#i can't believe i got to write this

[wispscribbles]

Hello I just wanted to put an ask in and let u know that I really love your works! Ur one of my favorite fic writers and u inspire me a lot :D

thank you so much friend :''D Your support and comments are so so appreciated, can't believe you stand by me even after the Toast... incident. The inspiration absolutely goes both ways, because idk if I'd still be writing if I hadn't been met with so much support from folks like u <3 also- small ghoap for u

#ask #rainerestored #i appreciate u so much Jack #doodle #was tempted to draw u a Toast but then I got sad lol #every time someone compliments my writing i grow stronger #im still so new to it so hearing im doing ok is !!!!!!! AA!!! yes #can't believe ghostsoap made me start a whole new hobby #the power of them....

[sinofwriting]

Little Wolf - Daemon Targaryen

Words: 1,200 Summary: Daemon may have married to help ease the burden on his brother’s shoulders and he’d come to like his wife, the little wolf of the North. He hadn’t realized however how much she was suffering at court.

Note(s): I’ll be honest I was a little nervous accepting this request, but I’ve been reading a lot of GOT fics lately, and got the courage to write this. It might not be the best as I’m trying to get used to writing a more oldy kind of English, but I hope you enjoy it! (Also, yes, Daemon most definitely managed to get her that as a gift, no spoilers!)

She kept her shoulders low, smile small but not tight, feet solid on the ground, hands gently clasped in front of her. She would not give these southern ladies, if they could be really called that, her distaste or tears.

“You should really try one.” The Tyrell girl insists, pushing the plate that holds a tart closer. “I know such things aren’t available in the North.” She looks to the other woman at the table, thinking that she doesn’t see the giggle that she barely suppresses. “I’m sorry, my lady. Sweet things just aren’t for me. Must be my northern upbringing.” She smiles, forcing the words out. It wouldn't be good for her true words to come out. She wouldn’t not bring shame to her family, wolf or dragon. The girl sniffs, but doesn’t insist, instead turning her head to speak to the Hightower queen and she wanted to sigh at how poor of a match and queen she was.

She’d never say it out loud, but her good brother was not a smart ruler or man. It made her ache for her father, for her brother Cregan. For the family crypt that held her mother, that she could no longer go to for just the feeling of advice. Ache grew more and more as she was forced to be around southerners and their odd ideas and gods. She had scoffed when being told that she’d have to marry in front of the seven, in a sept.

Her only savior in this place, in king's landing, was her husband, though many would never think of him as such a thing. But Daemon Targaryen held the same views that the North did, that she did. He too scoffed at the seven, at the sept, and had agreed to her brother’s demands that they also be married in godswood, as tradition for Starks since long before.

She ached to be around the man that she could still be herself with and not this stiff thing she had to be around others. But, she knew she could not. They had never been close in the while they had been married, but for the past two moons, she had barely seen him, truly seen him. She may see him at dinners, but she had seen him maybe thrice in their shared chambers, only knew that he was sleeping due to the messed up furs on his side of the bed.

She nearly startles at the feeling of hands on her shoulders, but they were familiar even through the light fabric of her dress. “Wife, I’m afraid I have to steal you away.” She nods, giving a goodbye to the other ladies, who wrinkle their noses at her before she stands. Surprise nearly takes over features when her husband grabs her hand to place on his arm as he leads her away.

“You’re miserable.” He says as soon as they are out of sight and hearing and she stops walking. “Excuse me?” “I’ve been watching you, little wolf.” He moves to stand in front of her, eyes peering into hers and not for the first time she’s reminded that Daemon is a dangerous man, a man to be fearful of. “Been watching as you sit with the ladies of the court and listen to them talk, but never speak. Why is that little wolf?” He steps closer and her breath quickens. “You aren’t a shy thing, no one could ever think that of you. But you don’t speak. You smile, nod, and laugh.” She raises her head, ignoring the twitch in her jaw, aware that despite no one being around, they are still in public. “I’m afraid, Prince Daemon, I don’t know what you mean.” His eyes tighten as she uses his title. “I enjoy sitting with the ladies and talking. We just had the most interesting conversation about Casterly Rock and its new lady. She’s apparently having the roses ripped out and replaced. They don’t agree with her, you see.” “You don’t care about those cunts, any of them.” He begins to speak again, but she cuts him off, stepping closer and lifting her skirts just a bit as her voice comes out in a hiss. “I have a duty, Prince. One to my house and yours. I will not and can not forget myself. I don’t have the pleasure of forgetting such things.” She gives him a pointed look before turning on her heel.

“I’m feeling unwell, I think I’ll rest for a bit.” She tells him, before moving towards their chambers.

He watches after his wife, his little wolf, with a clenched jaw and fists, her words of duty reeking of cunttower. And then a feral smile forms on his lips, she was right in a way that she didn’t have the pleasure of forgetting that she had a duty, but she seemed to be forgetting that she was a Targaryen now, not a Stark, and that her duty was different then what it was previously. A smirk curls onto his lips, he’d just have to remind her of that.

—

He bides his time, spending another week watching as she puts on a facade at court, before he makes his first move.

He breaks fast with her and not just in their chambers. And then he begins his next step, he starts to walk with her, arm in arm. Not uncommon for a married pair, but uncommon for him. He never walked arm in arm with a lady unless you could count when his niece was younger and she would demand for him to carry her around. People take notice and whispers start but they’re easily curbed as a new bastard is born from the house of hightower. No one knows or can tell if it’s from the hand or his eldest son, but the people talk as the queen is near tears at the shame to her family when not praying in the sept.

And as he increases his affections for his wife in the court's eye, as well as in private, he waits. He waits and waits and then one morning as they break fast, he gets the message he’s been waiting for and he quickly excuses himself.

He offers a nod to the Snow boy that his good brother had sent, pleased to not hear him stammer, just a quiet your grace being said. “You had a safe journey?” “Yes. Traded horses just as often as you suggested and I have it.” He quickly presses forward a bundle of what seems to be fabric forward, but the weight and heat that touches his hands tells him that it is indeed what he asked for. “Good.” He adjusts the wriggling package to rest between his sword arm and side as he reaches for a pouch of coins, tossing it to the bastard. “Try not to spend it all in flea bottom, Snow.” He gives a quick bob of his head, eyes wide. “Thank you, your grace.” Daemon doesn’t bother responding, already turning around and heading back to his chambers where his wife is, a smirk on his face as he imagines her reaction to the wriggling gift he has for her.

#daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #stark!reader #i can't believe it's 2023 and I'm writing and reading got fics #what timeline is this? #also I hope you enjoy this nyctophilic0vitnir

[butterflysonnets]

yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

#eve text #elmike #stranger things #byler #only tagging byler because i feel like yall will like this take lol #tagging tagging tagging WHAT ARE EVERYONE ELSE'S THOUGHTS #god i can't believe i'm making a post about stranger things. this feels like poking a bear #i'm not particularly anti m*leven but like... they'd have to do something pretty special at this point for me to feel like it's viable #i'm seeing the bts of s5 and it's got me Having Thoughts #elmike friendship is something i am so passionate about #even before i ever liked byler (didn't ship at all until s4 even though i knew it was a thing before) i've felt this way about elmike #i always believed they were close friends at heart and needed to break up #the romance part of them felt very distinctly young and very much “he was a boy she was a girl” to me #and it hasn't deepened into anything more mature and i don't see how it could based on the current state of the writing... #the fact that lumax exists — a young relationship that is actively maturing and is healthy — makes that clear to me #and the “love confession” in s4 and how disingenuous and miserable it felt was just the nail in the coffin #also the fact that will (who is IN LOVE with mike) was instrumental in making it happen? ... uh... okay... interesting choice… #fucked up and reductive if they make it another queer unrequited love sacrifice for the sake of pushing the heterosexual agenda YUCK #so i really hope the speculation about a m*leven breakup is real!! i think it just makes sense for their characters but who knows #i don't believe in the notion of love at first sight or one true love and i think the writers don't too??? #love to me is an accumulation of experiences and we inevitably choose it at some point rather than fall into it... but idk #tv is so fixated on keeping couples together... sometimes it's just not reality guys especially with young people... LET IT GO... #like i said though i'm not 100% sold that they're going to give up their “golden couple” LMAO #stranger things hasn't historically subverted too many tropes if i'm being honest #anyway i seriously need this season to come out quickly... i'm so bored and getting my master's is crushing my soul #i need frivolity #ALSO btw i won't respond to hateful messages about this so please don't bother. it's not that serious. this is a netflix show

[chalkrub]

haven’t drawn this beast in a while....i love you mendel

#my art #anthro #furry #dragon #oc #mendel #one thing about me is that i can't write in a straight line. i am only now noticing how skewed mendel's name is #guys.....very very special day tomorrow........it's my birthday which means it's MIDGE'S birthday #midge is gonna be 1 year old tomorrow can you BELIEVE it.....one whole year of midge #i've got a drawing lined up for them but i need to edit it tomorrow cause it's not perfect and it needs to be perfect for perfect MIDGE

[becca-e-barnes]

Sub!bucky is so needy for you after you denied his orgasm a few days (he is so whiny 😩🥵)

And at night he’s having a wet dream of you and he doesn’t know that’s part of you evil plan… while he grinds his clothed dick at your palm you whisper some sexy things in his ears. When he cums he wakes up and you made his look like he was not your good boy 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I've actually been thinking about something similar recently! I just really love subby men eugh 🤤

I like to think you could make it a little more intense though because I prefer to imagine that you've been making him edge for a few days. You don't let him edge inside you, you both know he'd struggle too much. Instead, you lube up your hand and stroke him for hours, letting him fuck your fist until he's dribbled so much precum over you, your hand is unbearably slick and then you kiss his forehead before you tuck his aching cock back into his underwear.

No matter how much he whines and begs and pleads to be allowed to cum, you don't give in. He's not just being denied his orgasm, he's being worked towards it until he's right on the edge and then you give him absolutely nothing. Repeatedly. It's torture but fuck, he gets off on knowing his dick is yours. He doesn't cum without your permission. You completely own him.

He breaks after the sixth night of being relentlessly edged. You'd stroked his cock nice and slowly for hours that day, swirling your tongue over his tip and reminding him that he's the best boy. He was practically shaking by the time you both made it to bed.

His little whine of "Oh fuck, please." was the first thing you remember hearing when you woke up, quickly followed by "O-oh, oh yes."

At first you thought he must be touching himself; giving in to his own slutty thoughts when he thought you wouldn't find out.

As your sleepy brain slowly wakes up, you realise he's grinding against you, rubbing his throbbing cock against your bare ass, gripping your hips like there's no tomorrow. "Gonna cum. F-fuck, gonna cum." He's frantic, his head tucked in against your neck, his breath hot and erratic against your skin.

You can't have that. Absolutely not. You shuffle away from him, determined not to let him have what he needs and the second the contact between your bodies is broken, you hear him whine pathetically.

"Did you really think that would work out for you?" You tease quietly, turning to face him but that's when you realise his eyes are still closed. His brow is furrowed, very clearly still asleep.

You can't help but pity him. He's so desperate to cum, he's grinding against you in his sleep. He's done his very best to do as he's told but his body can't take it. He's been the best boy for you all week. The least you could do is grant him a little relief.

