#liven up those curls

[sidsthekid]

swoosh swoosh fluff fluff

#yeah thats it #liven up those curls #those beautiful lil black curls #sidney crosby #nhl #hockey #just a kid

[buckyarchives]

Day After Tomorrow

pairing: bucky barnes x sick!neighbor!reader

summary: enhanced hearing is both a blessing and a curse. eavesdropping, loud music, footsteps and when your sweet neighbor has been coughing her pretty head off all day.

author note: i’m sick and binging twilight so blame that for this being created.

w.c: 3.6k

The last time Bucky remembers living on his own was – well never. Romanian doesn't really count in his mind because he definitely was not mentally aware then, not himself, on autopilot, whatever you want to say. Even before hydra and before the army, it was him living under his mom's roof and then a small apartment with Steve before he got shipped off to sleep like sardines in camps.

Then we all know what happened next. Pretty much getting coddled by Captain America, on a leash by the government, or asleep in a cryo chamber in princess Shuri’s lab.

So when Bucky finally got snapped back, a pardon on behalf of Steve Rogers – before he quite literally abandoned him. Sam was there at least, Sam didn't make him feel shitty for not being the old Bucky because Sam first met him when he was literally trying to shoot him in the head. So you can only go up from here.

Sam helped him find an apartment, Brooklyn was the only requirement, and he delivered. They went to IKEA, which is amazing by the way. Bucky thinks it's the best thing to come from the continent of Europe. They bought the necessities, a couch, a bed (it's been 6 months and bucky still hasn't touched it but doesn’t matter), a coffee pot, and one plant. It was a succulent and apparently impossible to kill, Sam said it would liven up his apartment. But it was hard to do that when his curtains were always shut.

The best thing about the apartment complex was it was mostly filled with old people, Bucky got along with old people well. And they were all pretty quiet and nice. There were a few other college students that lived there. Bucky heard they were all medical students and probably picked the cheapest place to live close enough to campus. Their music was loud sometimes and they stayed up late but minded their business for the most part.

Then there was the girl across the hall. He only saw you a few times, the first time he thought you were one of those beautiful girls he'd see in the magazines they smuggled on camp. You left your apartment at the same time as Bucky did, you had a bag slung over your shoulder like you were going to work or school. Bucky watches you intently, Sam would probably call him creepy for staring, but Bucky couldn't shake the fact you were the most beautiful woman he's seen.

And as you turned and gave him a small pursed smile, Bucky tugged his sleeve down. A habit from his anxieties, also the paranoia that everyone knew. “You just moved in?” you asked him, Bucky wasn't expecting a conversation now. But that was part of being a functioning human, so he gulped down the lump in his throat and curled into himself. Making him as small and less intimidating as possible.

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded, god this was awkward but he couldn’t even fathom anything else to say to you. He was horrible at this.

But you were a godsend of a human and gave him the warmest smile, “I'm surprised more people haven't moved in since everyone came back. We’re you– uh, blipped? Is that what people are calling it?”

Bucky wanted to smile, but it just didn’t translate from his brain to his body and he was scared it would look creepy. “Yeah, I was blipped. Were you?”

“No, I wasn't. But I’m sorry that happened to you, if you need any help re-adjusting I’m right here.” you offered, gesturing to your door. Bucky sucked in a hard breath, it was weird being offered help. Weirder for a total stranger to pity him for what happened, if only you knew the full picture. It didn’t stop from pulling at his heartstrings as he stood absolutely dumbfounded in front of you.

You weren't scared off though, despite how utterly awkward and creepy Bucky felt standing in there, shifting on his feet and not responding. He had to rack his brain for the words of gratitude.

“Thank you.” he choked out, and you just fucking smiled again and Bucky felt like he was going to cry. “And I'm uh- I’m James, by the way.”

“Y/N, Don't be a stranger,” you said, before bidding him goodbye and waving him off as you disappeared down the stairs.

Bucky probably stood there for another minute or two just kicking himself for how horrible he was at talking to girls.

Bucky only saw you a few more times after that, some stuck out for than others.

It was way too late to be up, but Bucky was practically nocturnal at this point, a fucking vampire that winced when Sam barged into his apartment to pull back the blinds so he’d get an ounce of vitamin D.

Bucky had a basket of all blacks on his hip, the complex has a laundry room since none of the apartments had one. You would put money in a little machine and it would give coins you could only use on another machine, not to mention they got jammed half the time and stole your money. Bucky thought it was stupid.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs. The familiar head of hair threw clothes into the dryer and slotted the coins into the machine, they didn’t get jammed. Bucky tried to ignore your presence, maybe it would have been more polite to greet you.

Throwing his clothes in the machine and followed the usual routine, except Bucky heard the coins trickle down and get stuck. Fuck. Bucky pressed the button with his gloved hand, mostly out of frustration. Nothing happened.

“Hey, let me.” a soft voice spoke from behind him, a light pressure on his shoulder as you touched him. Bucky tensed at the touch, you didn't notice but Bucky moved away from you. “These old things barely work anymore, you just got to give them some tough love.”

Bucky just watched as you banged on the machine, if Bucky did this he might have broken it. He heard the metal clink down and you pushed the start cycle and it began to work just fine.

“That's easy, huh? Lost probably a total of 10 dollars and I just needed to punch it.”

You laughed and it felt like heaven in his chest, “you just have to outsmart the machine.” you snarked, lifting yourself onto one of the vacant machines and waiting for your cycle to be done. You wore a small shirt and a small pair of sleep shorts. Bucky felt hot by the amount of skin you were showing. Fuck, what was he? 16 again?

“I’ve had a lot of doing that recently.” Bucky said, almost murmuring to himself but you listened.

“I bet, catching up on what? 90 years of technology – must be hard,” you said so plainly like it didn't make Bucky’s head stop. Popping his head up with a panicked face.

You did know… and you didn't run. Weird.

“You know me?”

You swung your feet innocently, a small grin on your face as you pushed your hair away from your face. Cute. “James, I had to do a paper on the howling commandos in middle school.”

“Really?” he asked, genuinely surprised. He sometimes forgets he’s famous for other reasons than being a world-renowned assassin.

“Yeah, and I keep hearing the two girls that live down on floor 2 gossiping about you.”

Bucky’s face dropped. “Gossip, huh? Bad or good.”

Probably bad, it’s always bad.

You bit your cheek, wondering if you should lie and spare him the horrid memories. “Mostly they were devising a plan to get the falcon– caps number from you. They also think you look like James Dean.”

Bucky knew James Dean. Pop culture wise he started in the 50s, so he knew him enough.

“I think that's the best compliment I've ever gotten,” Bucky said, a slight quirk on his lips. You hadn't realized how blue his eyes were until you started to get trapped in them, only being ripped away when the ding of the machine made you flinch.

“Well, I’ll make sure to relay your gratitude,” you said, throwing the rest of your clothes into the hamper.

Bucky wanted so painfully for you to linger and wait till his cycle was done, to talk to him about your day so he could know more about the mysterious, beautiful girl across the hall. Maybe you could walk back together, Bucky would offer to carry your basket because he does still remember to be a gentleman.

Maybe Bucky was just grasping onto the thought of not being alone.

but you smiled at him so warmly, waved, and turned your back but god- he just wanted to keep you in place. to stay. He wasn’t sure what came over him but he felt empty when you left. so weird.

Bucky finished his laundry in silence and made sure to lightly (light for him) bang on the dryer after he put the coins in.

it surprisingly didn’t take long for you to run into him again, in the lobby. laundry room, again. the halls and weirdly, he saw you ordering an iced americano at the coffee shop across the street.

you two became… acquaintances. That's how Bucky would describe it.

Bucky was not a creep, or a stalker. He was just caring and very curious. it was also kinda unavoidable with his super soldier hearing, but he heard everything. He's pretty much got a pretty good idea of your music taste, always some indie or punk rock playing during the day, softer music during the night. He heard 40s music once and almost went feral trying to hold himself back from knocking on your door.

He heard the television when you watch shows, or when you get into heated conversations with people over the phone (those get very interesting at times). Bucky had heard you having a life crisis as you shoved all your furniture around at 2 am and decorated the walls. He also hears when you have people over, oh how shitty he felt with himself when he realized you had a boy - a date over. jealousy was a newer emotion, maybe it was even envy.

and now as the winter season rolls around and the city gets colder, Bucky sometimes forgot about people getting colds or head flu. serum and all. Recently, Bucky's heard nothing but sneezing and coughing from his next-door neighbor. He was worried, is that creepy?

So much so that he ran down to the local Thai place, and he went there often. They had really good food. Bucky passed the bright red and green lights for Christmas, the snow coated the ground and he gained a few odd looks from passersby at the little amount of clothing he wore.

Bucky Barnes had a plan, you knew he was… enhanced. So the whole hearing you thing wouldn’t be that creepy? maybe. Either way, he was going to “coincidentally bring home leftover food that he will oh-so-graciously let you have while he makes sure you're not dying of a head cold.” because he worries

his hand hovered over the wooden door, a moment contemplating if this was a bad idea. but before he knew it the echoed sound of knocking filled his ears and he heard you padding your feet toward him.

Yeah, you looked horrible. red nose, bedhead, and dark eyes m. you looked incredibly pale too, there looked to be no life in you.

“hey, James!” your voice was raspy but you tried to sound cheery and happy despite how much you felt like dying as you stood up. “what are you doing?”

“I’ve been hearing you cough your head off for the past day, and I brought home some leftovers for you. Can I come in?”

you looked utterly astonished. your eyes glanced up and down and back at the bag of food. Bucky noticed the way you were swaying on your feet and grasping at the door frame. you needed to sit down.

“uh, yeah. I just- I don't want to get you sick.” you worried, but still moved out of the way slightly for Bucky.

“Don’t worry, doll. perks of that serum.” Bucky chuckled, your face relaxed and you showed him to your kitchen.

“Oh, right.”

Bucky followed and set the plastic bag on the counter, going through and grabbing the two containers of soup. He noticed the photos stuck to the fridge, pictures of you with friends and smiling wildly. his heart warmed. Bucky also didn’t miss the messy couch, from the fleece blankets, stray tissues and glass of sprite. you’d been officially camping out there for the last few days.

“Do you want something? tea, water, alcohol if you're in the mood.” Bucky turned around to see you reaching on your tippy toes for the cups. He jumped to grab it out of your hands and push you away.

“Hey, you’re sick. go sit down.” Bucky said, you frowned slightly.

“I don't want to be rude,” you whine.

“you’re not rude, you're sick.” Bucky pressed his hands to your shoulder and sat you down on the island's barstool.

“The lady at the Thai place said this could help with a head cold.” Bucky explained, pushing the soup towards you. He found the silverware drawer on his third guess. “supposably it’s jacked up on chili peppers and ginger, so it’s spicy.”

your hand shakes slightly as you bring it to your lips, “mhmm, good. you try.”

“no, it’s for you.”

“James, grab a spoon and try it,” you state, sliding the bowl over to the brunette.

Reluctantly, Bucky takes another spoon and brings the liquid to his lips. you laugh loudly at his reaction, he winced as the soup goes down his throat. coughing wildly at the spice.

