. But because Sasha and Anne are almost always there they can only accomplish this through underhanded life coaching. (Though when Sasha and Anne aren’t there it’s manipulation is more direct).

Sasha is a nearly fallen angel who has taken to giving beneficial but selfish advice and also physically attacking any devils that she ends up paired with. 

Anne is just trying to get Sasha back on the right path and to find a way to get rid of Darcy so Marcy can go back to a normal life.

Then Marcy who was incredibly lonely finally has a social life and people that she can get engaged in her interests. So she’s convinced this is a great thing and is scheming to make it permanent. 

And from this queue all of the comedic shenanigans that could possibly come out of it. But also Anne and Sasha helping guide Marcy into making a life for herself that she really wants rather than what everyone kept telling her she wanted. While Darcy of course tries to counteract that because they assume she searching for a very specific type of success and do not understand any other idea.

13. What's a character or ship you haven't written/drawn yet but would like to some day?

So ironically the answer here is also Sasharcy. I’m not sure how this happened but we have two Sashanne centric AUs (TOH and BotW) and two Marcanne centric ones (Witch Marcy and also BotW). But none of them have focused on Sasha and Marcy specifically (aside from post breakup in the Witch Marcy AU). It's a really interesting occurrence

[streaminn]

I'm so sorry stream, I KNOW you said this AU is fluff dedicated but I can't just STOP THINKING about Wednesday and Baby Belle leaving Enid (suuuuper reluctantly)

You ended your drabble with "breaks" in italics and it just obliterated me because, what happens then ?

Is she catatonic ? Does she lose it ? Rage ? Tears ? Desperation ? And the way she (doesn't) cope with the fact that the two most important people in her life went away without a word ?

But there's also Wednesday, with a wailing Baby Belle, not crying but misty eyed saying again and again how it is for Enid's good, and who is she kidding, it was going too well. Something was bound to break.

But how do they meet again ? (They have to, it cannot end like that) Is Enid going to forgive her ? How will they mend what broke.

Stream it's not FAIR WHAT YOU DO TO MY BRAIN

Since I'm despairing over my shadowban, I'm opening my Spotify sad Playlist and turning it on so I get into the mood and answer this

Let's get it

Also yall, don't despair over enjoying my angst. Makes me really proud I could elicit a response like that. Not unless yall force the angst down my throat but that's bc I'm kinda a Lil bit of a hypocrite and bc this my blog and my interests so..

Anyways back to Enid, I meant it when she breaks.

She's a college student, she doesn't have alot of time to spend with others. Her family relationship is strained, her relationships with friends is strained bc she had to deal with a baby and potentially fighting for her life constantly so the one grounding thing in her life was baby belle.

And that's gone.

So like, Enid is a Lil hysterical.

At first she was 'shit, shit man did someone kidnap them?'

She barges into yoko's room, a huge mess. Her breath is heavy, she's sweating and her body is shivering like it wants to crumble into the floor and break apart but her family could be kidnapped and she needs to be strong right now.

It isn't until Yoko grabs Enid by the arms and mentions that Wednesday is demon royalty. There is no way she could be kidnapped without a fight. She's strong as hell, Enid! Yoko reminds and she looks worried. Take me to your room.

And Enid does, her body feels too real as she stumbles down halls and corners. It's like she's playing a first person game in her own mind. It took a bit before Enid can even open the door because her hand was shaking so in a fit of frustration at not even being able to do such a simple action- Enid kicks down the door.

A part of her hoped that she was dreaming as the two barges in. That the emptiness of her room was a mean prank. Wednesday was a little socially inept like that, didn't really understood humor like she did after all. Enid wanted that to be true but life doesn't love her and the room is as dead as it always been since she woke up.

She turns to yoko and she looks halfway like her whole reality is shattering. Her shoulders were tight and her chest was heaving as she spoke. "please- yoko, you have to know something-" it spills from her lips repeatedly as her hand tightened on the doorframe. The steel creaks and theres nails digging into it like a pencil to paper.

Yoko trusts her friend, she really does but she shrinks a little as hazed blue eyes become clouded with bits of purple.

"Enid.." she starts, careful as if trying to talk down someone about to do something they could regret. "your room is too clean-"

"I know that!" Enid shouts and the metal she holds breaks crumbles into smth thin, snapping in half as she pushes herself closer to the vampire. "I know that Yoko, tell me something that isn't the obvious!"

Yoko continues like Enid didn't just destroy a bar meant to be outcast proof. "-and all of baby belle's things are gone." a breath was taken and her next words are treaded carefully, as if she was about to step into land with mines. "I don't think this is just a kidnapping."

The silence was deafening and immedietely, Enid's posture dropped into nothing. She just stood there and Yoko watched with morbid fascination as once sky blue eyes shifted purple and her iris shrinks into tiny dots.

"I'm going to Weems," Enid grits out. There is no familiarity in her tone but simple cold fact. The principle was a normal shapeshifter but to the religious community, she was known for her contact with the Queen of hell, known for contacting Envy.

For contacting Morticia.

When the two friends reach her door, Weems was sitting there. She looked like she expected it, her hands crossed in her table as she takes in the ruffled sight of a nearly feral werewolf and the growing terrified vampire.

"it wasn't a mistake, Enid," Weems goes and theres a familiarity in her tone. Like she too, understands and that irritates Enid more than ever. Who is she, to try and relate? "Wednesday transferred out of Nevermore University last Friday."

Enid didn't take too kindly too that, didn't quite like the tone it was said and slams her hands onto the wood.

"well take her back then," she growls. If only it was ever that simple.

Weems stares back. "she's gone, Enid."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Weems interrupts, raising a hand. "us mortals can never be with demons, you need to accept-"

She couldn't even finish her sentence before her whole table was thrown out the windows behind her.

The crash is silencing as it breaks through stained glass. The tiny art shattering into nothing and there is now a new exit to Weems' room.

The chill of the open air is sobering and Weems understood the severity of the situation immedietely. Yoko stands there, having stepped back the moment Enid spoke and her mouth is agape. Stained glass is extremely sturdy, being glass that needed to be layered to make a piece and to see it break so easily-

Its scary and her eyes stare at the back of her best friend.

"Its going to take time," Weems starts again.

Enid tilts her head. "I have all the time in the world."

"I will need some materials if you want to visit the underworld."

"Say it and it's yours."

Its said like a fact and it makes Yoko's fingers twitch. Shit, Enid is serious.

Weems next words is a little hesitant as her eyes shift. "Enid, what if this wasn't a mistake?"

Theres a pause and something fills the air immedietely. It makes Yoko's breath hitch as if something sunk their hands into her lungs and grasped it tight.

Enid's words are slow, her voice a gutteral growl. "I'll burn the world when we reach that."

No one mentioned how the words didn't go that way