"You're such a good boy, Bucky." You whisper, pressing him gently onto his back, grasping his cock and letting the tip glide between your slick folds. Nothing feels better than this. You've missed it more than you thought you would this week.

"Such a pretty little slut." You line his tip up with your entrance and ever so slowly lower yourself down. "You're a mindless little fuck toy for me when you're like this. So horny, you can hardly even think straight. You've been like a needy fucking puppy for me all week. You just let your dick think for you, isn't that right? You know I could tell when you were zoning out and daydreaming about fucking me? You're so cute."

As you start to really fuck yourself on him, Bucky seems to moan himself awake.

"Please." He begs, and it sounds so pretty when he says it. "Please, I'm so close. I'm gonna cum. I can't cum inside you. There's gonna be so much."

"Oh sweetheart, that's what I want. I want you to fill me. Stuff my cunt full of cum. I thought I told you how badly I want a baby."

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #sub!bucky #subby!bucky #this ask is from ages ago #it fit what I wanted to talk about almost perfectly #I'm up at 4.30am tomorrow #and I've got that same excited feeling I used to get as a kid the night before a holiday 😂 #I feel like I've slept all weekend #but I got my lashes done!! #things at work went so well this week #I've been planning this past week since November #and it literally couldn't have went better #I ordered WAY more stuff than I thought we'd need and we literally ran out within 3 days #I can't believe how well it went #so I'm probably gonna talk about it forever and I'm not sorry #tw: somnophilia #tw: somno

[lydiaas]

JJ MAYBANK in S03E05 HEISTS  JJ... Let's get this out in the open.

#GOTTA WRITE AN ESSAY IN THE TAGS REAL QUICK #jj x kie #outer banks #obx #obxedit #jiaraedit #jiara #outerbanksedit #jj x kiara #jj maybank #obx spoilers #kiara carrera #jiarasource #jjmaybankedit #kiaracarreraedit #i can't believe we got this scene #mike starting the conversation with 'lets get this out in the open' #my heart rate DOUBLED #the way he knew all the right things to say to push JJs buttons #but JJ didn't take the bait #he walked out and didn't defend himself #because he didn't want to make this worse for kie #and I'm sure a part of him wants the Carreras to see he can be good for her #but then after they've sent her away he finally loses it on them #and when mike says all he cares about is his daughter? #yeah JJ was definitely thinking that all HE cares about is their daughter too

[five-and-dimes]

Undisclosed Desires

"I have written smut." "You fucked up a perfectly good sex scene is what you've done. Look at it. It's got hurt/comfort."

When they get together, it comes out that Dream has never been on the receiving end of oral sex before. Hob decides to fix that immediately.

Ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been over six hundred years, and Hob still felt like this was happening so fast.

Granted, most of those years had been a one-sided friendship, a rigid dance where he was constantly held at arm's length and then farther after losing his temper in his desperation for connection. He spent a hundred years holding on to hope and then another thirty-three hanging on by sheer stubbornness. He did not live for his stranger, but that did not stop him from missing him.

And then he’d returned and it was like the floodgates opened.

On a random Thursday, not in June, not on the 7th, not in a year ending with ‘89’, his Stranger walked in and apologized. Called him a friend. Hob had spent the first half hour in a calm kind of bliss, a feeling as though he had exhaled for the first time in thirty-three years, finally able to breathe again. He learned his stranger’s name, and then he said it any chance he got. And then they were meeting once a month, twice a month, once a week, and Dream was explaining in a monotone voice why he was so tired, so thin, why he had missed their meeting, and then Hob was hugging him and Dream wasn’t pushing him away. 

So yes. Six hundred some odd years was a long time to get together, but truthfully Hob was really only counting the past six months, and yeah some people would call that reasonable but right now, with Dream’s tongue in his mouth, it felt fast .

It wasn’t particularly late, but they had moved from their table in the New Inn to Hob’s flat upstairs once the dinner rush started pouring in. Dream wasn’t one for crowds, and Hob wasn’t one for making Dream uncomfortable. So they had ascended the steps, Hob feeling a slight buzz from too many pints and too few chips, and Dream a silent shadow behind him. Dream humors him and removes his shoes when asked, and even surprises him by slipping off his coat as well. He is still fully covered, a long sleeved black t-shirt revealed beneath the coat, but it is still significant to see him with one less layer shielding him, after everything he’s been through.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from him, the silence stretching as he looks his friend up and down. When he reaches his eyes, he realizes that Dream is staring at his mouth.

Hob has no idea who moves first, but suddenly they are crashing together like the tides. Dream has his hands on Hob’s shoulders, bony fingers twitching like he’s trying not to cling to him, while Hob winds one hand through his wild black hair and curls the other around his lower back, pulling their bodies flush together. The kiss itself starts clumsy, noses bumping together and teeth clacking as they scramble to arrange themselves as close together as they can.

When they are both finally satisfied with the solid press of their chests and hips, they manage to smooth the slide of the lips together, and Dream takes advantage of Hob’s need to gasp for breath to slip his tongue into his mouth. Hob takes a step back, and Dream follows without granting a centimeter of space between them, fingers curling a little tighter as though afraid Hob is trying to leave. But he has nothing to fear, as Hob guides them farther into the living room. He moves his hands to cup Dream’s arse as he drops onto the sofa, grips at his hips and thighs until he has Dream straddling his waist.

Dream brings his hands up to cup Hob’s face as they part. Seated as they are, Hob has to tip his head back to catch Dream’s mouth, biting at his lower lip until he can feel a low moan reverberate through where their chests are pressed together. 

“Hob…”

Hearing his name in that deep, breathless voice somehow makes everything so much more real. He has to take a moment to just stare half-lidded up at the gorgeous figure in his lap. Dream's hair is even messier than usual, and there’s a bit of color coming to his cheeks. His lips are dark and slightly swollen, and the look in his eyes can only be described as hungry .

He feels like he should say something- maybe slow things down, or clarify what exactly they’re doing, or just ‘I love you I love you I love you’- but before he gets a chance, Dream is pulling away from him. He has a split second of that old insecurity, the ache of an old wound as he thinks that he’s pushed too far and now Dream is leaving. Only a second though.

Then Dream is sinking to his knees in front of him.

If he could die he’s pretty sure he would have. “Fuck, dream…” His voice cracks embarrassingly, and there’s not enough blood above his waist to say anything more intelligent than that.

Especially not when Dream smirks up at him and runs his hands over Hob’s thighs, letting his thumbs ghost torturously close to his zipper, “Is this alright, Hob Gadling?”

It’s not fair that Dream’s voice is still so even and smooth. Hob lets his head drop back against the back of the couch, letting out a long groan, “Fuck, yes, please -”

That’s all the encouragement Dream needs as he elegantly pops the button of his jeans open, sliding the zipper down. It is a miracle Hob doesn’t come the second long, cold fingers wrap around him, pulling his cock free, but it does destroy any self restraint as he starts babbling before Dream finishes the first stroke.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so gorgeous, how is this happening, how am I so lucky, wanted you for so long-”

He nearly screams when Dream leans forward to lick daintily at the precum beading at the head of his dick. He gives a soft hum of satisfaction, and then he meets Hob’s eyes and takes him into his mouth.

“OooooohmyfuckingGod-” There is no way this is real. But when he runs his hand through Dream’s hair it feels more real than anything he’s experienced in his centuries of life. Dream starts at a slow pace, sinking down and up steadily while Hob’s rambling becomes rapidly incomprehensible. 

At some point, as he pulls back, he presses his tongue hard against the underside of his cock at the same time as one hand slips into his pants to palm at his balls. Hob keens, and his hand tightens in Dream’s hair unintentionally, holding him in place as his hips thrust upwards mindlessly. Dream lets out a choked, wounded noise as he hits the back of his throat, wincing slightly before quickly smoothing his expression.

Hob releases his hair immediately, gasping out through the sensation, breathless but still full of guilt, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Dream pulls back, lips red and shiny with spit, and blinks up at Hob in confusion, “It’s fine. You need not concern yourself with me.”

Hob opens his mouth to say ‘sex is all about concerning yourself with the other person’, but all that comes out is a long moan as Dream swallows him back down without hesitation. His thighs tense with the effort of keeping himself still, and he brings a hand up to pet Dream’s hair, careful not to grip or tug. Dream hums around him, runs his hands up Hob’s trembling thighs and presses his thumbs into his hip bones. 

At some point, Hob realizes he has closed his eyes. He can feel his climax approaching embarrassingly rapidly, and he pulls his hands away, digs his fingers into the couch to prevent himself from gripping Dream. When he opens his eyes, he looks down and sees Dream gazing up at him through long, glistening eyelashes as he sinks down until his nose is pressed against the hair on his belly and that’s it for Hob. His head falls back against the couch, crying out loud enough to vaguely worry about getting a noise complaint, and he thinks he sees stars as he comes hard down Dream’s throat, shuddering as Dream swallows him through it.

When he finally catches his breath, Dream is still kneeling before him, licking swollen lips and waiting patiently for Hob’s brain to come back online. 

“Fuck,” Hob let’s out a breathy laugh, slipping his sensitive cock back into his briefs but leaving his jeans undone. Reaching down, he rests a hand on Dream’s cheek, “Come ‘ere, Love.”

He pulls Dream back up onto his lap, but when he leans in to kiss him Dream stops him with a hand on his chest, frowning slightly. “I had you in my mouth,” he says as an explanation.

Hob only smirks deviously, “Exactly.” He grips the back of Dream’s neck, letting his fingers tangle in the soft hairs at his nape, and pulls him forward firmly, kissing him deeply and licking into his mouth when he gasps in surprise. 

When he is forced to pause for breath, he grins. “I taste good on you.”

Dream blushes so prettily, eyes wide with something like awe. With Dream straddling him like this, knees pressed into the couch on either side of his hips, Hob can see the way the front of Dream’s skin tight jeans are straining, the outline of his arousal making Hob’s mouth water. Head cleared slightly from his orgasm and suddenly impatient, Hob wraps his arms around Dream’s back and swings him around until he is stretched out on the couch with Hob hovering above him.

With a small, surprised smile on his face, Dream tilts his head, curious like a bird, “Planning to fuck me already, Hob Gadling?”

Hob’s cock makes a valiant effort at stirring when he hears the word “fuck” in Dream’s smooth, deep voice, but ultimately he has to laugh, “My refractory period’s not that good, I’m afraid,” he runs his hands down Dream’s sides, feeling the peaks and valleys of his ribcage through his shirt as he smirks, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t return the favor.”

The smile drops from Dream’s face, and his brow furrows questioningly, “You need not. There is no obligation to reciprocate.”

“I know,” Hob smiled, kissing Dream’s cheek, “but I want to.”

When he pulls back, Dream only looks more confused, “But. You do not have to.”

Now it’s Hob’s turn to be confused, raising an eyebrow, “So you said.”

Dream nods slowly, “So you. Do not have to. Do that.”

“Yeah, we’ve established that,” Hob huffed, “And I appreciate you not wanting to pressure me or whatever, but I want to.”

“It would… bring you pleasure?”