“It’s not that bad!”

Bucky speaks through coughs, “I don't like spice.”

“more like can’t handle it obviously.” you snark, snatching the bowl back from him.

“poor kids in the 40s didn’t have much more than salt and pepper, doll.” Bucky says as if it's the most obvious thing ever. but it was hard to remember when he still looked like an attractive 30-something-year-old. You chuckle under your breath.

“Well, it’s time to build up to your tolerance, Barnes.” you bring the spoon up to his lips, and Bucky flushes a light pink. he hopes - prays that you think it’s just from the chili pepper.

Bucky shakes his head, “I'm not a masochist, eat your food. I spend the army’s good money on that.”

you smile at the light jab, letting the liquid run down your throat. a satisfied hum leaves you, Bucky makes a mental note to get you the dish again.

Bucky let you eat in peace, finding his way around your kitchen after having to reject your offer second to host him, again. he found the tea bags and kettle and started boiling water, as his hand grasped around the handle to pour the water into a “Ohio is for lovers” cup Bucky was hit with a weird distant yet familiar feeling. the feeling of normalcy and comfort he’s so avoided for decades.

it was the closest thing to how he felt in Wakanda, but better. because he was a charity case in Wakanda, this was normal. in a small New York apartment, caring for a sick girl by feeding her Thai food.

Bucky had to snap himself out of it before you started to get creeped by him staring daggers into your tea. his eyes shot up to you, your hand massaging your shoulder with a twisted face.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. just a knot in my shoulder from playing dead on the couch.” you laugh and wave it off, but bucky’s already rounding the island towards you. He motions to your right shoulder, tapping at your fingers where they dig into your skin. “oh no, it’s okay.”

“Just let me. I used to have to get the knots out of a young pre-serum Captain America once." Bucky says, digging his thumb into your shoulder. you instantly tense, Bucky lets off the pressure as you relax into him. slowly building it up. “Little punk had horrible posture, he’d sit on this bench in bridge park and just draw for hours while I did laps.”

Bucky laughs to himself in reference to the distant memory, he left out the part where he hid the fact he was exercising for the army — and hiding it from Steve. you smile warmly with him, “I can't imagine the shock of seeing your 5 '4 childhood best friends look like — like, uhh.”

“like Captain America?”

“yeah, like Captain America.”

Bucky hums, “well, I first saw him like that when he rescued me from the POW camp. was jacked up on hydra drugs and thought I was hallucinating,”

a soft mewl comes from your lips as Bucky gets his thumb around the knot in your shoulder, your head falls down onto his chest lightly and another moan leaves you. Bucky tugged at his bottom lip as he glanced down at you, gulping down his nerves and having to physically tear his eyes from you before he started to get the wrong idea.

too late though. you made a soft noise again and Bucky thought about what it would feel like to have you make more of these noises, but with Bucky's hands elsewhere. anywhere else.

“There, you got it. thank you.” you breathed a harsh breath and push away the half-empty soup.

“done?” Bucky pushed himself away from you.

“mhm.”

Bucky feels a weird sense of deja vu while taking care of you, it’s nice - deja vu - it means he remembers. remembers taking care of Steve like this. Bucky puts the dishes away, he’ll offer to clean them later. you're sipping at the tea he made, bucky's eyes glance to the living room. the television was paused in the middle of a movie, and your shoulder began to sag again.

“What movie were you watching?” Bucky asks.

“uhh,” you smile shyly, glancing from the screen to Bucky. “Twilight.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, showing no recognition of the name. Once again you forget you’re technically talking to a 100-year-old man that probably was too busy being brainwashed to watch Twilight at the peak of its fame.

“oh! it’s some stupid vampire-werewolf movie, it was really popular like 10-15 years ago. kind of iconic.” you laugh quietly.

“perfect. you need rest and I need to catch up on the 20th century, yeah?”

-

“Where the hell have you been, loca?” you whisper under your breath, laughing to yourself at the stupid line.

Your head lay comfortably on the armrest of your couch, Bucky sat across from you and was currently being used as a footrest. He took the position proudly and traced circles into your calves, you tried to ignore the blush and goosebumps on your skin when he did.

“do you know every line?”

“My niece was obsessed with these movies when she was little, every weekend we had to rewatch one of them.” you scoff, “so yeah, kind of.”

Bucky snorts, scrunching his face up when Jacob shrugs off his t-shirt. “Also, why doesn't Bella just get over Edward and get with Jacob?”

The only women Bucky has genuinely feared in his life were his mother, Steve’s mother, and Natasha. you were suddenly added to the list when your gaze turned to him, mouth gaped open lightly as you looked at Bucky as if you were going to kill him.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks innocently.

“Please don’t tell me you’re team Jacob.”

“Team Jacob?” Bucky wears his confused face again.

“Team Jacob and Team Edward. Which one are you on?” your eyes shoot daggers at him as he scrambles for an answer.

“I think Jacob.”

you open your mouth wide to argue, explain that their entire relationship dynamic and why Bucky is wrong. but you don’t, you just give him a death glare and slowly gaze back to the television. “you’ll change your mind.”

Bucky smiles. He thinks you’re cute, too cute. “Okay, who would you date?”

without skipping a beat. “easy. Carlisle.”

“Really?”

“mhm, but Jacob with the long hair is really hot.” you smile, “shame he cut it.”

“So you like a guy with long hair?” Bucky teases, ready to exaggeratedly brush his hair behind his ears to tease you more. then remembering he cut it. shame.

“Maybe,” you smile. “didn’t you have long hair?”

“used to.”

you look at him intently, like you were imagining him with the grown-out brunette hair. other than the fleet pictures and videos you saw of him on the news back in 2014, when he wore a dark mask and even darker eye makeup.

you hum contently, like the image pleased you. “You should grow it out again.”

Bucky felt dizzy when his eyes met yours, he couldn’t pull away even if he tried. “maybe.”

nodding, you were content with that answer and gazed back to the screen. by the end of the movie you were dead and passed out and those plans to get him caught up on Twilight would have to resume later.

Bucky thought for a moment. If the first person he grows a normal, non-superhero, 21st-century relationship with was you. He'd be happy ending up here, not grief and trauma filled with Steve leaving and what hydra did. no — maybe, grateful even if it was just moments like this with you.

Gently, Bucky laid another fleece blanket over you and did your dishes, put away the leftovers, and turned the screen off. it was weirdly domestic, it warmed his chest.

if Bucky wanted to be hopeful for once, maybe he would try for something more than just neighbors or acquaintances.

-

feedback and notes make the world go round, thank you for reading <3

tag list: @ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief @silverfire475

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fic #sebastian stan #bucky fluff #bucky x female reader

[luveline]

hi jade! i really loved ur steve drabble where he comforts reader when she's insecure about her appearance. would you write something similar with eddie? i don't mean to bother, thank u for all your wonderful writing <3

thank you lovely!! fem!reader

Eddie takes your hip into his hand as he passes behind you, the snug bathroom an excuse to touch. You don't mind, really, even as the lip balm you're using jolts down onto your chin. 

"Sorry," he says. He's not murmuring, but his voice has an understated sleepy quality to it that you adore. "Just gonna open the window." 

You've finished washing up for the night, steam from the shower clinging to the walls, the shower head dripping with run off. Your bathroom is a rectangle that can barely fit the two of you together, but it's yours, so it's perfect. 

Eddie pushes the window out off the latch to let in the mild summer air. The room immediately cools. Satisfied, he takes a big breath and turns to you with a content smile. "You smell good enough to eat," he praises, putting his hand behind your back. 

You cap your lip balm and brace yourself on the sink. In the mirror, it's easy to watch him watch you. Your face, lined with unhappiness, and his, so, so devoted it makes you feel poorly. 

"What's wrong?" he asks, moving in closer still. His bicep curls behind your back, his wrist hanging over your shoulder. He noses under your ear gently, propping a quick kiss there like he's going to pick it up again. "You look kind of sad." 

He says it like it's a tragedy in the making. 

Your attempt of a smile melds into a grimace as you direct your gaze down to the empty sink, porcelain shining with water. A tiny dollop of toothpaste clings to the drain. You turn on the hot tap. 

Eddie turns it off. "Hey," he murmurs, dragging it out, "tell me." 

"I think I'm having one of those days where I feel really ugly," you confess. 

"You're just as pretty as you were yesterday. As you are everyday." His face inches closer to yours. He speaks with all the intonation of someone telling a secret, "I'd say you were prettier, actually." 

"I don't know. I look weird, sometimes. I think I look one way and then I see myself in the mirror and I look different." 

Eddie's hand pets your upper arm, half a hug. "Can I give you a kiss?" he asks. 

You sigh and turn toward him, tipping your head back. 

He laughs. "Don't seem so reluctant!" he chides, bringing a hand to your cheek. With a gentleness that evidences how deeply he loves you, he strokes your cheek. Like you're fragile as a strand of silk, or precious as carved alabaster. 

"You don't think I'm ugly?" you ask. Perhaps desperately. 

Eddie meets your eyes. When he closes his, you close yours. "No," he says, pressing a mindless kiss to your lips, the kind he gives when you're both nearly sleeping, or barely awake. It livens, but before it can deepen, he pulls away to continue, "You're not ugly. I think you're the," —pause for a kiss, like he just can't wait— "prettiest girl in the world." 

The hand that isn't holding your face meanders across your lower back, fingertips teasing the hem of your t-shirt. He can't not do what he wants to do once he's thought about it, pushing his hand under your shirt to explore your naked back. He pulls you in close, your hips against the sink, his socked foot sliding between yours.

He kisses you slowly, time stretching and condensing at once. It could be five seconds, or it could be thirty. A kiss to say everything you're worried about is simply worry —it's as good an answer as you could want. 

Until he breaks away, and he says, "You're fucking stellar, I need you to know that. Head to toe. Can't believe you'd think any different, but what do I know about it? I only spend the large majority of my waking hours wishing I could climb into your skin." 

Your laugh catches in your throat. "You ruined it." 

"I look at you more than anything else," he says, amending his creepy finish. He turns your face gently, back and forth, his irises a melty shade of brown where they follow your growing smile. "So I'm the expert. You're beautiful, sweetheart. Don't think otherwise." 

"Or you'll crawl into my skin?" you tease, spirits lifted. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. "Ew, no. Why would you think that?" 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and laugh into his collar. He hugs you back enthusiastically. "Think there's enough room in there for me?" he whispers. "I wanna know what it's like to be that pretty." 

You shake your head. "No, sorry." 

"Bummer. Well, let me know if there's ever a vacancy." 