“I mean, yeah? In a sense…” Hob trailed off, narrowing his eyes as he tried to piece together what was going on in Dream’s head. “Do you… not enjoy oral?” 

That would make sense, not everyone enjoyed everything, and regardless of the familiar, hard shape he had seen pressing against Dream’s jeans, that didn’t change that he wasn’t actually human. Maybe he needed something different.

For a long moment, Dream stared unblinkingly just over his shoulder. Hob didn’t rush him, and eventually he answered slowly, “I do not know.”

When he looked back, Hob was sending him a questioning look, and so he reluctantly elaborated, “I have. Done this for others. But never. Experienced. Receiving it myself.”

“You’re shitting me.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, the pure shock of it barreling through his filter. Dream stiffens below him, something like hurt in his eyes as he purses his lips and moves to stand.

“Perhaps I should go-”

“ No! ”

Dream somehow manages to tense even more at Hob’s exclamation, and Hob is quick to run soothing hands down his arms, trying to coax him back to softness, “I’m sorry, don’t leave, please. I shouldn’t have said that, I was just…�� he allows himself a huff of laughter, “Honestly I’m shocked. I can’t fathom anyone getting you into their bed and not begging to get their mouth on you.”

A blush spreads across Dream’s face, even as his expression remains stoic, and it’s so endearing that Hob can’t help but bring a hand up to stroke one gently flushed cheek bone. He can practically see the wheels turning in Dream’s head, and so he lets him take his time to choose his words.

Eventually, he lowers his gaze and says, “That is not… what I am for.”

Hob tilted his head and frowned, “'For'?”

Nodding, Dream continues, still not meeting Hob’s eyes, “I am. A fantasy. A vessel for other people’s pleasure. And while I do find enjoyment in doing these things for you, that is not the point of it. It is not… about me. It's for you. I. Am for you."

Sometimes Dream does this. Explains something casually, stoically, as if it doesn’t matter. As if he doesn't matter. As if his words don’t slice Hob’s heart to the quick.

Slowly, Hob cups Dream's face in his hands, tilting his face up to look at him before leaning down to kiss him softly. Dream sighs into his mouth, and manages to relax ever so slightly as Hob pulls just far enough apart to speak against his lips.

“You're not a vessel , you’re my friend . And I don’t want to scare you off, but you’re also the love of my very long life. You’re not ‘for’ anything, not to me. I want to make you feel good too, because I love you, and you deserve to feel good."

He can feel the way Dream wants to argue, so he kisses him again, stroking his thumbs across the cold, smooth skin of his jaw. "I want these to be things I do with you, not to you.”

Dream's frowns, brow furrowed and looking at Hob as if he has handed him some nonsensical puzzle. He brings one elegant hand up to run through Hob's hair, sliding until he can rest his icy fingers on the back of Hob's neck.

"I enjoyed bringing you pleasure."

"I believe you," Hob nodded, "and I'm glad. So maybe you can understand how I would enjoy bringing you pleasure?" His voice tilts teasingly, raising his eyebrows pointedly, and he is rewarded with a quirk of Dream’s lips. 

He leans down to kiss the corner of that tentative smile, "We don't have to. But I would be honored to be the one allowed to bring you pleasure for once."

A shuddering breath escapes Dream, Hob feels it as he nuzzles against his cheek. They’re both still tangled up together, Hob letting just a bit of his weight press Dream down into the worn couch cushions. He knows what he wants, but in truth, Hob would be over the moon even if Dream asks that they spend their night doing nothing more than this.

"....Okay."

Hob tries very hard to reign in his enthusiasm, but he still probably sits up just a little too fast, grinning in excitement, “Okay? You sure?”

Dream nods, cheeks coloring again and avoiding Hob’s eager gaze, “Yes. I… Yes.”

There is still an air of uncertainty to him. A nervousness that makes him seem almost young, and Hob just wants to take care of him. To give him every good thing this world has to offer.

“Come on,” he gives him one last peck on the lips before tugging him up to stand, “you’re not having your first time on my shitty, thrift store couch.”

“‘First time’?” Dream snorted. His haughty tone was betrayed by the vice grip he had on Hob’s hand, “I am no virgin, Hob Gadling.”

“Virginity is a construct,” Hob winked, leading them into his bedroom, keeping the lights dim, “I just mean that this is your first time experiencing this particular sex act, and so I want to make it as perfect as my human self possibly can.”

A big part of that, he doesn’t say out loud, means making Dream comfortable, which he has come to learn is not something that comes easily to him. And he doesn’t blame him- he’s got the entirety of humanity’s unconscious held within him, and he was very recently very terribly hurt. He understood why Dream struggled to relax, he did. But still. He wanted to be a safe place for him, a harbor where he could rest and be taken care of.

It’s with this in mind that he kisses Dream’s knuckles before guiding him to lay on the bed, pushing aside the crumpled sheets that he hadn’t made in the morning and moving his pillows to cushion Dream's head and neck. It feels like arranging a mannequin, every inch of Dream’s body coiled and tense, keeping himself perfectly still wherever Hob places him. 

Even when Hob crawls on top of him, holding his weight carefully on his forearms and slotting one knee between Dream’s thighs, Dream remains unmoving, looking up at Hob with a deliberately neutral gaze.

Not exactly ideal. But they’ve got time.

“This position does not seem conducive to your goal.”

Dream’s tone is almost condescending, but it doesn’t hide the way his entire body feels like he’s bracing for something.

“My ‘goal’? You mean my most honored task of focusing on you and making you feel good?” Hob grins teasingly, stroking Dream’s clenched jaw and leaning down to capture his lips before he can argue.

The kiss starts soft and slow. Dream seems to like kissing, doesn’t seem to overthink it too much, and all he wants right now is to bleed some of the tension from his frame. To get him out of his own head. It takes a few minutes of just petting Dream’s face and sucking gently on his lower lip before Dream finally hesitantly raises his hands from the mattress, resting them shyly on Hob’s waist.

It’s a stark contrast to the Dream of earlier, confident and bold, and Hob wants nothing more than to reward his participation, to encourage him to reach for what he wants. Bracing himself more steadily, he presses the knee between Dream’s legs against his crotch, deepening the kiss when Dream gasps into his mouth. He can feel the hard press of him as Dream unconsciously grinds down against his thigh, just for a moment, before he catches himself and stills again.

Hob breaks away to begin mouthing down the pale length of his throat, nipping at his skin as he murmurs, “Come on, now.” He pushes his leg more firmly against him, sliding his hands around Dream’s lower back to rock him against his thigh, “Let go for me, Love.” 

Dream’s fingers curl into his shirt, and Hob sucks at the spot on his throat where he can feel his breath catch. Running his fingers just under the hem of his shirt, Hob can feel that some of the tension has left him, and he kneads at the skin of his waist and hips, pressing his fingers into the coiled muscles until they release under his ministrations. He feels more than hears a deep whine in Dream’s chest when he slides a hand up to twist at his nipples.

“That’s it,” he grins against his skin as he moves to bite at Dream’s earlobe, relishing in the way it makes his whine pitch higher.

He is so focused on leaving a mark on the inhuman skin behind Dream's ear that he almost misses the hand sneaking down to palm at his crotch, where he’s managed to get half hard without his noticing. That said, he is alerted to the touch by his own gasping breath, and he’s quick to wrap a hand around Dream's pale, cold wrist and pin it into the mattress before he gets too distracted.

"Ah, ah, ah," he scolds, leaning back to raise an eyebrow, "it's your turn, remember?"

The being below him pouts, furrowing his brows in frustration, "But. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing."

Dream shifted below him, a tinge of genuine distress coloring his expression, "That hardly seems fair."

"Hmf. Funny…” Hob drawled, snagging Dream’s other wrist and pinning his hands on either side of his head, pressing them into the mattress as he leaned down to whisper against his ear, “you didn't have a problem with me sitting back and doing nothing while you sucked my brain out through my prick."

He can feel Dream shiver below him, and when he responds his voice is a little weaker, "You speak. Very familiarly with me."

Hob laughs, "I am very familiar with you." Dream huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. Possibly because of the way his chest hitches when Hob returns to his task of marking up his neck and massaging his arse through his jeans.

"Relax,” Hob whispers, “Just relax."

This time it is less of a shiver and more of a full body shudder, a long moan escaping Dream as his back arches just slightly, searching for more friction. Hob begins a slow descent down his body, grazing his teeth across his collar bones and pressing a wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. He kisses down his chest, pushing up his shirt just enough to kiss at his stomach. Hob wants nothing more than for them to press together with nothing between them, just skin on skin. But he remembers the way Dream’s voice had wavered when he described his captivity in Fawney Rig, and tonight does not feel like the night to push at that boundary. 

Comfortable. He wants Dream comfortable.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t also want to rile him up a bit.

Biting at the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, Hob situated himself between Dream’s legs, his chin brushing against the bulge there, “I’ve been drooling for you since 1395.”

Dream tries to bite off his groan, but Hob can still feel the way his thighs tremble on either side of his body, and when he glances up he sees Dream’s hands clutching at the bedsheets, head thrown back and panting.

Hob grinned deviously, maneuvering Dream until his legs are resting over his shoulders. "The second I saw you, heard your voice… God your voice just drips with sex, I wanted to get on my knees then and there. Wanted to rinse out the taste of shitty ale with the taste of you."

“Hob-”

He got the impression that Dream was trying to sound affronted, but ultimately he slapped a hand over his own mouth when the word came out thin and needy. Hob tutted, and reached to pull the offending hand down, placing it on the back of his own head.

“Let me hear you, baby.”

Even grinding his teeth together couldn’t silence his whine as Hob finally got Dream’s jeans open. After so long getting him worked up, Dream couldn’t help but exhale a shuddering breath as his prick was finally released from the restrictive denim.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Hob swallowed thickly. Dream’s fingers spasmed in his hair, not quite gripping. “You can tug a little, it’s okay,” he sucked a mark on the space where his thigh creased, feeling Dream’s hips stutter as his cock brushed the scruff on Hob’s cheek, “I like it, promise.”

He moaned as Dream got his hair in a proper grip, not painful, but there. Satisfied with the purple mark blooming on his pelvis, Hob finally turned his attention to the long, flushed cock in front of him.

A soft whimper escaped Dream as Hob’s breath ghosted over the sensitive flesh, voice soft and desperate and lost as he offered one last time, "You don't-.... You don't have to-..."

"I want ."

And with that, Hob couldn’t hold back anymore, sinking down in one smooth movement, a firm grip on Dream’s hips keeping him pressed into the bed even as he cried out and clenched both hands loosely in Hob’s hair. Hob himself couldn’t help but moan loudly around Dream’s prick, feeling his own arousal spike at finally getting to taste the strange, salty sweetness of him. 

Dream’s voice cracks as Hob pulls back to swirl his tongue around the head, “Hob, Hob, Hob-!” and he can feel his legs trembling violently around his shoulders. Gripping his arse firmly, Hob sank down again, pulling Dream closer until he feels him bump against the back of his throat, and then he swallows.

The sound Dream makes can only be described as a wail, and his hand scramble for purchase around Hob’s shoulders, desperately seeking an anchor as Hob hollows his cheeks and picks up the pace. Hob finds himself rutting against the mattress, his cock throbbing and aching for stimulation.

“Hob,” his name comes out on a sob, “I- ahhhhh, Hob I will not last, I’m, I’m-”

In all honesty he’s lasted longer than Hob expected, so now he simply hums encouragingly around him as he lowers himself one last time to take Dream as deep as he can go. He can feel the way Dream’s muscles tense, his knees locking around Hob’s head as he comes with a long, drawn out cry, and when he finally reaches a hand between his own legs, it only takes a few frantic rubs before Hob is coming in his underwear right along with him. Hob swallows around Dream’s orgasm, milking him dry until his whimpers border on pain from overstimulation. 

Pulling off of him, Hob takes a few deep, gasping breaths, feeling full and floaty and satisfied. Looking up, he falls even more in love as he watches Dream’s body melt into the mattress. He is still panting, and his shirt sticks to his chest from sweat. There are little purple and red marks on his neck and hip, his softening cock shiny with Hob’s spit, and he looks boneless and soft in the dim lighting.

Tucking him gently back into his underwear, Hob ignores the sticky discomfort in his pants in favor of crawling up the bed to cover Dream with his body. Hovering over him, he sees Dream has his eyes closed as he catches his breath, and fresh tear tracks are running down his face. Frowning, Hob brings his hands up to wipe at the tears with his thumbs.

"Hey…Are you alright?" He whispers.

Dream nods without hesitation, and Hob lets out a sigh of relief. After a few more deep breaths, Dream opens his eyes, gazing up at Hob and looking almost embarrassed. 

"I… I have done this for others. I know the experience from dreams. I… understood what it would feel like. But it was still… a lot."

Hob doesn't think right now is the best time to explain touch-starvation to Dream, so he simply hums sympathetically, kissing the corners of his eyes gently, "That makes sense. Knowing something and feeling something are very different experiences."

“Indeed,” Dream huffed. 

After a moment of hesitation, Hob quietly asks, “...Good, though?”

Dream’s laugh is a soft thing, but his smile is genuine as he blinks up at Hob fondly, “Yes. Very.” He pauses before adding, “...Thank you.”

Chuckling, Hob couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss him, “Nothing to thank me for, Love.” For a long moment they stay pressed together from lips to thighs, relaxed and loose and sated. When they pull apart, Dream smirks

“I taste good on you.”

Hob lets out a barking laugh, his cheeks coloring as he ducks his head against Dream’s neck, “Oh, someone learns quick I see.”

Dream smirked, petting his hair, and his every touch seemed to radiate affection. Unfortunately, they eventually have to disentangle so that Hob can clean himself up, a revelation that has Dream staring at him, wide eyed and confused.

“You…? But I didn’t…?”

He cuts him off with a kiss, “Don’t overthink it.” It’s an impossible request, but Dream at least seems content enough post orgasm to let it go for now. Before Hob leaves the bed, he takes a moment to catch Dream's eye, whispering a quick plea, “Stay?”

Dream gazes at him in wonder, looking at Hob as though he has performed some great feat of magic, “Yes. Please.”

It is hard to break away long enough to change, but eventually Hob reluctantly manages it, fixing himself up in record time, and when he returns to bed Dream has swapped his jeans for dream-soft joggers. Hob straightens the sheets, and Dream curls into his side, resting his head over Hob's heartbeat. He is still soft, still relaxed, still here. 

All things considered, Hob thinks it might be his favorite part of the night.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #nsft #I can't believe this was the fandom that finally got me to try writing smut #and I STILL had to add some h/c #what am I doing with my life #(answer: my best)

[nemaria]

📜 Ascending Isn't Worth the Paperwork 📜

— fengqing, canon universe

— pre-relationship pining

— rated T, 5.6k, one-shot

— Feng Xin suffers through the paperwork of becoming a new god, with some help along the way

#tgcf #fengqing #feng xin #mu qing #heaven official's blessing #I can't believe these guys are so powerful they got me back into writing.... #also please excuse the quality of the stock photo paintover #I limited myself to 25 minutes and it usually takes me like 8 hours to make anything look good lol

[littleplasticrat]

Provocation and Planning (Gortash x Tav)

Tav thinks she's charging into Gortash's palace to seduce him, but he's been waiting for her. She still manages to surprise him.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: PIV sex, sex toys, anal fingering, come eating

Thanks to @bearhugsandshrugs for beta reading. You're cool ❤️

-

The first time Tav and Gortash had kissed, she'd bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He'd instantly retaliated, setting the precedent for things to come.

After the ragtag group had clawed their way onto the docks from the Chionthar, Tav had looked at the archduke and really seen him for the first time. He was bloody and victorious, encased in his golden mechanical armour that did nothing to obscure the length of his limbs. He slicked his wet hair back out of his face and began unbuckling his breastplate when he noticed her looking, and gave her a slow, suggestive smile. His shirt hung open to reveal his hairy chest; he was steaming like a racehorse in the morning sun. Tav knew that she was going to have to fuck him as soon as possible . He must have seen it in her face, and pulled her into a kiss, first sucking her lower lip and then pressing his tongue into her mouth. That was when she'd bitten him.

Whatever it was - the adrenaline, the relief, or the strangely warm memory of the shin kick he'd delivered after she'd punched him in the morphic pool - the effect had been immediate. Gortash had inhaled sharply, then pulled back to dropping butterfly kisses on her mouth. Tav felt the curve of his smile, and then suddenly his quick hands had found a tear in her leather armour and he'd pinched her nipple through her undershirt, hard enough that she let out a strangled moan. Gale, who'd been standing next to them on the dock with a polite if strained smile, had gone bright red and practically sprinted off to Wyll and Karlach.

Read more below the cut or on Ao3. Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you.

Under normal circumstances, if a man kissed Tav like that, she knew she was likely about to get dragged away and fucked shortly thereafter. However, as the heroes slowly made their way back to the city centre, Gortash had withdrawn to his palace to launch the cleanup campaign. It became clear to Tav over the course of the day that the emergency measures for Baldur's Gate had been made in meticulous detail and were set up to be ready to implement at a moment's notice. Case in point: as she made her way to the Elfsong Tavern that evening for the celebrations, she saw Steel Watchers with rescue tools instead of their usual heavy weaponry digging through rubble alongside the Fists. Gortash must have been manufacturing the extra parts in secret. She wondered what else he'd prepared.

In anticipation of seeing him, she'd left her underwear in her pack and applied a few dabs of rosemary oil where her blood ran close to the skin. At the tavern, it didn't escape her that gazes lingered upon her, the light touches of her companions' hands guiding her through the smoke and the crowds. When Halsin lent past her to pick up a round of drinks from the bar, she felt him inhale a deep breath of her as his muscles flexed against her back. One huge hand had covered her hip briefly. She thought it might have been the case that the druid, a little drunk and made giddy by all the people, was just trying to steady himself against a reliable friend. But then his hand squeezed and Tav nearly pushed her ass back against him, stopping herself just in time. Later, she went out onto a balcony with Rugan to smoke and laugh with him. The Zhentarim stole glances at her nipples peaking against her blouse when he thought she wasn't paying attention, which made goosebumps ripple across her skin. When she looked back to his face, he would rest his lip against the rim of his tankard and give her a look that was half-innocent, half-debauched. I wonder if being a hero is going to be like this all the time? she thought to herself. It seemed exhausting.

Adding to the slow decline of her mood was the fact that the one smug, handsome bastard she wanted, that she spent the evening scanning the crowds for, did not appear. Hadn’t he felt the sparks of that kiss shoot through his body the way they shot through hers? Or, perhaps, was his duty to the city keeping him in the office? That seemed strangely absurd. As it neared midnight, it became obvious that Lord Gortash definitely wasn't coming. Tav slipped away from the party and made her way to the Palace with efficiency, weaving through the crowds of revellers. At the gates, she'd been expecting to have to explain who she was, or perhaps even break in, but every set of guards let her pass without comment. The ones outside Gortash's chambers even saluted her.

When she entered, she saw a lavish bedroom through double doors which lay ajar at the end of the corridor. The bed was very neat. On either side of the hallway leading to it were a small library, a bathroom, and a combined workshop and office. Gortash was sunk in a battered armchair at a small circular table in the latter room. Looking around the room, Tav saw that his desk, placed so that he could sit with his back to a corner, was piled high with paperwork. Occupying the centre of the freshly-swept floor was a thick, expensive-looking rug. There was a whole wall of drawers and shelves of various sizes, with each labelled in his precise handwriting. On that side of the office were two large workbenches; one was a tidy wooden trestle and one had seemingly been improvised from a sheet of metal and stacks of old documentation. Half-hidden beneath a pile of clothes and rubbish in the corner was a low camp bed, the kind that military recruits would start their careers in. The whole place smelled like pine, with an undertone of male musk, milled steel and oil. Through a nearby window, she could see the city stretching into the distance, half-ruined but surviving another day. Sounds of revelry were carried into the room on the wind. 

When Tav came to the door they made eye contact immediately and he showed no surprise; she knew then that he'd been waiting for her. With a lazy hand, Gortash plucked a grape from the dish in front of him and slowly slipped it into his mouth. Tav's eyes followed the movement of his fingers and she had to try hard to keep her face blank as a tingle flitted down her neck. As he leaned back, she noticed he was wearing a raw silk shirt and tight leather trousers, but the lacing on both was slovenly, as usual.

They stared at each other, and Tav felt herself start to blush under the archduke's open gaze. To hide her reaction, she stepped over to his table and picked up the bunch of grapes. She saw Gortash's strong fingers twitch as she swiped the fruit, but he did nothing.

"You missed the party at the Elfsong," Tav said, moving across the room to lean against the windowsill. "Didn't fancy being celebrated with the other heroes of Baldur's Gate? I'm surprised you'd pass on a chance to be fawned over."

Gortash scoffed and crossed his long legs.

"Yes, I had reports you were carousing in that rat hole with your little friends - and I can smell it on you now,” he said, inhaling. “I'll be holding my own celebration here in my palace . You should join me. See how it feels to wield power against the nobility of this city rather than its enemies." He looked her up and down, his eyes half-lidded. "I've been thinking about jewellery designs for you. Something to show off how magnificent you are."

It was Tav's turn to snort. "What about me has given you the impression I want to become some bejewelled whore on your arm?"

"Bejewelled whore… Ha. My dear, no one is immune to the pleasure of being draped in gold and gemstones," Gortash told her as he stood. "Especially not those of us who started life clad in rags." He approached Tav with slow steps and she reclined further against the window frame, holding the grapes out of his reach. "As for the second part... That wasn't a one-sided kiss this morning. Maybe I just want you by my side to keep an eye on you now the city is safe. A woman of your talents - What's the saying?" he asked, maintaining eye contact as he moved into her space, pressing his broad chest against her breasts to reach for the fruit. "Ah, yes. Devils make work for idle hands." She felt his fingers slip the grapes out of her loose grasp. "And-" Gortash's steady, sonorous voice suddenly wobbled off into a groan, and he snaked his other arm around her waist to crush her body against his. "Sweltering hells, Tav, have you come into my office without undergarments?"