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Rocking The Boat - Tom Bennett

He's such a chaotic douchebag...I love him (could i come up with a more cringey title lmao)

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), slight misogyny, war wounds, inaccurate WWII terms, smoking (ew, but he makes it look hot), angst, enemies(?) to lovers, pining, Tom being a menace to society (and insecure), fingering, unprotected sex (no rubbers on a battleship, I'm afraid)

(caught in) 4K Words🤙🏻

~~~~~~~~~~

Being the only female on a heavy cruiser of hundreds of men, it had its hardships.

Your parents begged you not to join the Navy, but you couldn’t just sit at home doing nothing while the Nazis killed and tortured their way through Europe. You had to do something. 

Of course there wasn’t much you could do on the front lines being a woman and all, but you could help heal any man that was on your side of the war. That’s how you ended up on the Exeter as a nurse, Lord knows they needed as many as they could get.

It was strange being ogled and desired by all the men, but you knew they must have not seen a woman in a long time. You found that some men would even get injured on purpose just to see you, some you even had to beat off with a stick like a rabid dog. And there were times you regretted your decision, but you felt it would be worth it in the long run. You finally felt like you had a purpose and you felt good knowing you were on the right side of the war. But the one thing, well, person, that really got on your nerves was Tom.

Tom was different, in a way that he managed to get on your nerves more than others. Somehow. Just something about his attitude and how he went about his life on the ship. It’s like he didn’t even want to be there, just wanting to stir up trouble. He picked so many fights, he was actually one of the first to come to see you for that exact reason when you boarded the ship.

He seemed shocked to see a woman on the ship, but also intrigued. Mostly intrigued.

He had a busted lip and bloody knuckles and you had a hard time keeping in your disapproval for the infighting. “Problem, miss?” Tom spoke up, a smirk already playing at his lips as he watched you clean up his wounds intently.

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes. “No problem here, sir. Just find it a bit counterproductive to pick a fight with someone on the same side as you.”

“Counterproductive.” He scoffed, curling his top lip in a sneer. “Then maybe that bloke should’ve kept his mouth shut about my canary.”

“You picked a fight just because of a bird?”

“Maybe.”

After that day, Tom kept coming back, not even because of the fights sometimes. Most of the time he liked to see what you were up to, knowing damn well you were always busy helping other sailors with their injuries or illnesses. He didn’t care about that, he only wanted to distract and annoy you. And it almost always worked. Maybe it was because you were a woman and he saw you as an easy target, someone to toy with other than his fellow sailors. There were more than a few times he had you flustered, and it bothered you to no end, mostly because he was actually affecting you.

“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this, hm?” Tom teased, leaning against the counter you were working at.

You shrugged. “Just doing my part, like the rest of you.”

“My sister went off to sing for the men, to liven their spirits and the like. What about you? You gonna liven up my spirits too? Although, you don’t necessarily have to sing to do that.” He smirked, but that only made you scoff, attempting to fight off an oncoming blush to your cheeks.

“Your charm won’t work on me, Mr. Bennett.”

He smiled, almost genuinely. “Oh, so you think I’m charming?”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you know damn well that you are.”

It was like this almost everyday, always around the same time. He must’ve been on a break or something at those times because it was like clockwork. You started to get excited whenever that specific time came around because you knew that meant that handsome bastard would be coming to annoy you in his special way. It gave you something to think about other than gruesome wounds you had to treat sometimes, or the fact that there was always a possibility that you could die. 

But just before you could get in your own head about that, in the corner of your eye, you saw Tom leaning against the doorframe to your nurse’s office. “You just going to stand there all day, sailor?” You teased as you cleaned some of your equipment.

Tom shrugged with a smirk, smoking a cigarette as he watched you. “I wish. I’ve got a nice view.”

“Thank you for your prompt visit, Mr. Bennett. Now leave me be, I have to make sure I’m not distracted whenever another sailor comes in.”

“You do know that some of the men are getting hurt on purpose just to see you, right?”

“Maybe.”  He hummed in disapproval, but you only smirked. “It’s not like you don’t do the exact same thing, Mr. Bennett. You are an arsehole but I never took you for a hypocrite.”

Tom scowled. “Yeah, well, I’m not like any one of these bastards. They think they actually have a chance with you when they clearly don’t.”

“Oh, and you think you do?” You cross your arms with a scowl resembling his.

“I know I do.” He replied, making you scoff in annoyance. “I see the way you look at me. How you look me up and down, how you can barely keep eye contact with me.” You freeze in place when Tom takes a few steps closer to you, feeling his body heat radiate off of him and onto you. “How your body tenses up when I get close.” You quickly look away from him with a frown, but he places his fingers underneath your chin and gently forces you to look back at him. “There’s no need to feel ashamed, miss. Your body knows what it wants…what it needs.” You allow your eyes to slowly shut as Tom leans in, feeling his breath on your lips. “See how your body responds to me when I’m not even doing anything?” He chuckled lowly.

You lightly gasped as Tom pulled away suddenly, the warmth of his body and hands leaving too soon. “What?”

Tom smirked proudly as he went to walk out of your office. “Have to go perform my sailor duties, miss.” He said with a wink.

You exhaled shakily as you were left entirely flustered, a deep scowl coming to your face as he did that to you and just left like that. He was only toying with you, that bastard. Ha, well, you’re not likely to fall for that again. No way.

Turns out, you didn’t have to worry about Tom flustering you again because after that day, you never saw him. He was avoiding you, for some reason. You didn’t think you would ever understand him. He was sending you so many mixed signals and it was confusing the hell out of you. You did find him incredibly attractive, but his personality left something to be desired. You didn’t think you could actually be with a person like him, but you couldn’t possibly know what the future held.

It was only a week later before Tom visited you again. It was at a late hour, when most of the crew would be asleep. But you were up late, studying a book of rare illnesses just in case, you always found you’d rather be safe than sorry. You were so buried in the pages you didn’t even notice Tom staring at you, the smell of his cigarette alerting you that you weren’t alone. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, Mr. Bennett?” You asked, only glancing up at him for half a second.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He entered your office, closing the door behind him, taking a seat on your desk.

“Do you have an injury that needs tending to, Mr. Bennett?”

“No.”

“Then would you kindly leave my office?” You stood up from your seat, marking your place in the book and putting it back on a shelf behind you.

You could hear the man let out a short chuckle from behind you. “Giving me the cold shoulder, eh?”

You frowned as you turned back around to face him, the sight of him resting one leg on your desk with flicking his cigarette ash in a pile on your once clean table surface irking you. “If my memory serves me correctly, it’s you who’s been giving me cold shoulders this past week?” You snarked, but that only made him smirk, which annoyed you even further.

“Been keeping track, have ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “I suggest you leave, Mr. Bennett. Sleep. You need your rest. Who knows, maybe we’ll be bombed tomorrow and you’ll be too sleepy to defend yourself.”

“That a threat, miss?”

“Like I said, just a suggestion. Nothing more.”

Tom put out the end of his cigarette on the desk, standing up and stepping closer to you as you stepped back, only to find yourself against the wall with nowhere to go. He looked you up and down with his signature smirk. “So, it’s not an order then?” You flinched when Tom ran his pointer finger along your jawline, his expression softening slightly. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Not unless you ask.” You exhaled shakily as he gently lifted up your chin, his breath on your lips making your eyelids droop. “Just say the word, and I’ll go.”

“Is that what you want?” You whispered. “To run away, like last time? You gonna run away from me, Tom?”

Tom’s expression hardened at your words before closing the gap between each other's lips, kissing you rough and hard, not even giving you enough time to gasp at the sudden action. You felt lightheaded and weightless as he pulled you to him by your hips, kissing you with a bruising force that made you wince. He pulled away briefly to look into your eyes, almost hoping to see some semblance of hatred or fear in them, but he only found a dark lust, definitely resembling his.

You were breathless as he turned you around and pushed you up against your desk, helping you sit up on the wooden surface. He drove his knee in between your legs, forcing them apart and promptly maneuvering his hand up your skirt and into your undergarments. You gasped loudly as he found your clit, rubbing harsh circles as he sloppily kissed down your neck. He inserted two of his long fingers inside you as he frantically undid the buttons on your top, almost breaking some off. He roughly tore down your brassiere, groaning at the sight of your breasts finally coming free. You whined and squirmed as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you at a brutal pace, not stopping even when he went to unbutton his trousers, but you helped him with that, almost just as desperate to feel him inside you as he was.

Without warning, he removed his fingers only to immediately replace them with his cock. He filled you to the brim in one fluid motion, the two of you moaning loudly in unison. He rested his forehead against yours, each other’s panting breaths intermingling as he stilled inside you, allowing you a moment to relax before he started thrusting languidly. You could feel every inch of him as he stretched you out, over and over again with each rut of his hips. He kept an intense eye contact with you, studying your face every time he bottomed out, committing to memory every pleasurable facial expression you made any time he hit that special spot inside of you, making sure to angle his hips that way each time.

It was almost too much, the eye contact. You tried to look away briefly a couple times, but he kept you looking at him with a firm grip on your jaw, so firm it was painful. But his cock was making you feel so good you had to focus on the pain to really feel it. “Fuck…” Tom moaned, picking up the pace, the desk squeaking loudly every time he thrusted harshly, all your writing utensils and other miscellaneous items falling over on the floor that you’d have to pick up later. He brought his hand down to rub his thumb on your throbbing clit, his eyebrows furrowing tightly as you moaned his name. “Yeah, that’s it. Keep clenching around me. Soak my cock with that pretty pussy of yours.”

His heavy accented words went straight to your core, adding to the already all-consuming buildup of pleasure in your body. Tears came to your eyes as he sped up his ministrations, his thumb on your clit and his cock pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt. “Oh god, ‘m gonna come.” You whimpered breathlessly, unable to catch your breath, almost feeling like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Tom groaned loudly as he felt you pulse around him, finding your release and digging your nails into his shoulders as you rode it out on his cock. He watched as you arched your back and your head thrown back in pleasure, spasming around him with little to no care for how you might’ve looked in this state of euphoria. This sight is what finally pushed him over the edge along with you, thrusting into you as fast as possible until he pulled out just in time to shoot him cum all over your pussy, watching the milky white liquid dripping down into your wet folds and creating a small puddle underneath you on the desk. It was a fucking Renaissance painting, more beautiful than whatever Da Vinci or Michelangelo could ever paint.

It was a moment of pure exhausted bliss, bathing in the afterglow and feeling like nothing could touch either of you. But that all came to an end once Tom saw the loving smile on your face, leaning forwards to kiss him, but only to be disappointed when he turned his face so you could only kiss his cheek. “Tom?” Your sweet voice seemed to bring him back to the real world. He blinked in shock, quickly avoiding eye contact and stuffing himself back into his pants, making a break for the door before you could say another word, leaving you flustered and confused once again.

What went wrong? Did he think you were bad at sex? You hadn’t gotten any complaints before. Maybe he thought he was bad at sex? But no, he was too arrogant and full of himself to think he was bad at anything. Maybe he was just toying with you as he had done before, but you didn’t think he’d take it that far. You felt empty, not just physically, you had given a piece of yourself to Tom now and he didn’t even seem to appreciate it. He left you with an aching heart and his cum between your legs.

He didn’t know why he did it. His first instinct was to run. That’s what he does now, run away from everything. From his father, his sister, his jail time, his home. Now you. Why must he run from everything in his life? Even from someone as good as you? Maybe that’s why, because you were. Good. And Tom? He knew he didn’t deserve you, but that didn’t make him want you any less. He has always been selfish, he knew that. He was selfish to take you, give you a false sense of hope that he cared for you and wanted you any more than a quick fuck. He didn’t really care for you, right? That’s what he told himself. That’s what he told himself every time he saw you, as you worked or cared for the injured crew with that sweet smile on your face. That’s what he told himself whenever he felt a pang of anger and jealousy whenever you would show any other man attention. That’s what he told himself when he touched himself to the thought of you. That’s what he told himself when he felt the need to hold you in his arms after he ravaged you that night.

Tom briefly saw the hurt look in your eyes as he ran from you, slapping himself once he reached his quarters. Idiot, he told himself, idiot, idiot, idiot. He told you himself that he wasn’t going to hurt you, and yet…

You didn’t talk to him at all after that. You saw him throughout the ship every day, but the look on your face told him to stay the fuck away whenever he made eye contact with you. He wanted to talk to you, but he wasn’t that stupid that he’d willingly go into the lion’s den. Though, he knew he’d have to face your wrath eventually. He thought he’d give it a couple weeks, to let you calm down so you didn’t knee him in the balls, though, he knew he would deserve it. But unfortunately, he was never given that chance.

Everyone on the ship froze as the sirens went off, the lights turning red as they were alerted that their other ships had been sunk by the enemies. They were determined that they weren’t going to be next. Tom saw you run about, gathering your med kit and making sure to go wherever you were needed as all hell broke loose. Your face looked calm, driven. He found himself admiring you in that moment as he felt his chest freeze up in a panic, but beneath the surface you were feeling the exact same thing. You both made eye contact with each other for a second, but that’s all the time that was needed to express to each other what you each wanted to say aloud: Be safe.

Tom tried to focus all his attention on loading the cannons to fire back at the enemy, until a blast shook the entire ship. He heard screams, and felt a sudden heat from above. Tom looked up, and as the ceiling filled with fire, he had one singular thought as he felt the flames travel down quickly: you.

Even when he was knocked out from the blast, the first thought when he came to was about you, if you were okay. Where had you been during the blasts? Were you hurt? Were you dead? He tried not to think about it as he cut off the circulation to one of his fellow crewmates. “We’re gonna need a medic down here, sir!” He shouted up to one of his officers.

“The medics are in worse shape, blown to bits or wishing they were at the moment.”

Tom froze, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Ignoring the howling screams of the man who had lost an arm, he stood up and faced his officer. “What about Miss L/n?” He asked lowly, only to get no response. He scowled, surprisingly himself and his commanding officer as he shoved the man against the wall, getting right up in his face. “What about Y/n?!” He yelled, making the man flinch.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” He pleaded, ripping Tom’s hands away from where they held on tightly to his uniform. He let him, unmoving, frozen in shock and dread. He closed his eyes. Please, don’t be dead…please, don’t be dead…

After he helped the injured he found or anything else he was ordered to do, he quickly made his way down to where the injured people were and he was praying the whole walk there that you’d be there helping other people and not the one being helped. He never saw your dead body, so that was a good sign.

He took a deep breath as he pushed open the door to the injured wing.

A wave of pure relief washed over Tom’s whole body as he saw you resting in a cot, a large bandage over your arm and neck. He could see the faintest burn marks traveling up past the white cloth. You didn’t look well, but you were alive and awake. He almost chose not to disturb you, he was afraid you’d yell at him to leave as soon as you laid eyes on him. But he needed to talk to you, at least once, just to make sure you were okay. Even just to receive your cold shoulder.

“You’ve seen better days.” He teased cautiously as he approached you, also relieved that you didn’t look at him in disgust like you had once before. He could take a breath, finally.

A pang of fear and panic washed over you as you saw him, looking him up and down, wincing at his ash, dust, and blood covered skin. “So have you, sailor.” You smiled weakly, a chuckle escaping your throat before it sent you into a fit of coughs, waving him off as his expression turned into worry. “I’m alright, just some burns. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He hesitated. “I’m…glad.”

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Oh, so you care about me now, huh?”

Tom nodded with a frown, knowing he must’ve deserved that. “I shouldn’t have run away that night. You have every right to be angry with me. I know that. I was just…scared.”

“Scared?” You questioned, and he nodded once more. “Of what? Me?”

“Yes.” He whispered. “And of me. That night, I felt…” He could barely get the words out, it was so foreign to him to be vulnerable. But if he wanted to keep you in any capacity, he’d have to get over himself. “I felt something I’ve never felt before.”

“Coming?” You joked halfheartedly, your chest blooming with warmth as he chuckled in annoyance, showing his adorable crooked smile.

“No.” He huffed in amusement, struggling to keep eye contact with you, your gaze so intense and never wavering from him. “Look, I…” He sighed, “I’m not the type to…fall for someone. That’s not me, that’s never been me, and yet…”

“And yet?” You asked hopefully.

Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna make me say it, are you?” He smiled as you giggled. “I have. I’ve fallen, despite my best efforts. I know I’ve hurt you, and I can’t promise I won’t do it again. I can’t promise to be a good partner, can’t even promise to remember your birthday or bring you flowers every day or anything of the sort, or even to stay alive during this bloody war. But I do want you. I do.” He leaned in close, his lips next to your ear. “And it’s not just because your pussy’s the finest thing I’ve ever felt.” He whispered, causing you to smack his chest as he laughed, happy to see that he could still make you blush like a teenage schoolgirl. “Do you believe me?”

You sighed, causing him to frown, his eyes stared up at you like a kicked puppy. “You did hurt me, Tom. I didn’t understand. And even being hurt…I do.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. “What’re you saying?”

You smirked softly. “You’re gonna make me say it, huh?” You chuckled. “I believe you, Tom. And I do want you. Though, I also can’t promise I’ll be a good partner either.”

Tom smiled as he shook his head. “I’ll have you in any way that I can.” He almost leaned in to kiss you but stopped himself. “I’d absolutely devour you right now but I don’t think everyone here would take too kindly to that. Plus, I want you all to myself.”

“And I’d rather not irritate my burns.” You added, pulling at the ends of the bandage on your arm.

Tom settled beside you, sitting on the edge of your small cot, holding your hand in his. “Well, let’s win this bloody war, and then maybe we can live out the rest of our days on a farm with eleven goats or something.” Tom chuckled, kissing your knuckles.

You giggled. “Yeah, let’s win this war.”

~~~~~~~~~~

i demand more Tom fics pretty please🥺

#world on fire #world on fire bbc #tom bennett #tom bennett imagine #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x fem!reader #tom bennett x f!reader #tom bennett smut #ewan mitchell

[cyxnidx]

Hello! I hope you are doing well. I love your writing <3 If possible can I please request part 2 of “Don’t be shy w Tighnari, Cyno, Scaramouche, and Heizou? And or whoever else you’d like.

Also, can I be🧍anon if you have anons.

DONT BE SHY ! V. 2

Part 1 here

SURRREE omg idk why but this made me genuinely excited. You will now be known as 🧍 anon<3 im glad that you enjoy my work as well :)

characters: tighnari, cyno, scaramouche, and heizou

summary: things they would say to you in the bedroom~

warnings: reader is referred to as ‘mamas’ (cyno), reader is referred to as ‘darling’(tighnari) and that might be it. lmk if i missed anything

a/n: i was literally writing this when i noticed i had 300 followers..what a milestone🥰

TIGHNARI -- “i know, darling. just a little longer.”

tighnari was great with words of affirmation, both romantically and sexually, and he understood very well you needed to take it slow while he entered you. no matter how many times he ruined your hole, he had to put off some eagerness to help you adjust. he smiled so softly, watching as you welcomed his dick with a warm embrace. though, he couldn’t help but notice how you occasionally squirmed and let out a sigh. he felt so bad, but this was probably the best he was going to be able to do for you. “i know, darling.” he said, cupping your cheek as he placed his forehead atop of yours. “just a little longer, k?”

CYNO -- “youre doing so well mamas. i got you.”

you and cyno both had a bunch of favorite positions, one of his being cowgirl. he loved to see you bouncing on top of him, riding him so well. each and every time, he’d be supporting you through your high, watching as a white substance coated his dick. and this was one of those times, you felt so eager to chase after your high, but was ultimately tired. cyno being the supportive lover he was, helped you gain it. “youre doing so well mamas.” he said sweetly, hands gripping your hips as you finally reached the peak of your high, coming down to rest your head on his chest. “i got you.” he sighed, dick twitching in you from the sudden movement, seed filling you in the prettiest of ways.

SCARAMOUCHE -- “there it is. let me see how good i make you feel.”

when youre embarrassed, scaramouche couldn’t help but notice you’d cover your face or try to hide it. even when he told you about the little habit, you curled up in a corner, face buried into your knees. he found it a little cute though, so it wasn’t like he was mad about it. not that he’d tell you. and when you did it in bed? he most definitely loved it. he could never take the habit for granted. he’d purposely place a pillow or blanket near you, so when you’d try to hide he could have the honor of taking it from you. it fulfilled him beautifully. “don’t hide now..” he sighed, watching as you turned your head to the side and buried it in a blanket to hide your face. gently, he pulled it from you, watching tears perk up at the corner of your eyes. “there it is,” he said with a satisfied hum. “let me see how good i make you feel.”

HEIZOU — “mhm, just like that. use me all you want..”

heizou loved being able to be of help to you. he loved the fact he could be of use to his most favorite person. that being said, it made him so happy knowing you’d be willing to use him as much as you could. he didn’t care about overstimulation, or passing out. he was sure he’d have enough energy for whatever you had in mind, and didn’t mind overstimulation one bit. he loved seeing you make use of his dick, grinding and humping just for your own pleasure. every time he’d offer to help, you’d tell you got it yourself. you could handle it, but could he? the question always made him so tempted to thrust into you as hard as he could, having the possibility of sending you to your high. but he doesn’t. he wants to see you struggle. “you got it, baby,” his eyes livened up noticing he was near his limit, and you mightve been as well. “mhm, just like that baby. use me all you want..” he sighed, emptying himself into you, and one thrust later, you came as well.

#☆: 🧍anon #genshin impact #cyxnidx #smut #ask #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact smut #genshin tighnari #genshin cyno #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #shikanoin heizou #heizou x y/n #heizou being heizou #heizou smut #heizou my beloved #heizou imagines #tighnari smut #tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari imagines #cyno #cyno smut #cyno imagines #cyno x reader #cynos hot #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche x reader #cw smut

[roanniom]

Hi new follower here. What if the teens are playing truth or dare and you, the new/er kid, get dared to 7 minutes in heaven with Eddie. (Which may or may not go a lil further ;3 ) Hope this is okay! Love your work Ive legit read it all now lol! <3 keep writing!

Seven Minutes in Heaven - Part 1

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Read Part 2 Here

Warnings: making out and a lil over the clothes touching. You know. The sweet stuff. 

You feel flustered as you look up into the face of Eddie Munson, only dimly lit by the tiny stuttering lightbulb overhead. You're practically chest to chest in this tiny excuse for a closet your new friends had shoved you in mere seconds ago, the time having come for your turn of seven minutes in heaven.

Eddie gazes down at you with a rueful smile.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We don't have to do anything."

"We have to, Eddie. Those are the rules," you argue, shifting from foot to foot. You've been eyeing the attractive metalhead who sits in the back of your English class for the last few weeks, ever since you had the unfortunate luck to become Hawkins High's only spring semester transfer senior. You've spoken a few times and even worked on a project together, but you've been wanting to get to know him more.