She gasped and he rested his forehead against hers, their gazes meeting. She nodded, a blush creeping into her cheeks. The raw lust that pooled in his dark eyes in response made her back prickle with sweat as her nipples hardened against his chest.

"What are you doing to me, Tav? Gods, I need to see you. Take off your clothes. Let me see your body."

Gortash was almost snarling with arousal as he commanded her. Tav sighed at the slow melt of wetness in her cunt and pushed him gently backwards to give herself more space. Expression hungry, he watched her as she slowly undressed. She thought he might seize her when she bared her breasts to the moonlight, but he just swayed, eyes roving over her eagerly. His breathing stopped when she unlaced her trousers and let them slide down; something about his boyish thirst gave her a sudden vision of herself as a noblewoman being seduced by a young Gortash, grateful lordling and ardent worshipper of the powerful. But - there was nothing for him to gain from this, was there? All she had to give him was her body, which was now nearly bare under his glittering eyes. Kicking off her boots completed her strip, and then she was nude, standing there expectantly as she took in his reaction. She could see that there was a bulge in his leathers. Gortash was trying hard to modulate his breathing.

"I'm glad you came here tonight," he said. His voice was gravelly and low. "Tell me, Tav. What do you want?"

Tav felt another knot of insecurity inside her as she recognised her desire for him. What if he just saw this as a minor distraction? She decided to fall back and hide behind her old tricks. "I think you know," she replied in her best sultry tone, trailing a hand down between her breasts. “I want you to have sex with me.”

He moved into her space again, leaning one hand against the window frame above her. “If you wanted to fuck, you could have stayed in Elfsong Tavern. I saw the way some of them were looking at you this morning. And I’ve had several grateful and eager members of the aristocracy calling on me throughout the day, but I’ll be damned: all I could think about was you.” With the other hand, he lifted the bunch of grapes to his face and nuzzled his nose amongst the sweet, purple beads of the fruit. "So, I’ll ask again. What do you want?" Eyes boring into hers, he plucked a grape from its stalk with his teeth.

It was ridiculous, but also the horniest thing Tav had ever seen. Something about his confession and the boldness of his flirting opened something within her heart: In a breathy voice, almost a moan and nothing like the falsely seductive tone she’d just used, she said, "I want to have you and I want you to know me. I want to teach you what it sounds like when I come wrapped around your cock." Gortash pressed his eyes shut at this, and she heard a squelch as he crushed the entire bunch of grapes in his broad fist, their juices weeping to the floor. And then his lips were on hers.

They were both soon gasping into each other's mouths, their kisses wet and lavish. Gortash was clasping her face in his hands, pulling her hair, digging his fingers into her hips and squeezing her ass, almost in a frenzy. Under his onslaught, she was barely able to pull his shirt laces open. He broke their kiss to bite her neck and take fistfuls of her tits and inhale deeply from her cleavage, groaning as he did so.

"I thought - ah! I thought I stunk of carousing and revelry?" Tav said, trying to strike a mocking tone in her voice as her head fell back; Gortash had just begun to swirl her nipple in his mouth, his tongue firm and hot.

In response, he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Carrying her over to his wooden workbench, he perched her on the pitted but clean surface. "While you do smell like a tavern whore, I never said I didn't like it," he groaned, then slowly licked a stripe up her neck and to the side of her face. He finished the trail with a kiss that was almost affectionate, punctuating this with a thrust of his hips so the bulge in his trousers pressed against her clit.

They looked at each other in open admiration. But the moment was cut short when he reached past her and picked up a small metal cylinder, about the width of his thumb, from the bench. Holding it up, she could see a small piece of leather attached to it – a strap. Gortash used it to slip the strange device onto her index finger.

"I made this for you today," he said softly.

She tried to hide her confusion then. Was he - was he proposing to her? With a weird leather ring?

She was soon proven wrong when, with one hand, Gortash pushed one of her thighs to the side to expose her folds. With the other, he took her hand and guided it downwards, placing her finger so it rested on her clit. His hand flowered briefly with magic and he muttered something. Tav yelped as the item began vibrating against her, a noise which morphed into a moan.

Gortash dropped kisses to her lips and whispered encouragement as he pushed against her hand, pressing the vibrator further into her folds. The sensations were unusual at first, but it began to feel incredible. She felt her cunt throb, get more slick.

Tav whimpered when he stepped out of her arms, giving her one more kiss before pulling out a chair so he was sitting in front of her. His eyes lingered on her face, although he observed the movements of her hand against her clit with a mixture of hunger and cold calculation.

In between gasps, Tav said, "I think it's... It's only fair that you show - me how you find your own pleasure."

Gortash smirked at her and began unlacing his trousers. His cock jumped free quickly - it seemed she hadn't been the only one to skip putting on underwear that evening - and he began stroking himself, leaning back in the chair. His cock curved enough to arch against his stomach and Tav couldn't help but admire the girth of it. She propped one foot up on the workbench to expose herself further. The sensation of dipping the vibrator into her slickness and bringing it back to her clit drew a new sound of pleasure from her that had Gortash moaning in response and speeding his hand up. She felt her juices begin to dribble down to her asshole. The archduke noticed too.

"I knew you were going to act like a slut for me," he told her, his voice hoarse. "But you've got the wettest cunt I've ever seen. Are you going to come on my desk? If you do, I'll make you lick it clean."

The filth of Gortash's idle threat made Tav flutter against her fingers. She was nearing the edge. Instead of pursuing her climax, she stretched her leg out to push Gortash's cock out of his hand with her foot. He gave her a grin as she pressed his shaft against his stomach.

"C'mere," she said. "I want to come on your mouth."

He closed his eyes delightedly and slid off the chair to kneel in front of her. She started moving her finger again as he parted her folds and thrust his tongue into her body. One of Gortash's hands was busy out of sight; he was touching himself as he ate her out. Tav felt the heat creep up then, her body tensing, quivering, vision going white or- or-

Her orgasm rippled through her and she cried out. Gortash dug his fingers into her thighs and pushed his face against her center. She felt him shuddering and he groaned into her cunt as his climax followed hers.

They stayed like that for a peaceful moment as their heart rates returned to normal. Tav had lifted the vibrator away from herself and Gortash uttered the word that made it stop running. She removed it from her hand and then stroked his hair as he nuzzled at her folds slowly, still enjoying the wetness her body had made for him. After some time, Tav pulled the man off her and stood up on shaky legs.

On the floor beneath where the archduke had been kneeling, she saw a wet gleam. Had she done that? Bending over to look closer, she saw that it was Gortash's spend. She turned to him and saw the heat still roiling behind his eyes as he looked back at her.

"My Lord," she said sweetly. "It appears one of us did make a mess. It wasn't me, though, was it?"

He shook his head.

"And what did you say should happen if I came on your desk?"

Gortash remained silent. Tav slid her fingers into his hair and gripped gently. "Say it."

"I said I would make you lick it clean."

Tav smiled then, and leaned closer. "When we first met, you said we would be equals, my Lord. My understanding was that if I joined you in an alliance, we would have parity in all things... Including what we're expected to follow through on. L ick ."

With that, she pushed his head towards the floor. He gave her a furtive look of adoration as he went down, filling her with a new flush of nameless excitement. His face neared the paving stone beneath the bench and she watched, her heart flickering with shock, as he used the tip of his tongue to daintily taste his mess. Her fingers remained in his thick hair as he bent lower to take a bolder lick, leaving a trail of spit on the stone. His eyes slid to hers, and he cleaned another stripe of cum off the floor. Something about his expression told her that she was in trouble, but it was too late; he'd already surged up and driven her to her knees. Squeezing her chin in one hand, he gave her a brief, searching look. He must have seen the excitement fizzling within her, because he nodded briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and straightened. His cock, soft but slowly hardening, was at her eye level. 

"Here's a lesson I'd like to share about co-leadership then. It's all about coming to an agreement. I put it to you that you've been trying to provoke me to fuck you like a whore." As he spoke, Gortash was wrapping Tav's hair around his fist. "Tonight, I would have made love to you so tenderly - until you swooned. But I think we can both agree that that's not what you want, is it? Is it, you slut?" With his last question, he gave her a little shake.

"It's not what I want, my Lord."

"Do you want the privilege of coming on my cock?"

The thrill, the sheer smuttiness of him, left Tav gasping. She had to swallow hard and get control of herself before she could reply, "Yes, my Lord."

With that, he pulled her by her hair to the centre of the room and threw her down on the extravagant rug. She moaned as she hit the floor. His cock bobbed hard as he stripped off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular body, dark hair foresting his chest and his taut stomach.

"On your hands and knees," he ordered, and Tav scrambled to comply. She felt him kneel behind her, then slowly begin to rub the head of his cock between her folds. She wiggled her hips in frustration, trying to tempt him into taking her.

"You're still so wet," Gortash muttered, pressing the end of the tip in, then pulling it back out before it brought Tav any stimulation.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "I'm so turned on for you. Please - "

His smirk caught her gaze before he pushed her down roughly, her face turned flat against the rug.

"Touch yourself, but don't come until I tell you to."

She sighed as he began to bully his thick cock inside her, the press of it against her walls driving her to moan and then howl as he pushed himself in to the hilt. It was so deep . In this position, with his size - 

Any marvelling thought she had was cut off by the electric snap of her nerves as he pulled out and thrust in again. She heard her name on his lips as he reached down and gathered a fistful of her hair. It was amazing how he groaned for her. He began fucking into her in a steady rhythm, her hips rolling back to meet him as they both made unabandoned noises of pleasure, losing themselves in it. Tav's nipples grazed the rug every time his thrusts pushed her forwards, making the nerve endings in her upper body sing. Her fingers rubbed her clit in a frantic motion that made her whole cunt quiver.

"Your ass - It's perfect," she heard Gortash gasp. "In fact-"

Tav was in no state to understand. She felt Gortash's thumb against the seam between his cock and her cunt as he ran it through her folds, gathering up the juices of their sex. Then, the pad of his thumb was rubbing against her asshole and then slipping in. The blunt pleasurepain of her ring being breached made her moan loudly, her core beginning to tense. With one hand on her hip and the other splayed across her flank, he pumped his thumb in and out of her. The steady roll of his cock drove her to hoarse cries; feeling her cunt tighten as she neared her climax, Gortash gave a triumphant laugh that turned into a moan of his own ecstasy.

"Come for me," he commanded. Tav bucked beneath him, pressing her face into the carpet to muffle her scream as she rode the waves of wet pleasure that seared through her, white-hot lightning wrapped in the velvet of her veins, turning her inside out from the soles of her feet to her scalp. She felt Gortash's cock throbbing inside her as he followed.

As she tried to slow down her breathing, Tav felt a strong arm wrap around her waist. Gortash pulled her upwards so her back was against his chest, then rolled them both onto their sides on the rug - which Tav distantly realised was spotless and smelled freshly cleaned. In her blissed out state, she decided not to worry about it. The archduke tucked his other arm under her head. His cock lingered inside her, and lying on her side squeezed it within her, making her twitch slowly. Her fires were calm for now, but the sensation of this intimacy would surely start to heat her up again. The evening wasn't finished, of course - and who said she had to go back to the Elfsong the moment the sun rose?