Wanting to get to know his lips more.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to do, rules or no rules," he's clarifying, running a hand through his wild hair. You take in the path of his hand and feel a tinge of jealousy. It should be your hand feeling it's way through his curls.

"What if I want to do something," you ask, biting your lip. His eyes go wide and he freezes.

"You...want to?"

"What if I...asked them to pair me with you?"

Eddie blinks at you for a moment Then the small space is filled with his laughter. He has to brace himself against the wall behind you to keep himself stable with the force of his laughs.

"Oh that was a good one. Always need a good joke to liven up a shit party, thanks princess."

Princess.

He'd called you that before, but it makes you melt every single time. You're not used to having to make the first move though. In fact, admitting that you'd begged your new friends to pick Eddie as your partner when it came time for your turn of seven minutes in heaven was the boldest you've ever been. But with the seconds ticking, you feel a surge of panicky confidence rise up in you.

"It's not a joke. I wanted to be in here with you."

Eddie's smile falters and his eyes widen.

"What?"

"Eddie, this confused act is getting old. If you don't want to do anything with me, that's fine, but just say so - ," you begin to huff, hysteria bubbling in your words as it starts to settle in that maybe he's really not interested. He'd always been so sweet and attentive, you hadn't really factored in the possibility that he would be so repulsed by the idea of kissing you that he wouldn't pounce on you in a dark closet like any other horny high school boy.

Then suddenly you find yourself pressed against the wall, a pair of lips hungrily slotting against your own. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head so you're at just the right angle to receive his kiss. Your heart is in your throat as you kiss him back, trying your best not to squeal at the feeling of him initiating in the way you'd always hoped.

When Eddie pulls away to give you a chance to breathe, you pant, noticing that he's propped his forearm against the wall over your head.

Hot.

"You wanted to kiss me, princess?" he asks, his thumb grazing against your bottom lip from where his hand grips your jaw. You nod, silently because what words could possibly form eloquently in your brain in a moment like this. He nods along with you teasingly. "Yeah? Well all you had to do was ask."

His lips press back against yours, tongue sweeping into your mouth to massage your own. You feel yourself swooning at the taste of him. The pressure of his hands as they move from their previous occupation down to grasp the flesh of your hips. The feeling of his hair tickling against your cheeks as it falls in a curtain around you both.

You do your best to keep up with the force of his kiss and make the most of the moment by letting your own hands wander. You start at his firm sides and then slide your palms up to his chest, hard through the fabric of his Metallica t-shirt. When you sweep across the expanse of his shoulders he pulls away and chuckles against your jaw.

"If you keep touching me like that, sweetheart, seven minutes won't be enough."

"It already isn't enough." Your words are suggestive but you kick yourself internally for how shy they sound coming out of your mouth. Eddie, however, doesn't seem to care about the confidence of your tone because he's smiling wolfishly down at you.

"Is the new girl a little bad? I could have sworn you were one of those goody goodies."

On impulse you grab one of his hands and place it on your right breast. He begins squeezing and groping without a second thought and you swallow a moan. Eddie pushes you back against the wall and moves to kiss at your neck.

"Mmm she's bad alright."

~*~

When the seven minutes are up and the door to the closet is open, neither of you really notice at first. It's when the wolf whistles get louder and people start throwing sofa cushions and empty cups at you that realize you should probably break apart.

Eddie steps out into the light first, a massive grin splitting his face, just barely distracting from the already purpling marks that you'd sucked into his throat.

He guides you out by your hand, which is grasped in his own. You look equally disheveled and mussed, but a twin smile lights up your face. Seven minutes wasn't enough, but you'd sure found heaven.

~*~

Read Part 2 Here

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson thots #eddie munson discourse #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader

[obetrolncocktails]

Deception | Josh Kiszka X Reader | Part 1

Warnings: This fic will include angst and smut. If those aren't your thing, don't read! Minors DNI!

Word Count: 2.1K

Authors Note: I had a hurtful, but oh so deliciously angsty idea for a fic involving Josh and a reader who was a fan, and led josh on to believe that they met naturally in a grocery store.

Summary: Be careful what you wish for. Wishes answered always come with consequences.

His sheets smelled of fresh linen, like fresh clothes pulled from a clothesline, crisp with the scent of sunshine. You’d burrowed yourself into them like a cocoon of welcome warmth, wrapping yourself in the swaths of fabric. 

“For someone who claims to be so hot all the time, you sure look like you’re ready to hibernate,” Josh mused, strolling into the bedroom as he sipped from the lip of a large mug. He was prepared, having made you one as well. You offered him a gentle smile. 

“I’m comfy,” you replied, satisfied with the simplicity of your response. 

“Sit up, silly,” He said, lowering himself onto the bed, carefully handing you your piping-hot cup of coffee. Wisps of steam billowed over the top of the mug and you sipped tentatively at the liquid, feeling it instantly liven your body from head to toe. 

“How does it feel to be twenty-six years and three hundred and sixty-four days old?” you asked him, eyeing him from over the lip of the cup. 

“Geez, when you say it like that, you make me sound ancient,” he chuckled. You loved the way his lips curled upward when he grinned, revealing his brilliant, white teeth. The slight gap between his front two teeth always sent flutters through your body. You caught yourself admiring his delicate, but masculine features. “But I’m excited! I never thought I’d end up planning my own birthday party.” He looked at you with amusement. 

“Come on. You mean to tell me you didn’t enjoy designing your own birthday cake?” You said, taking another long swig of your coffee before lowering it to your lap as you crossed your legs. “Only you would choose that symbol.”

His widening grin told you all you needed to know. “Yeah, that was pretty cool.” His eyes glimmered with child-like amusement, which sent a pang through your chest. “I’m just glad that everyone can make it, you know? It’s hard these days to get everyone in one place at the same time.” 

You nodded, reaching to place the cup on the bedside table. “Sam, Danny and I made sure that everyone could make it.” You ruffled your messy hair with your fingertips, watching him finish off his coffee. “We threatened physical violence if they didn’t.” 

“Okay, but who’s the one throwing the punches?” Josh asked, his eyebrows raised with amusement. 

“Who do you think?” You answered, lifting your fists playfully in front of you. “They don’t want it, I promise you.”

“Put your guns away,” He chuckled. “I bet you Jake is gonna be so jealous,” He continued, setting his cup on the side table before moving back to lay on the bed and prop up his head on his hand. His eyes brightened, his cheeks filling with color.

“Of what?” You asked, taking another sip of your coffee. 

“My party.” He said lightly.

“I mean,  you are the more performative of the two, so…” You admitted. He turned to you, scoffing incredulously. 

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” He asked, gawking. He couldn’t hide, though, that his features were fighting the urge to twist into a ridiculous smirk. His eyes seemed to glitter as he questioned you.

“Nothing!” You said, rolling out of bed with your empty coffee cup. 

“No, no! You don’t get off that easy,” Josh said, pulling at the thin fabric of your sleep shorts, pulling you back closer to him. 

“Oh , you want me to say sorry?” You asked him, biting your bottom lip as your eyes glimmered with mischief. 

“I thought maybe you could show me you’re sorry instead,” he said. “Come here.” 

You obeyed him, leaning closer to him. “Yes sir.”

The intensity in his eyes deepened as his fingertips pulled upward to gently caress your chin and jaw, drawing your face forward to meet with his lips. The feeling of his touch ignited the heat between your thighs. Josh’s boyish features could easily morph in the matter of seconds into something almost siren-like—He naturally honed the ability to unconsciously will you to do anything for him with just a look. He harnessed the power to peer straight through your soul like glass, like he could somehow see all of you at once, including your every thought, worry, and desire. At the beginning of the relationship, it had made you feel extremely vulnerable and unguarded, but now? Now, you found comfort in him knowing everything about you. Well, almost everything. There were certain things that you weren’t ready to tell him yet. You’d wait for the right time to come clean. 

You gave in to the gentle caress of his velvet lips and folded your body into an innate dance, moving in an exact mirror to him as he explored you. “You want me to show you just how sorry I am?” You whispered against his parted lips, your voice barely more than a huff of breath as your instincts began to take over. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you against him. You took that as his answer. 

“Go right ahead,” he purred softly. It was moments like these when you’d often felt most vulnerable in front of a man. In most of your previous relationships, you’d been so reluctant to let your partners in, to see the most vulnerable, insecure, and sensitive parts of yourself. You’d built your walls with an impenetrable defense, constructed by so many years of hating your own body more than anyone else could. Recently, it was becoming clearer to you that there was one thing that you knew for sure about Josh. He silently set himself apart from everyone else. Not once had he ever judged you for your appearance; for the extra curves, the extra pounds, the imperfect folds and creases that were so ugly to you, but so perfect to him. Even so, he didn’t feel pity for you, either. He treated you like a person, not the fragile pane of glass you had let yourself become in the hands of so many past partners’ hands. Not a single interaction was laced with unspoken judgment, because the truth was simple. Being fat meant nothing to Josh. 

You remembered those first days when Josh all but begged you to stop apologizing for the things that you couldn’t and shouldn’t change, constantly reminding you that you were a beautiful woman. “You are allowed to take up space in this world. Stop apologizing for abiding in it, Y/n. You have nothing to worry about when you’re with me,” he had said to you after a few dates, when you’d make it a point to apologize or somehow discount your appearance or importance. You couldn’t help it. It had become the safest defense mechanism that you could create; you’d insult yourself before anyone else could beat you to it. 

You let yourself fall after those first few weeks, and unsurprisingly, it was one of the easiest decisions you had ever made. The loop of his fingers around yours began to feel so natural and reassuring. You could count on him to encourage you to try new things, to leave you in stitches from laughing, and at the end of the night, you could rest assured that he’d leave you thinking about him for every moment he wasn’t with you. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, the corners of his lips twitching upward in a curious smile. 

“You,” you answered honestly, reaching forward to tuck some of his curls behind his ear. 

“Oh no,” he answered, his cheeks flushing. “Should I be running for cover?” He asked, pretending to get up. 

“No, no, come back here,” you said, pulling at his arm. You let the moment settle into contented silence as you both let your gaze linger between each other. “Can I tell you something?” 

“Always. What’s up?” Josh asked, moving to caress your arm softly as you prepared to speak. You pulled yourself upward to sit straight on the bed, and he did the same, sitting in front of you.

“You are–” you paused for a moment, figuring out the next words before speaking again. “You are the closest thing I’ve had to a home in a very, very long time, and I think I’m ready.” You both had agreed that sex wasn’t expected in the relationship until you had told him so, and even then, with Josh, you knew that you wanted it to be special when it was time. 

“Ready for?” He asked, his eyes widening slightly. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. 

“I am ready to be with you. I am ready to have sex, if and when you are.” You pulled your gaze upward to look him in the eye. “I want to be yours completely, Josh. You make me feel beautiful, and I think I am beginning to believe it, too.” The words spilled out of you easily, because for the first time, you believed them. 