They lay still for a while. Tav enjoyed the sound of Gortash breathing steadily against her neck. Eventually, her leg twitched and she realised she'd been falling asleep. Nuzzling her, he brought his lips to her ear.

"Shall we move to the bedroom, my dear?"

She nodded and they helped each other stand up. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the lavish bedroom she'd seen when she'd entered. He pulled the bedsheets back for her and tucked her in; a gesture that was surprisingly sweet - or was it really that surprising? Beginning to drift, she counted the ways he’d prepared for her arrival that evening. The guards had even saluted her...

"What do you want to eat for breakfast?" he asked, stroking her sweaty hair off her forehead.

"Your cock," she mumbled. Gortash chuckled and Tav smiled sleepily.

"That's a deal."

Tav was already drifting off again as Gortash climbed into bed next to her and pulled her to his chest.

#gortash #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #gortash x tav #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #gort is such a fucking dork #i can't believe he got a clean rug out so he could fuck tav on the floor in comfort #my writing

[neverevan]

Fuck It Friday ☔️

Tagged and tagging @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @wikiangela @honestlydarkprincess @exhuastedpigeon and my sweets whose continuous support means the world to me @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns MWUAH 💛💛

Hey peeps, I've been having some not-exactly-good dreams last night and then had a really not-exactly-good day, on the flipside I have officially finished the first draft of the mudslide fic. 🫡

It still has a lot of blindspots and some kinda vague bits, but the skeleton is there, all I gotta do is build on it! It ended up just over 62k and though now I'm trying to avoid guessing word counts in general, I think it'll come to round out around 70k or so. Anyway, here, have some more Buckley-Diaz domesticity:

“What is it, Chris? Where is the fire?” “Dad!” His smile was so bright that his eyes crinkled with it and it was enough for Eddie to soften and let his grumpiness melt away almost instantaneously. “The Aquarium opens at nine!” Eddie dragged his hands down his face in an attempt to make himself more alert. “You didn’t forget about that, huh?” The door to his bedroom opened behind them and Buck walked out, squinting and looking just as disheveled as Eddie left him in his bed a moment ago. “Buck!” Chris turned his head into his direction. The air stuck in Eddie’s lungs for a split second, expecting the row of questions or accusations from Chris — after all, the kid was intuitive as hell — but it never came. Instead he just pushed past Eddie and grabbed Buck’s wrist, tugging him towards the kitchen, Eddie wandering numbly in their heels. “Hey Chris, wha- what’s going on?” Buck asked, clearly still in awe of the situation he found himself in only minutes after waking up. “The Aquarium opens at nine.” He relayed the same information to Buck as well, but while Eddie just felt a little out of sorts that he actually forgot about their plans, Buck’s face lit up like commercial LED lights. “Well then, we better get started on breakfast, hm? What do you say?” “Waffles!” Christopher cheered and Buck laughed, jovial and full of love and not for the first time, Eddie found that his heart was beating to the rhythm of hope. It wasn’t his fault that waking up in the same bed with Buck, followed by a family breakfast sounded perfect. Well, maybe too perfect. “Sorry bud, I don’t think we have any left in the freezer.” Eddie informed him regretfully, but before Chris could’ve expressed his disappointment, Buck cut in. “Come on Eddie, who needs frozen waffles when I have my Sous Chef to help me with the batter?” Buck winked at Chris who just beamed up at him in response. Eddie didn’t even know what to say to that, so he just watched the two of them idle towards the kitchen before following suit.

#this bitch is 158 pages already?? and it'll still get longer?? who's even gonna read all that lmao but seriously #I'm so excited I might die?? like wow #this was the first fic I started writing for these two sillies and to actually finish it after all this time?? #it's still gonna be a lot of work but I think I MIGHT be able to start posting next week #god I can't believe I actually managed to pull it together before the weekend #so now I might just edit the grave fic tomorrow and post it~ #because the shannon feels got to me and I kinda made myself cry with that one lmao #anyway #🫡🫡🫡 #buddie #911 #wip #the mudslide fic

[tricoufamily]

he's too hot to be called greg. you gotta call him gregory

#tbh i have never paid one ounce of attention to the werewolves why did no one tell me greg's human form was a large old man in a suit #i assumed he was just some boring looking young adult in a flannel #we could have all been writing steamy vladgreg fanfiction this whole #i thought i could makeover his werewolf form too. hubris describes a personality quality of extr #i was like i can't believe there's literally no alpha werewolf horror cc that makes them look actually scary how have we not done this #like ohhhhhhh i see they're literally unfixable got it never mind #ts4 #ts4 cas #the sims 4 #townie makeover #does he have a tag?? what would it even be hashtag greg

[chekhovvs]

The first time Scar dies, Grian places his hands on his throat and looks him in the eyes, and for one terrible second Scar wants to– 

He wants– 

Grian looks him in the eyes, into the burnt out red around his iris, and he apologizes, over and over, and his tears sting in Scar's wounds, and it feels like he is dying a fourth death with each drop.

Well.

Scar knew this was going to happen, but somehow he thinks that Grian didn't. That he thought he could die for Scar, somehow, and that that would be redemption.

Scar is prone to no such delusions. He knew he was going to die the second he heard that hissing noise, and afterwards his visions of death became different; haunted by bloody gleaming swords and Grian's choked off laughter, and that was fine.

Really. 

Because he was ready to forfeit his life, to give it a million times over just to have Grian stay by his side and take first watch over the dark desert grounds and bake bread in the early mornings, where the dunes were still cold.

Being red makes Scar a little hollowed out, a little brittle and desperate, and when Grian asks why he won't kill, he's afraid of his own answer.

("Because no one should feel this way", Scar murmurs, and tries resolutely to not look Grian in the eyes. He fails, of course.

"What?", says Grian, who wasn't expecting an answer to a question he asked three hours ago, still knee deep in the soil of their carrot patch.

Scar shakes his head, and some sand falls into his eyes. 

"Nothing, nothing, I was just talking to Pizza!" 

Grian huffs with indignation, but still continues to plant the carrots in neat little rows.

It's awfully domestic.) 

In his dreams, Scar has his hands around Grian's neck and he squeezes, hard and dark and terrible.

In his dreams, Scar watches Grian explode over and over again, and each time his hands press the doomsday button again.

In his dreams, Grian sits on Pizza and his head is thrown back in laughter, melodious like a wind chime, and the sun that rises over the mountains is never red.

In the end, Grian has his hands around Scar's neck and he is pleading for forgiveness and there's blood in the sand, blood in Scar's hair and under Grian's nails. 

Scar says nothing at all, because the sun is still coming up red and Monopoly Mountain has collapsed, and being red has made Grian another monster entirely.

The world fizzles out slowly, and in the void, the warmth of Grian's hands lingers on his neck.

The second time Scar dies, he takes an arrow through the throat, and he doesn't even have the time to feel the pain.

He'd been all alone on that mountain top for the longest time, so he doesn't know why it makes him want to scream now, this terrible loneliness. 

His blood on the ground is nobody's business, even now.

Inanely, he remembers staring at the walls of the Southlands, waiting to catch glimpses of the life within, and sort of– 

Sort of hoping– 

Well. He certainly doesn't feel sorry when they exile Grian, is all. 

("Listen, Scar.", Grian says, and he looks far too happy with that sword in his hand, bloody teeth and eyes like dynamite, "I have a deal for you!" 

Scar tries to hold very still, remembering faintly that itch under his skin, that terrible urge that took root when he was red. He wants to save Grian. He wants Grian to die. 

Ironic, that he had wanted Grian to return so much that even this reunion isn't soured for him yet. And if he decides to kill Scar, well, Scar wouldn't fight back. He couldn't. 

"Alright", says Scar, who is weak in the face of his killer, who is so very desperately trying to make him stay, and he gives a piece of his soul to Grian just because he asked. Just because it's Grian.

Of course, he's still left behind.) 

That's that. 

A wizard in a tower, defeated by a familiar face and the aching of his heart, standing on the precipice of death just for one second of companionship.

Now, with that arrow through his throat, Scar bleeds out on the warm stones, and because the fight is still ongoing, no one notices for a long time that he is even dead at all.

The third time Scar dies, he really thought Grian and him would have a chance at a happy ending.

Their alliance of sand was bound to fail, and Scar had known, but this time, oh this time, just once, they could've stood together. They could've.

Here, in the graveyard of their relationship, so far away from the desert yet always returning to it, they could've worked it out.

("These…", Scar says carefully, "are for your secret soulmate!" 

Grian's wings puff up, and he turns his chin up defiantly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"

But he won't look Scar in the eye, and his voice sounds like back then, when he would insist he just forgot to wake Scar up for his watch or that he really didn't mind the heat all that much.

It's painful how familiar he is, because Grian does not care, does he? 

Scar's blood is still stuck under his fingernails, and he is trying to ignore it, the image of Scar's corpse superimposed on his eyelids.) 

If Scar is feeling benign, he'd say that it's the guilt, the feeling of his blood in Grian's teeth that makes his soulmate so distant.

But he's not feeling very benign, watching Grian smile to himself on his way out the door. He does not feel very benign at all.

But sometimes, Grian is so sweet, so caring that somehow Scar just… can't leave. 

He can't leave Grian, just as he couldn't kill him in that desert, and well, at least this time, Grian can never really leave him either. 

If only for his own life. If only for the memories.

So here's their happy ending, just within reach, Grian's hand shaking and red with Big B's blood, eyes hungry for gore. 

Here's their happy ending.

Scar is somewhere in the forest when it happens, calling out for his soulmate, and it is raining. 

He thinks, somewhat cynically, that even now, he is alone.

He thinks of Grian's hands on his neck, around his throat, and he wishes, desperately, that Grian were here, just so that there'd be that warmth again in the void.

Scar wants to take his soulmate's hand just once, wants to know that he is not alone, that he will be alright.

(They never did respawn in the same bed.) 

Well. Scar has wanted a lot of things, and still the sun comes up red and somewhere, a castle still collapses into the hot sand, and Grian is far away, and they are both dying.

This, at least, is familiar.

In the end, there's not even enough time to scream.

(far beneath the earth, in a little mineshaft dug out hastily, grian's chest is heaving, his ear drums shattered. he is dying. he is dying, and all he can hope is that scar is not as alone as he is. he wishes they could've been better for each other, but the blood in his mouth is familiar and he is already fading. his muttered apology never makes its way out of the damp earth.) 

#double life #desert duo #trafficblr #double life smp #fanfic #writing #grian #goodtimeswithscar #angst #someone made a post that was like #'scar's deaths get lonelier with each season' #and i got possessed by a demon and wrote this #still can't believe it's over #so here's an extra long post for y'all

[sunshinediaz]

Eddie’s alive, just stuck in the Upside Down, but he doesn’t go to Dustin or Mike or Lucas—oh, no. And not even Steve, either, no matter how much he respects the dude.

Nah, Eddie traverses the woods of the Upside Down, knows where that old beat up truck sits that he and Wayne found a few months ago during season that they fixed up with the blessing of the landowner, and waits for his uncle there. 

Eddie’s trailer is fucked and he knows Wayne doesn’t have the money to afford a hotel room, so he sits in that truck in the woods, shivering and bleeding and singing songs to keep himself awake, and waits until Wayne turns it on.

And when he does in a few hours, Springsteen’s faintly heard and Eddie laughs because he loves his uncle, adores the man and he wishes he told him more of that when he had the chance, but he’s determined he’ll have more time later, he just has to get out of this hellish place first, and so he starts talking. 

It startles Wayne at first, swears and yells flying, and then there’s tears shared between them, so close and yet so far apart. Eddie explains what he can, pressing his hands into his wounds in hopes of slowing the bleeding, and he tells Wayne to hurry with an aborted, “I love you.” 

Wayne hurries. He fishes his rifle out from beneath his seat and thinks—about the kids who joined Eddie's club, about the band kid and the kid with the questions and the other kid, too, with soft brown eyes and a sad smile when he ducked his head in acknowledgment—and takes off. 

He finds Harrington’s house, knocks on the door until the kid comes running. He slings it wide, revealing himself and the band kid and Henderson, Wayne thinks, who's momma is sweet and kind at the diner, and says, “My nephew is alive. Let’s go get him.”

And he didn’t know what he expected from this kid—if he thought he’d get directions or what—but he’s surprised when Harrington nods, slips on some shoes, and follows him outside to his truck where Eddie's voice is still coming through the radio. 

Harrington says hi, a broken sort of thing, and promises they’re on the way, for him to just stay where he’s at, and Eddie giggles, says, “My knight in shining armor,” because he's always been romantic, and Harrington goes red and says, “Goddamn right I am,” and Wayne listens to Eddie's laughter the whole way to the portal that takes them to the other world. 

It's dark and ugly and dead, but they find Eddie fast. He’s bleeding out, blubbering as soon as he sees Wayne and Steve—“Call me Steve, please.”—and it takes both of them to carry Eddie up and out of that shithole dimension. 

They take him to the hospital, Eddie resting in Steve's arms the whole way, and as soon as Eddie's taken back and stabilized, Wayne and Steve collapse in the hallway. They’re quiet when they do it, but Steve's tears are hot and Wayne’s grip is tight and they hold one another close. They ask a nurse for an extra bed in Eddie's room; she’s reluctant but she does it anyway when Steve asks nicely. 

Wayne and Steve camp Eddie's room as he rests, talking quietly and getting to know one another better and sharing stories of Eddie. soon, Wayne passes out in the recliner—helps his back if he sleeps upright since those discs have been deteriorating—and wakes up a few hours later to see the extra bed unused.

Steve’s crawled up into Eddie's bed with him, nestled close and tight, and they’re both awake, faces turned toward one another as they giggle and whisper and chuckle, but Wayne can’t hear them and he thinks that’s okay. 

He rests some more, content to listen to the soft sounds of his boys—his boys, ‘cause Harrington is his now; a decision he made when he saw the darkness in the kid's eyes that reminds him so much of his own shit—lull him to sleep. 

That is, until one Dustin Henderson hears the news that Eddie's alive and safe and recovering. He causes a ruckus and a half, and the hospital staff is in shambles, and Wayne laughs because he might just have to make Dustin one of his own, too.

#wrote this on twitter and realized i can share it here too?? #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #see the thing is--i am wayne's biggest fan #he is my boyfriend and i'm holding him in my arms right now #and the idea of eddie coming to him [and he would!] and then wayne going to steve #and making steve tell him where to go so he can get his son [HIS SON] back warms my cold dead heart #and i've got plans to turn this into a full-fledged thing actually #[says actually as if it's hard for people to believe i write when i can't shut up!] #2023 i'm coming for your entire asshole so be prepared #fic thread #my writings

[tuff-ponyboy]

this might make some people Mad, but i don't think anything said in the book makes se hinton racist 😵‍💫 in fact (IMO) she clearly made a conscious choice to avoid discussing racism in the book bc she was an ignorant high schooler who didn't know any better and probs knew she would fuck it up even if she tried. i know many people say she is racist for certain comments two-bit and pony made, which yes! two-bit did use a slur! and pony did stereotype native americans! but like..i'm pretty sure that's just how people talked back then 😭 which doesn't excuse it, but if you think about it, people have only RECENTLY become mindful about that stuff!! like in 2020!! and you guys were all alive for that (if you are 3 years old dni). plus western films were basically Everything during the 60s too so...yeah just Please. this is why it's important to keep in mind that this book is almost 60 years old. things have changed. se hinton isn't racist for writing about a character who casually drops slurs bc that's literally how it Was

#yall got me fucked up defending this woman who literally does not care what any of us think about her #but she is NOT racist simply based on what characters said in her book. like cmon now #that's just silly #I can't speak for what she does on Twitter or whatever but she is not racist for putting racism in her book. #anyway i feel like this is going to make people hate me but I sincerely believe that writing about something doesn't mean you endorse it #if you disagree then let's have a respectful convo about it #okay i'm done #i just be saying shit

[dennydraws]

I can't believe @sunnyluma bullied me into posting this... Disclaimer: I write fanfiction once in 10 years, English isn't my native language. I got plot bunnies during the affinity event in FEH

Day of Devotion Words: 1877 Characters: F/Robin (FEAwakening) x Julius (FE4)

The Day of Devotion. A lovely holiday in Askr, a day to bring flowers and express love - all kinds of love. Love towards friends, family … and more. Robin smiled as she placed the flowers through her hair. A smile that would slowly wilt with every next bloom that found it's place on her garments. Her family - the shepherds, they were not here. Not in the same ones in any case. Chrom who once was the closest to her heart was now spending the holiday with another Robin. Not that this Chrom was the same Chrom she knew. Just how many versions of herself were there? It would've been a lie if she said she didn't feel cheated that she was plucked form a timeline she had found happiness and salvation from Grima… or was on the verge of it in any case. And now she was here, in the middle of other conflicts. Happiness was so close and then taken away.

But feelings, especially personal ones such as those had no room on the battlefield and she as a tactician knew that better than anyone. So, her smile adorned her lips once more. She still had plenty to be thankful for - Askr was welcoming place and she had the unique opportunity to meet so many heroes from across time and space - even …more versions of herself! She saw some Robins with worse fate - reminding her of what could've been had she not met Chrom. And there were some Robins who seemed to have tied the knot …with some questionable individuals from the army. She still couldn't wrap her mind over how could any versions of herself would get married to Gangrel of all people and yet the utter devotion she could see in their eyes spoke volumes of how strong that bond was. The smile began to wilt again.

"Oh, get a grip Robin… that's not like you at all." She closed her eyes and shook off any sign of bitterness that could even try to emerge. After all, she knew full well what Grima would feed upon if she even slightly allows it. Instead Robin picked the buoquet of flowers and went out to find someone out there who got no flowers today - surely there ought to be a lone soul somewhere in Askr that could use a little happiness today. As Robin strolled the paved streets, slowly but surely she reminded herself - it was for a tactical benefit. Happier heroes make for stronger units. At the end of the day their survival was the main goal. And that's exactly what she thought when her eyes stopped upon Julius. Alone as usual, he was leaning on a tree in the shades and away from everyone and everything. Robin was aware of his circumstances, in fact she considered him almost like a distant reflection of herself. She knew how a dragon's hold on the mind could feel even when everyone in the army was sure there was nothing left of the real Julius there. Purely for tactical purposes, she reminded herself once more. "Happy day of devotion." Robin beamed a polite smile, holding forth the flowers.

There was a moment of complete confusion on Julius' face. Julia had attempted to sneak a bouquet earlier today which he had instantly crushed despite the screams from his inner mortal puppet. He didn't expect more or any other interactions today, in fact he was hoping he'd be left alone today and this brief moment of confusion loosened the grip he had. "Why?" Julius uttered in an usual calmer voice. Robin immediately caught it. So he was still in there, she thought. Talking to her own fallen self was completely useless when she had tried before but this change of tone made her consider - there might still be something of Julius left in him. "Why not? You've been helping the army fight off whatever evil is looming over us. Isn't that a good reason to thank you for your efforts?" Robin answered pulling her best tactician voice. After all, it was simply stating the facts.

"Hah! You think I do that out of devotion? I long to crush you like the little insects you are. The contract simply binds me to crush only specific ones. But when this contract is broken you will make no difference to me!" Julius leaned in, his hand over the flowers clutched into a tight grip before Robin could even let go. "Yes well… I'm glad you are accepting the flowers though my hand doesn't come with them." Robin noted completely ignoring the dragon's taunts. Another moment caught off guard. "Ah…" A sudden obedient withdraw followed. There he was again, Robin thought and a smirk formed her lips. So that's how you had to go with it. The more you registered Loptous the more he emerged. She just had to see Julius instead. Her eyes squinted. But that was an issue wasn't it? No one knew Julius… except when he was a child and even then, that was so long ago. Whoever was inside had all grown up now. "You seek something that is no longer there." the dragon smirked, taking the flowers, nails gripping into them. Oh he only had to tear them now in front of her to make his point and yet, this hand was flinching in disobedience.

"Hmm, yeah been there, done that." Robin waved her hand after which she completely ignored the looming figure and sat under the tree next to him. This dress certainly made it a bit harder. As much as she enjoyed the flowers, at the back of her head she only wished she was in her comfortable long robes and poofy pants. "They only see the monster, the big disappointment that you are no longer you. It really chips away from your confidence, doesn't it? We're not that different - you and I." Julius remained frozen and still. The dragon was silenced in sheer anger. How dared this mortal overlook him!?

"I was just… lucky. I had someone to pull me before that grip got too strong to bear. But there were times I wasn't as lucky." Robin wasn't looking at him, her smile turned somber, "But you are still holding on. It means you are devoted to something - a hope, an idea, maybe someone… That's worth celebrating today, don't you think?" The pain coming through Julius' head was immense but he made no noise. He couldn't let Loptous groan or grunt like every other time he even tried to produce a thought of his own. His hand was holding on to these flowers - a devotion to hope he never dared speak and he was ready to break his own hand before he lets him crush them. The silence hung in the air. Robin didn't move or look up. A heavy feeling began to swell into her throat - is this how Emmeryn felt? Memories of her speech before she lept into her death after no reaction came from the armies started to surface. The painful realization that the ideals you hold on to are not strong enough to change the inevitable tragedy ahead. A mental kick followed - when did she get so foolish as to let emotions dictate her so? She was a tactician. Emmeryn pure and kind expected the best in people and the world needed people like her but Robin? She had to ground herself. This conversation was nothing but tactical approach to boost morale, nothing more.

Something gently snuck behind her ear. A flower form the bouquet. "I used to.. place flowers in her hair." Julius muttered, slow and uncertain. He had leaned over, his look distant yet searching. Robin turned immediately with her eyes widened. This was most certainly not Loptous. Her mind raced. What did he mean? Oh, he probably meant Ishtar. Of course he did. A little bitter reminder. She mentally bit her tongue - now was not the time for this. The point was - he was still there, in fact he emerged. Was it a good moment to run and call for her? No, that would mean leaving him alone and this moment felt too crucial. Like a battlefield on it's own, it was all about timing, catching the flow and turning it to your favor. "The…best I could do... was to let them go. If they hated me…they would not come near, they would not …be hurt by him. If they... knew I was still here…they would hesitate and he would kill them. They…are safe now… without me." Julius continued speaking with his look turning more and more empty with each word.