“You are truly marvelous,” he spoke, straightening to sit cross legged again on the bed. “I am a lucky man, and I gotta say. Thank God we love the same pasta sauce.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as he recounted your first meeting at Kroger. You had been choosing between pasta sauces, and couldn’t decide whether to stay with your tried-and-true selection or try something new. 

“You want this one,” he had said, pointing to the one in your right hand–the one that was your favorite. You looked up, and were automatically struck by his natural beauty–the mixture of feminine and masculine features which were combined in an almost artistic product. You couldn’t look him in the eye, and you certainly couldn’t talk straight. 

“What?” You said after a long moment, yanking yourself out of your daze. “Oh. Yeah, this one? You said, raising the jar in the air. “It’s my favorite. Don’t break it if it isn’t fixed–right?” You decided to keep your mouth shut rather than fix the saying that you had just butchered so badly. Josh laughed, reaching for a jar of his own off of the shelf. 

“Something like that, yeah.” His dimples were huge, and his teeth were so white they almost seemed to sparkle. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. For a moment, you forgot how to swallow, how to talk, how to breathe. How are you real? You remembered thinking to yourself. 

“Sorry, I’m just a little–frazzled. I’m Y/n.” you said, stupidly extending your hand to him. 

“Don’t worry, Y/n. Grocery shopping can really take it out of us,” he said, taking your hand. You were grateful for his skillful segue. “I’m Josh.” 

You nodded. “Nice name,” you told him before mentally kicking yourself in the head. You’d wished you’d worn steel toes, and also that you had crazy flexibility so you could kick yourself across the pasta aisle. God I’m so fucking dumb. 

“I’d say yours is far more lovely,” he said, saving you again, and you couldn’t save the heat from filling your face. You were becoming intensely aware of your insecurities as you felt his eyes float over your body and back up to your face. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, feeling anxiety exploding through your system like a disturbed hornet’s nest. 

“Well, I hope your pasta turns out delicious,” he said. “I can tell you’ve got great taste,” he said, putting the jar in his small hand basket. 

“You too,” you said with a gentle smile. “Only losers eat Prego,” you said with a grin. 

“That’s a bold statement, Y/n. We need to make sure that Campbell’s Soup Company isn’t listening to our every word.” You couldn’t help but snicker, accidentally snorting at the stupid joke. 

“Stupid joke?” he asked, reading your mind. 

“Yeah, I gotta admit. It was a terrible joke,” you said, your cheeks aching painfully from grinning. 

“Ah well, I’m known for them, so,” he shrugged, adjusting his basket in the crook of his elbow. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Y/n. If I see  you next time, maybe we’ll compare ingredients again.” 

“I’m ready for you,” Josh said. “I’ve known it’s you for a while now,” he admitted, reaching forward to take your hands in his. “I want to make it special,” He continued. “Let me make you dinner. You already know what’s on the menu, besides you, of course,” he said with a soft grin. 

“Josh Kiszka’s world famous Spaghetti?” You said, eyeing him with a smirk. 

“You know it!” He said excitedly. “Come here, let me kiss you.” 

You obeyed him instantly, leaning forward into his awaiting embrace, letting yourself be truly loved for the first time. 

You heard a buzz from your phone on the side table, but ignored it. 

You’re a whore for going after the celebrities you write such filthy smut about. I’ve found you, and it’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out about your little secret. Could be fun, don’t you think?

End of part 1.

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[mysteryshoptls]

SR Grim Ceremonial Robe Personal Story: Part 1

"Together like this forever."

Part 1 (Part 2)

[Ramshackle Dorm –  Anniversary Party]

Grim: Maan, that crazy long ceremony's finally over…

Grim: The Headmaster's speech was longer'n usual, bleh. How can he talk that much?

But weren't you sleeping the whole time anyway?

Grim: That's ‘cause I'm not interested in anythin' boring.

Grim: 'Sides, I wasn't the only one sleeping during the Founding Day Ceremony.

Grim: Leona was over there, totally passed out.

Grim: Since he's a Dorm Leader, he had to sit in the special row up at the front, but he still just napped through it…

Grim: And you saw how he ignored it when anyone tried to tell him off, right? So I did way better than him.

Grim: ...And when it came to the Dorm Leader greetings, all he said to everyone was "Glad you all could make it. That is all."

Grim: I know I hate long speeches, but that was waaay too short. I wonder why'd they let him get away with that?

Grim: On the other hand, Vil's speech wasn't too long, and it wasn't too short. It was juuust right. But…

Grim: When he was saying, "This year, we all should strive to not bring shame to our standing as a Night Raven Collect student!" he had that really scary look on his face.

Grim: But all the Pomefiore guys were just star-struck, hanging on to each of Vil's words.

Grim: Like Rook, when Vil finished his speech, he just stood up and applauded.

Grim: Vil looked like he didn't really like it, saying "Don't be so dramatic," but Rook didn't care at all…

Grim: He just threw flowers onto the stage Vil was standing on.

Grim: And maybe he didn't throw flowers for the other Dorm Leaders, but each time, he'd shoutout, "Beauté!"…

Grim: And he just kept going on and on praising them with real big and difficult words. How can he even come up with all those things to say?

He really livened up the ceremony.

Grim: You think…? Rook's a real weird guy.

Grim: Ah. But if we're talking weird, there's Idia, too.

Grim: There was a tablet on his chair, so I thought he wasn't gonna show up, but then…

Grim: Just as the ceremony was about to start, did you see how Ortho was dragging him in? I couldn't stop laughing!

Grim: He was flailing, all, "I don't wanna!" but then Ortho said somethin' to him, and he calmed down after a while.

Grim: Then he curled up on his chair and didn't look up once, but hey, at least he sat up front, I guess.

Grim: …And it looks like he just played a recording for his speech.

Grim: But Ortho just looked so happy, yanno. I was sitting near him, and…

Grim: He'd just keep boasting, saying, "Isn't my brother cool!?" I don't see it!

Grim: Me 'n a few others were snickering about it, and all of a sudden, there was this purple light on Ortho's collar that started to glow…

Grim: Some kinda countdown started, it kinda scared me!

Grim: Everybody else also freaked, so we all said sorry, and it disappeared, but… What was that countdown for, you think?

Might be better to not think about it…

Grim: You're probably right…

Part 1 (Part 2)

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst grim #twst yuu #twst translation #mention: leona #mention: vil #mention: rook #mention: idia #mention: ortho

[crmsnmth]

The Things We Leave Behind

Death is silent. No. Death is cruel. is sadistic. is merciless. is callous. is harsh. is atrocious. is ruthless. is evil. is bitter. is brutal. is uncaring. is wicked. is unkind. No, that's wrong too. Death is the fairest force of nature we got.

Death doesn't discriminate. We all face those boney fingers eventually. Not one human being has proven immortality yet And it'll be a cold day in Hell when we figure that out. With the world on it's collapse, who would want to be immortal? Death knows this, and when it comes, it's best just to take it's hand, and hold tight. The reaper is just the delivery man, your Amazon package has arrived And you can't even remember what it was that you ordered but it's a nice way to liven up a Thursday afternoon.

Death is violent. Violent like a child throwing a tantrum in a Wal-Mart candy aisle Like a bar fight ending in cuffs and broken noses. Like a drunk coming home to beat his dog senseless, secretly wishing the dog would just snap. Suicide is too scary. Let the dog do the dirty work. In comfortable hospital rooms, high on morphine and fentanyl, the violence lingers in the air The same hospital smell of shit, vomit, and cleaning chemicals. Everything has to be sterile for the dying. Make sure his hands are restrained so he can't pull the tube out. He can't speak. He can't speak but he tries, and I never learned how to read lips.

The room is quiet, except for the machine that breathes for him. A constant lung substitutes. A constant beeping pulse. A TV plays an unwatched and forgotten show. What's the point of caring when your never even awake for more than ten minutes at a time. Sweet sleep is the transition into death, and we practice for the big show every single time we close our eyes.

Death is violent. It's violent to the dead, but it's even worse of an abuser to the living. Curled fists, thrown dishes, stab wounds and bullet holes. Death is worse for those still breathing. Grief. Grief is an often-forgotten emotion, only being a little less of a surprise than a prepared for death still happening. The living watch the living transition to empty vessels surrounded by loved ones, at least for a few moments. An hour or two, to say goodbyes. Death hooks your lungs as you try to speak those last words, the last words you'll ever say to your father. I love you, pop. Were they good enough. Death is anxiety. Death is uncertain. Death is questioning. Death is violence.

Death is instant. One minute a word, the next airless lungs. Eyes for second see everything in the room, to fading residuals of light tracers. And we watch. We watch everything deflate one last time.

Death is silent. There is a stillness to the air of the dying. It seems to freeze the very essence of the room. A hospital room. Nobody wants to die in a hospital room. In the never ending beeps that disappear, both in the dying ears, and in the living who now hear nothing in the room but a very high pitched sound. Needles straight to the brain.

Death is violence. Tears break in salt water streams. Sobs stab at the lungs. And a curious pressure squeezes your heart, and the very vessels that your blood is flowing in. Your blood stops. Everything stops. What are you supposed to do after death? What are you supposed to do with the things we leave behind?

The things that get left behind. How do you go through those possessions and divvy them up between loved ones? The things we leave behind seem to hit the hardest. That's death's final shot on the living. The memories that appear out of seemingly no where A song on the radio, now bittersweet instead of sugar A film laughing, and suddenly tears as you hear the laugh of the past A book once read, but now sits unfinished with dog ear pages I still dog ear my books like crazy. A habit I never broke from you. A certain meal, a certain smell, a familiar taste, a familiar room It's amazing the places that ghosts like to appear in And they say hello, in death's final shots just to remind you for one second that death is violent

A life-time gone in a matter of seconds and I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to do with this information. Just store it away and let it build into yet another repressed mental illness because I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. I don't even know how I'm really supposed to feel at this point.

Death is violent. So fucking violent.

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[librosamarillos]

passed down like folk songs

chapter 35: festivities

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

chapter index

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Aenys held Alyssa’s hand tenderly as the maester examined her. He had been a bag of nerves, of anxiety and worry, and it was clearly rubbing off on his wife. He had to be calm, he had to be firm, for her sake, for their children. 

“All is well, your grace. I recommend you avoid any strenuous movement, and lots of rest. If your symptoms worsen, I can make you a blend of tea to help.” the maester explained, as he wrote down the Queen’s progress. He was relieved to hear that his wife was progressing well. Her bump was now more obvious, more defined, and he placed a hand on it gently. Soon they’d be able to feel movement. 

“Thank you, maester.” Alyssa said kindly, squeezing Aenys’ hand back. The maester left them alone, and Alyssa sighed as she leaned back on the bed. 

This pregnancy had been taxing. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through. It was the first time she was pregnant without the safety of his father holding the realm together, where she could be relaxed and calm as just his wife, but now, she was Queen. He always felt guilty when he thought about it all. He wished he was stronger, to provide her with that safety, that calm. 

“What is on your mind, my love?” he asked her softly, as he helped fluff her pillows. He turned around to fetch some water for her, looking for any way to busy himself, to find a moment of calm. Alyssa silently thanked him for the cup and took a sip.

“Just worried about the wedding.” she sighed, her eyes looking up at the ceiling. She looked like she was desperate to escape, to breathe in relief. Aenys understood all the silent worry in her words, as it was only natural for a mother to worry for her children. He gave her a smile, trying to reassure her.

“Things will settle. I know everything is a mess right now, but things will settle. Once they go on their progress-”

“Are you sure about it, Aenys? I mean, they’re still so young, and they’ll be gone for so long, and with things being so unstable-” she took a moment to take a deep breath. “Are you sure the progress cannot wait?” she asked, looking at him with worry in her eyes. He gave her a small reassuring smile once more and caressed her hair, trying to soothe her. 

“Do you remember ours?” he asked, nostalgia painting his voice. He was playing with a small curl of her silver hair, trying to remind her just how lovely a royal progress could be. Theirs was the very first, it was grand and they got to meet their subjects. They were greeted with cheers and adoration, and he was certain that Rhaena and Aegon would be greeted the same way. They were such lovely children, he knew they’d charm everyone they’d meet.

“Of course I do.” she said quietly, like she was admitting a secret to him. Aenys knew that becoming the Queen so suddenly was not something that was easy, just as him being King was not, but Alyssa seemed to have a better way of hiding her worry and anxieties. “I miss those times.” she added, taking his hand into hers.

“Me too. Things were so simple.” he said, tracing her cheek lovingly.  “And they can be again. People will cheer for Rhaena and Aegon, they’ll get the people back on our side!” he reassured, hoping to get her to see the light in all of this, but Alyssa did not return his smile.

“Aenys… I know this is what your father wanted for Rhaena and Aegon, but… I don’t know, I have a bad feeling about this. I don’t think the people will receive them as warmly.” she admitted, squeezing his hand. Aenys frowned slightly, but not completely. Yes, things were not great, but giving the people something to look forward to, something as exciting as a royal wedding and progress, that would liven their spirits. 

“They just don’t understand us and our traditions yet. Once they see how happy they are together, they’ll grow to love them.” he reassured her again, as he tried to think of softer, perhaps gentler ways to show her that this would be good for everyone, both the realm and their children.

“My love… ” Alyssa looked up at him, no longer pretending to be so alright with his plans. He supposed he should’ve expected it, seeing as she was the one that carried them for nine moons and then birthed them. He took her face in his hands and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, before looking into her eyes.

“You’ll see! Who better than our Rhaena and Aegon? The court loves them, the realm will follow suit.” he smiled, trying so desperately to get her to smile as well. It hurt his heart to see her worry, to see her unhappy, and worst of all, not being able to make her feel better.

“And if they don’t?” she asked abruptly, catching him off guard. Aenys looked at her, shocked for a moment, before she continued. “If they don’t love them?” she asked, her hands holding onto his. It was always a shared worry that they had, what if people did not love them, but after their progress, they saw that that was not the case. Their children would as well.

“That’s impossible. They’re great kids.” he shook his head, almost chuckling at the absurdity that anyone would dislike their little ones. They were the future King and Queen, they were bright students, they had all the tools that his parents gave to him. They would be received with love, he just knew it.

“Of course they are. Our children are the brightest lights in my life, but did you not see how everyone reacted to the news? They already whisper about you not being able to control your brother, what if that gives reason for someone to attack our children while they’re away?” she asked, searching in his eyes for the truth, for any hint of worry and doubt.

“Alyssa… you know my brother is… complicated.” he frowned, at last, at the mention of Maegor. It was still sore in his heart, how everything happened. He didn’t dare admit to anyone that he came close to writing to him in secret, to tell him he knew, that he wished things were different, but what good would that do? “He’ll… he’ll come around. I think I understand him and his actions much better than before. I think I know why he acted so brashly.” he sighed. He felt guilty for not telling Alyssa about all those revelations, but he did make a promise to both his brother and Rowan. 

“Aenys, there’s no reason that would justify what he’s done.” Alyssa’s frown deepened and Aenys shook his head right away, agreeing with her. Yes, his brother’s actions, regardless of how much they were driven by hurt, were still inexcusable. They lead to so much outrage and gave all the more reasons to people to rebel, and he left Aenys to deal with it all.

“I know… I know, my love.” he sighed. He thought perhaps… if he told Alyssa the truth he had learned, if she could perhaps help him think of a solution, to find any way out of this, but as he looked down at his worried, pregnant wife, he shook his head again. Why worry her even more? Why add to her endless list of stress? “Let us speak of something more pleasant.” he said softly. They had much to plan before the big day.

And when the big day came, the plans proved fruitful. The Sept of Remembrance was decorated beautifully, with ribbons and flowers, both inside and outside, so the people who could not go in to watch, could still have a lovely view. He heard his mother mention it once, when he was much younger and the topic of his wedding came up. She was always conscious of how everything looked, and he hoped to make her proud by doing the same. 

Aenys looked around at the feast. Rhaena and Aegon were saying something amongst themselves, both in a festive mood, making him sigh in relief. There were no interruptions during the ceremony, but there was no great cheer either, at least not like it was for his own wedding, but the couple did not seem to mind at all, perhaps because they didn’t have anything to compare it to. The mood could be shifted easily, though, as he had gathered and invited only the best singers and musicians, a lot of them being his mother’s favourites. It was like a small way to include her in this magical day, a way to keep her close. She would’ve loved to be a part of this day, as would his father.

He missed her so much, and even more so on the days leading up to the wedding, daydreaming of all the things she had missed out on. She didn’t get to see him marry, she didn’t get to meet or hold any of her grandchildren, or see them grow, she missed out on all their namedays, and now, their wedding. She would’ve doted on all of them, he just knew it. That was just the type of person that she was, lively, outgoing and so loving. But instead of her being here with her family, she was dead, her body never found, with only the skull of Meraxes being all that’s left. Instead of a loving and doting grandmother, his children got Visenya, who sat at the end of the hightable, expressionless, making polite conversation with Rowan.

Things seemed better between them, more relaxed, even warmer. Rowan, like most people at the feast, looked uncomfortable, but masked it with politeness and courtesy. He understood that their traditions seemed so strange and new, but the shock of it all would wear off soon. They’d see how happy Aegon and Rhaena were, and they’d understand them and accept them. He turned to look at his two eldest children with a bright smile.

“You two don’t look that nervous.” he said, rubbing Aegon’s shoulder. His son gave him a warm smile, shaking his head. “I’m glad.” he added, relieved that they both seemed to be greatly enjoying themselves. Alyssa smiled warmly as well, making Aenys’ smile even wider.

“Your father and I were both nervous when we married. It’s only normal.” she said, looking between the two. Mothers just had a way of knowing their children, didn’t they? Alyssa seemed to understand all the worries that the children did not voice and she reassured them both much better than he could.

“We’re not nervous, mother. Well, at least I’m not.” Rhaena laughed, placing a kiss onto her mother’s cheek, playfully kicking her husband. Aegon acted offended, making little Viserys laugh, perhaps a bit too loudly than appropriate. 

“Me neither!” Aegon insisted, but gave his father a look of gratitude. He would make a fine King one day. He even resembled his namesake in his youth. He’d grow into the crown much better than Aenys did, of that he was sure. He had to make things easier for his son.

“I’m happy to hear, my dears.” he said, looking between the two. “Today is a day most important. Your union has been the wish of my father, ever since you were small.” he said, just as he had revealed to them when he told them of the match. His father had been so honoured to have his name passed on to his grandson, and for his first ever grandchild to bear the name of the woman he had loved the most. Once they were both babies, he had taken Aenys to the side, to tell him about his wish to betroth them. Aenys hoped he made the day up to his parents’ standards.

Aenys stood up, gesturing to everyone that he’d like their attention. The room slowly went silent, all eyes on him. It was still a bit daunting for him, to have everyone stare, but he was getting used to it more and more. He looked around the room and spoke up.

“My lords and ladies, I’d like to thank you all for being here to celebrate the marriage of the Prince and Princess. This union has been an absolute joy in my heart. Every parent wishes to see their children happy, and I am moved to see both my son and daughter so joyous. It is my wish that your marriage is a blessed and happy one, as was the one of the two people you were named after, may their memories live on. I wish you both nothing but love and joy.” he grinned, as the room gave applause, albeit a bit more reluctant that what he’d like.

“I’ve one more announcement, my lords and ladies. As this union was the wish of my father, I would like to announce to you another of my father’s wishes, that Dragonstone be given to the heir to the throne.” he said, turning to his eldest son, placing a loving hand on his shoulder once more. “Aegon, my son, you bear the Conqueror’s name, and now, his former title.” he announced. 

The room seemed to fall silent. Aenys looked around, expecting a bigger applause, but much to his dismay, everyone looked uncomfortable, shocked. His eyes landed on his aunt, who stood up silently, her face hard as stone. Everyone’s eyes were on her, as she left the high table, leaving the room without another word, Rowan quickly followed her out. 

Then the whispers started. The title of Prince of Dragonstone belonged to his brother, Prince Maegor. He had thought his father would’ve let his aunt know about his wishes for Aegon to inherit it, but it seemed he had not. Aenys awkwardly coughed, and gave a small smile at the musicians to play a happy tune, a tune of hope.

“Let us have music!”

Visenya wondered how many times she tried to stay, tried to help, tried to offer advice, and how many times she’d be disappointed. Only this time, it wasn’t just Aenys that let her down, this time it was worse. This time it was Aegon that hurt her, beyond the grave, beyond the realm of the dead. She was fuming. Dragonstone was hers, it was always meant to be hers, he promised her it would be hers and thus hers to pass onto their son, their Maegor. 

She shoved the dresses onto the bed, swearing she’d fly to Dragonstone by the end of the night. She’d be damned if her pathetic excuse of a nephew gave away her birthright to his pathetic, spoiled child. It was hers. It was Maegor’s. 

Rowan was hurriedly, but still carefully, folding the dresses, sorting them into different sections by season. Visenya was grateful she could rely on her to focus, because her own movements were angry and sharp, like her hands were just yearning to be holding a sword at this moment. 

“Never ask me to help him again.” she spat out, angrily pulling out more dresses from her drawers, shoving them onto the already full bed. Rowan sorted through them with ease, probably recognising most of them. She wasn’t angry at her, no, she tried to find something good in all of this, like she always had, but she was just so mad at everything else.

“I didn’t know that he would do this, I don’t understand why-” she began, her voice apologetic, as if this was somehow her own fault, but Visenya put a stop to that right away.

“I’ll tell you why. They spoiled him so much, to the point where they promised him things they were not entitled to. He’s a child, a pathetic, spoiled child, and I am tired of watching this happen. Maegor is the only reason his reign has yet not imploded and even lasted this long, and he not only sends him away, he now strips him off his title, under the foolish guise that this was somehow Aegon’s wish.” she fumed. “Dragonstone was mine, it was always the understanding between us, and it was mine to pass onto my son. Not have it stripped away from him in favour of a pathetic child who cannot yet lift a sword.” she spat out.

Rowan nodded, silently helping her pack. Visenya looked at her for a moment, grateful for the understanding look in her eyes. She could always rely on that, Rowan’s understanding. It gave her peace, it gave her assurance that she wasn’t going mad. Rowan remembered, she always did. She saw it all, she knew it all, best out of everyone.