Robin recognized where this was going. His thoughts would spiral in despair and Loptous would emerge again, maybe this time for good. She had to think fast, what to reply before he'd slip again. She had to help him win this battle. "Your strength is admirable and I say that as a tactician." Robin replied with a forced brighter tone, pushing any and all emotions that could possibly create a tremble. She had to focus on… Julius. Not on Loptous. Not on the weaved tragedy that had stained every step of his life but on the hero who no one would see or even believe was still in there. Julius' eyes gained a brief focus even if no words came out, Robin knew he was looking at her… maybe a bit too strongly. It was strange, she had seen Julius many times, but never… The Julius, nor his look ever felt on her, not like this. She gave herself another mental kick. Now she began to see how some version of her out there married Gangrel - he too probably did this helpless lost look on her and tugged her heart strings. Probably even gave her flowers. Apparently that was a weak spot she had not realized. Although the image of Gangrel holding a bouquet of flowers was absurd and yet suddenly things began to make a bit more sense regarding her romantic choices in some alternative realities.

"I mean it. I'm proud of you, Julius!" Robin added further as small attempt to break the silence once more and shake any potential emotions trying to find their way into her heart. Instead of a reply Julius simply slumped on his knees, much like a tired puppet with loosen strings and planted his forehead on her shoulder. Robin turned stiff as a statue. That certainly wasn't an expected turn of events. Carefully she moved her arms to give him a careful pat which gradually became a hug. Goodness, this… escalated quickly, she thought. Julius couldn't utter more words. Rather he basked in the sensation of his own body for as brief as this was going to last. He wanted to enjoy the moment - he wasn't sure if he'd ever get another. But the smell of flowers in her dress, her hair, the gentle hold on him - yes he… he would get another. He would fight to get another moment such as this.

Autor Note: Do not blame me for this idea, blame this!

I can't believe I wrote a fanfic in 2024 about Fire Emblem...

#My writing!? #Fire Emblem Awakening #Fire Emblem Genealogy of The Holy War #Julius #Robin #I can't believe I got bullied into posting this...help meee #Thank you for stopping by though! #I hope you enjoyed this sudden fuzzy idea :D;; #Sometimes the plot bunnies strike and you just have to write it all in one go

[thepenultimateword]

Keep the King

For my song-story writing challenge! This story is based on the song "King" by "The Amazing Devil", which was submitted by @lqmie! I'll be honest, I secretly really wanted this one, so when the randomizer gave it to me I was ecstatic.

Sorry it’s a day late, I’m mad at myself for not meeting the deadline in time when I’m the one who made it, I also meant this to be MUCH longer, but realized I was getting over ambitious , but I hope everyone still enjoys.

***

Chimera ignored the water’s wailing. Phantom hands dragged on the oars while luminescent waves rocking the rowboat to and fro, threatening to leave the vessel stranded and stagnant enough to flip, but she kept her eyes fixed on the shore, lit in a blue, spectral glow that made the shadows of the trees stretch long. 

“Not long now, your highness.”

“You’ll hang for this!” King Idris shouted in return. He looked a bit like trussed bird on the boat’s floor, hair mussed, cheek to the boards, fine bell sleeves crumpled in scarlet tatters behind his back. He’d been a bit scrappier than she’d imagined such a slender, pampered thing to be. She’d barely managed to drag him past the forestline and into the glammer before his guards caught up. Pinning him long enough to tie and blindfold him had been a whole other mess. The scratches on the backs of her hands prickled like stinging nettle.

 “My soldiers are some of the best trackers in the kingdom; they will hunt you down! You’ll be on the noose faster than you can plead mercy, that is if they don’t tear you apart first!”

“Last I saw, your soldiers were having quite the problem with glammer, sooo…” Chimera heaved against an especially violent pull from the lake’s occupants. An oar almost slipped from her paw side, but she managed to sink her claws into the grooves. “Besides, you’re going back soon anyway. Just wait.”

“Take me back now!”

“No can do.” 

King Idris cranked, his cloth-swathed face in her direction. “I’m giving you an order!”

Chimera clicked their tongue in feigned disappointed. “Sorry, not human.”

“What do you want then? Gold? Food? Do you have a grudge on my father?”

“Nope. I only came for you.”

The boat knocked hard against the head of the dock, and Chimera shook off any lingering fingers from the oars. The king yelped as a couple glowing droplets speckled his cheek though they quickly dulled against his skin. 

“The water won’t hurt you, silly.” She scooped up the rope from the floor and leaped over his head to the dock, tethering the boat fast to the post. “It’s what’s in the water that wants to hurt you.”

Idris only had the chance to make a small strangled sound before Chimera grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him up after her.

“Don’t touch me! Monster!”

Chimera dropped him. She probably shouldn’t have. Adler would ask if he had a giant bruise on his face. Besides, this was a king, not only a human king, her king. Or he would be.Of a sort. Anyway, she’d been charged with keeping him safe here, not with dropping him face first on s hard, splintery dock. But…that word. Monster. It made her insides burn, and her hands moved on impulse. 

“Suit yourself.” A quick flick of her knife and both the blindfold and the bonds around his ankles fluttered to the ground. She kept the hands tied for good measure. “I dont care if you walk.”

Idris rolled onto his side and blinked rapdily at his new surroundings. His eyes widened like silver pieces at the Dead Lake, then like saucers at the sight of dark looming trees and the pitch black spaces in between the trunks. She wondered if he caught the dark’s barely perceptible writhing? Like something alive. But the biggest reaction came when he looked at Chimera. His pale eyes became like twin moons. He’d called her monster based off a glimpse, she must seem truly inhuman now. She was a sight, alright, even among other fae. A lion paw on the top, a goat leg on the bottom, a tufted tail in between. Plus one devilish horn.

“We’re going up there.” Chimera pointed up the cliff face to the rickety house at the top; blessedly, the king’s gaze followed. “I really wouldn’t recommend running off. Especially not at night. The lake will drown you and the wood will eat you.”

Idris leaned his forehead against the planks and slowly shoved himself up onto his knees. He glared up at her. “My soldiers are coming.”

Chimera shrugged. “Then let’s wait for them inside.” She hooked her claws into the knot of his bonds and yanked him upright. “Come on.”

Maybe Idris realized the stupidity of staying out on this rock because he walked forward without argument. Every once in a while his muscles went rigid like he wanted to bolt or jump or turn on her, and Chimera prodded him in the back with the hilt of her knife, but halfway up he was wheezing to much for defiance. By the time they reached the top of the cliff’s stone steps, he seemed to be choking on his own breath.

"Hey." Chimera slapped him a couple times on the back, but it only sent him into a fit of coughing. "Hey, hey, hey."

She pulled him to the dining table and rushed to fill one of their wooden cups with cold tea from the kettle. She only remembered his bound hands as she held out the cup.

"Right." She moved the cup up to his mouth. He drew his lips together into a tight line, though a few spluttering coughs broke threw, sending ripples across the drink's surface. "It's just honey and blackberry. The normal kind. Not fae food. On my honor."

Idris slowly loosened his mouth and took a tentative drag. HIs face unwrinkled a fraction.

After a couple sips, Chimera placed the cup on the table and crouched behind the king to cut ropes on his wrists. He slowly drew his arms in front of himself, flexing his hands and wrists a couple times before folding them in his lap, the shredded ends of his sleeves swathing his knuckles less elegantly than this morning.

"Did they ever make you do anything in that castle?" Chimera said before she could think better of it.

"I tire out easily," Idris snapped with the defensiveness of one already hyperaware of his own limitations and others' thoughts on the matter. "I always have. There are more important things than traipsing up mountains and hitting people with swords."

Maybe so. As far as she knew King Hyacinthe didn't do much of either. News from the deep wood only brought word of sweet torture and cruel revelries, the fae court's specialties.

"Do you want something to eat?" Chimera said.

Idris went even stiffer than he already was. "Why?"

"Becaaaause we've been traveling since this morning?"

"When you kidnapped me?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it kidnapping." Chimera plopped into the seat next to him.

"Oh? Pray tell then. What would you call it?"

"A temporary retrieval. It's not like I just snatched you to snatch you; we've been expecting you, see?" She motioned to the thick pile of skins in the corner. "That's your bed there in the corner. And there is food for 3 stockpiled in the cellar. We even scrounged you up some clothes for the stay."

"Oh, how magnanimous, that fixes absolutely everything because what I've really been concerned about is what I'm going to wear."

"Well, obviously I couldn't come to you, so I was sent to bring you here."

Idris stared at her incredulously. "Sent? By who?"

"King Hyacinthe." Idris continued to stare. No recognition. "The king. The other king. Fae king. My brother and I were specifically assigned. It's a very important job, you know, and not easily acquired."

Idris held up his hands, trembling a little with the rising register of his voice. "Job? Assigned? Is this a political abduction? Are the fae planning a siege on my kingdom? Are there going to be peace negotiations?"

So he didn't know. Chimera had wondered. When a changeling was planted as an infant it often wouldn't know its true identity. But usually, they figured it out. There were only so many unexplainable things that could happen--accidental glammering, elemental phenomenons, new appendages--before someone took notice. But Idris...the way he spoke. It was like a human.

"No, nothing like that," Chimera said.

The human kingdom was already covered 25 years ago. Time for him to know.

"This is an individual issue. You're late."

Idris furrowed his brow.

"You should have manifested years ago, maybe it's best that you didn't, but now you're king. And obviously, you've been doing an awful job on your own, so if you're ever going to change, you're going to need a mentor."

Idris folded his hands tightly together and rolled back his shoulders, staring Chimera down with a cold regality that couldn’t counterfeited. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chimera’s stomach dropped a little. She’d known their situations weren’t the same, but she’d still stupidly thought… Nevermind. None of this was about her. Alder would be depending on her to get their plans in motion.

"Haven’t you felt anything? It's like an itch. An itch so bad you want to claw out of your own skin.”

“I don’t have dealings with magic or magic folk. I have nothing to do with your witchcraft.”

Chimera snorted. “You might want to bend that person ideal.”

“I do not and will not. I demand an immediate explanation of the fae monarchy’s intentions for my kingdom and myself. I will not be cooperating until you do so.”

How did such a pale, and fragile thing pull off such commanding airs? Like he shrugged away his very body and exposed the core of his being. Well, she had to say it straight out sooner or later.

She took a deep breath and then locked eyes with the changeling king. “King Idris, the entire fae court, has been waiting for your ascension. Because only you, a changling raised as human royalty and crowned their king, can make the human kingdom ours.”

#fantasy #fantasci #pen's song-story writing challenge extravaganza #creative writing #short story #fiction #songs and words #songsandwords #fantasci writing #fantasy writing #fae #changeling #monster #royalty #I can't believe I missed the deadline for my own challenge #I just am such a procrastinator #and then i got busy #and then i fell asleep while writing trying to get it done on time #and so now I've spent all day working on it #but the words were not coming out as smoothly as the story is in my head #I've literally had this idea planned for over a week