“Should I pack these too?” Rowan’s voice brought her back to reality, as her green eyes met hers. Visenya considered it for a moment, as she looked at the stack of books Rowan was pointing at. They were the ones Aegon had gifted her through the years. They were her favourites, they had become like gold to her. Rare, special gifts. She didn’t just want them, she felt like she needed them, like they were the little part of Aegon she got to have to herself.

“Please.” she nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with warmth. As angry as she was, she looked at the young woman who stood by her for so many years. “Come with me. To Dragonstone. I’m flying later tonight, you should join me.” she said, making Rowan stop everything she was doing to stare at her in surprise. She seemed very conflicted, and as understanding as she wanted to be, Visenya didn’t want to risk anything happening to her because of all her compassion. “I’m not leaving you here all alone, while my nephew runs this all to the ground.” she added. Rowan nodded.

“I’ll… I will come with you, but perhaps it’s best I pack everything for you and come by ship.” she finally said, after thinking it through for a moment. If this were any other time, perhaps Visenya would tease her for finding such an excuse to not join her on dragonback, but this was no time for japes.

“Good.” she sighed. “Thank you.” she said, turning her focus back onto the mountains of dresses that were piling up. She felt a bit calmer now. Yes, Dragonstone would be a much better place to be at right now. She’d have the space to correspond with hers and Maegor’s allies, and with Maegor himself. She just knew that it would be his time to return soon, just as things were falling apart at the seams. 

“I’m sorry.” Rowan said softly. Visenya turned her head to face her, her eyes assuring her that she did nothing wrong. She had been doing everything right. She was doing all that was expected of her as her lady in waiting, and even more as she helped and advised her pathetic nephew, she had a stellar reputation amongst nobility and smallfolk, Rowan was doing it all right. Still, she understood that she was anxious to do well, to be good.

“Why are you apologising?” she asked her, just as softly, the answer obvious between the two. She did it a lot when she was much younger, when Visenya would confide in her about Aegon, Rowan would apologise, and she’d say that one sentence, trying to offer her solace.

“I’m sorry he did this.” she said, just as she had said all these years ago. Visenya wanted to forget her anger and give her a hug, but a knock caught their attention. A servant, one sworn to secrecy, came in, seeming to be very nervous.

“A letter, your grace.” the young boy spoke, looking up at her. It was not her priority to care for correspondence now, but it would be unwise to leave it unattended, so she just waved him off.

“Yes, I see that. Give it to Lady Evergreen.” she ordered, and sent the boy away. Rowan studied the seal, her brows furrowing for a moment. Visenya continued rummaging through all her belongings, deciding on which ones to leave behind for later.

“I don’t recognise the sigil. It’s not… it’s not Westerosi, is it?” she asked, carefully looking at it. Visenya’s eyes shot up for a moment, as Rowan turned the sigil for her to see. She then nodded, before turning back to her task.

“That’s right, it’s Pentoshi. I have a friend in Pentos, and I’ve asked him to keep vigilant about what is said about my son. Whether it’s here or not, his reputation is important.” she sighed, moving on from all the dresses, not even attempting to fold them as neatly and efficiently as Rowan had been. 

“I see.” she trailed a bit. She seemed like she was taken aback by this, but also not really. While she had been taking care of a lot of her correspondence, Visenya was careful to not let her come across anything that could endanger her. But this friend of hers never had anything of substance to say, it was always about how the people of Pentos admired the Prince and his skills and his dragon. But all that was obvious, as this was her son, this was Maegor, of course he’d inspire admiration and fear into everyone he came across.

“You seem surprised.” she said, turning her attention to her shoes, picking her riding boots up. She’d definitely be needing them tonight, as well as a few more pairs, and the rest could be packed later. Rowan looked at her.

“I just didn’t expect you to be keeping such a close eye on him.” she admitted, making Visenya look up at her with an almost smile on her lips.

“Rowan, he’s all alone and he misses you like crazy. Of course I don’t trust him to not do anything stupid.” she said, shaking her head. Her words made her flush and look to the ground, but Visenya was not in the mood for any further teasing. “I cannot focus that much right now, can you read that for me?” she asked.

“Of course.” Rowan nodded, carefully breaking the seal. Visenya waited a moment, but Rowan’s voice was not heard. For a moment she thought she needed more time to translate, or maybe she had words that were unfamiliar to her, but the longer she waited, still no words came out. Visenya finally looked up, and her heart nearly dropped. Rowan’s eyes were wide, her hands gripping the paper.

“What is it?” she asked, dropping the shoes she was holding and hurrying to her side. “Has something happened to him, Rowan, what does it say?” she asked, again, her mind already going to the worst, fearing some freak accident, but Rowan still could not seem to look away from the words on the letter. She carefully took it from her hands, to see for herself.

“I am writing to you with some interesting news. The Prince’s reputation is, as always, excellent. The people view him as a man to be feared and respected and obeyed, especially when they see him fly over the city with Balerion himself. While there is no news of Lady Alys and if she is with child, there has been an interesting development. Prince Maegor seems to have taken a woman into his bed, but not just anyone. Her name is Tyanna, the bastard of a magister, a lowborn, but very well known around the city, rumoured to be a witch. It is whispered that the Prince has asked her for potions of fertility for his wife, but it seems that he has taken other interests in her as well. Lady Alys too, as the two women are often seen to walk around the city alone, I’ve even seen them myself. I hope we hear news of a pregnancy soon.”

Visenya stared at the letter, reading it again and again, hoping that she had somehow missed a line that admitted this was some dumb jape. But no, the more she read, the more she gripped the paper in anger. Just as Aenys had done everything to get on her last nerve, now Maegor was managing to anger her even more from across the narrow sea. 

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fly all the way to Pentos, and I am going to kill him.” she said through gritted teeth, more to herself. How could he be so idiotic to trust a complete stranger, let alone someone with a fucking reputation. She wanted nothing more than to mount Vhagar and slap some sense into her son, but when she looked up, her anger was replaced with worry. The young woman stood before her, her hands gripping the skirt of her dress, her eyes watering by the second. “Rowan, darling, I’m so sorry.” she said softly, making her way close to her to offer her an embrace, but Rowan cut her off with a single word.

“Why?” she asked, and let the silence fall between them. “Why is he so obsessed with getting an heir? Why is he so adamant about having a son right away, when there are more than enough children from his brother? Why all this secrecy, why did you both keep telling me that I’ll understand eventually? The pressure on Ceryse, then Alys, and now this, why?” she asked, the tears slowly falling on her freckled cheeks, her voice shaky, but anger slowly rising in her. Visenya took a discreet breath and stepped closer.

“Breathe, please, take a breath.” she pleaded softly, seeing how hard Rowan was trying to keep it together. “It’s overwhelming to you, I know.” she said, wanting to kick Maegor for hurting her so needlessly, so carelessly. Rowan’s eyes widened just as she was about to speak, and she kept quiet for a moment. It was like it all made sense to her now.

“You’ve both been planning this.” she said quietly, so quietly that Visenya could barely hear, but the look in Rowan’s eyes confirmed it all for her. She put it all together. It shouldn’t have surprised her, it would’ve all come out eventually, when Maegor took the throne, but things were still so shaky now. She was a fool to let her read this, but there was no going back now. She walked to Rowan and held her face, wiping her tears softly.

“Listen to me, speak of this to no one. We will talk on Dragonstone, alright? I’ll explain everything.” she whispered as if the walls had ears. “All of it, I swear it.” she whispered, but her voice was firm, and Rowan nodded.

Visenya was somehow even angrier than before, now at her own son as well. How could he be so careless with his actions, when it could all come back to Rowan? Just this moon, he had written twice, asking about her discreetly, begging for any news, even boldly asking for her to write to him just so he could have her handwriting, and now this? She needed to remind him what in the seven hells he’s supposed to be doing.

“Rowan, sweetling, come here.” she whispered, pulling her into a hug, amongst all the scattered dresses and books and shoes and bags. 

Oh, she certainly had plans to write to him.

taglist:@heartstalked@stupidocupido@discowizard88@slytherisstuff

#maegor targaryen x oc #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #im alive i promise babes

[cantheykillmacbeth]

All Flight Rising dragons could kill macbeth cause they make weird magic eggs BUT ALSO Glass and Gloss the shopkeeper(s) could kill macbeth cause they're nonbinary. (They're one two-headed dragon.)

I asked my sister, who is much more of an expert on Flight Rising than I am, to weigh in on this topic to help me out:

[Transcript:

The dragons do come from eggs, though you do need one male and one female. Glass and Gloss are a two-headed dragon, as stated, and are always referred to with they/them pronouns, mainly because they are literally plural. They use 'we' instead of 'I', are always mentioned together, etc. They SEEM to be non-binary, but it's hard to tell since they were literally released on the 17th of THIS MONTH so we don't have a hell of a lot of info on them. However, they are pretty explicitly mentioned as being one dragon with two heads, that uses they/them pronouns. The text provided is this:

An aberration dragon with curling horns and two heads peeking out of a fluff of mane grins viciously. They are holding out an arm to display the scroll are wares they have for sale.

Their dialogue is: Greetings, traveler. We are Glass- or Gloss- as you prefer. Are you looking for new genes to liven up the Ancient blood? Have we got the scrolls for you! These are real, genuine, Ancient genes! Just hand over those tired old modern genes in trade. Don't you think it's a good deal?

End transcript.]

So, while the Gender Clause may ultimately be debatable for Glass and Gloss in particular, all dragons are still hatched from eggs, meaning that-

Yes, Glass and Gloss from Flight Rising could kill Macbeth!

They apply for the Unconventional Birth Clause! Thank you for your submission!

EDIT: Some FR players have pointed out in the replies that the lead artist for Flight Rising confirmed that the usage of they/them pronouns was both in a plural sense and a non-binary sense in a comment on Glass and Gloss's announcement post! Glass and Gloss now officially apply for the Gender Clause! Thank you to @mynarco and @vulturevanity for the corrections here!

#asks #unconventional birth clause #gender clause #flight rising #glass and gloss #glass and gloss flight rising #flight rising glass and gloss #correction

[heartniche]

For @brumiraforthesoul! A little pre-brumira (~700 words) set shortly after Casita's rebirth under the cut. This was fun.

Living Room of Rebuilt Casita

“Tonito, you stay where Bruno can keep an eye on you,” Julieta threw the frantic directive over her shoulder, two separate baskets balanced in her arms.

She propped the door of the living room with finesse and juggled the baskets through. Mirabel knew that this wasn’t a life threatening ordeal, luckily. Just some of her mom’s famous empanadas, now late to a ten year old’s birthday. 

Antonio sat on the floor with a ring of little brown lizards. His mop of dark hair hung into his eyes as he counseled them, no mind to the adults bustling around. Bruno was also at ease reading in an armchair by the empty hearth. But he leapt to his feet.

“Oh no, no, that's probably not a good idea-" Bruno waved his hands in front of him. Julieta’s harried expression intensified as he spoke, like she couldn’t take another setback. 

“We can both babysit,” Mirabel interrupted. 

She had been just out of her mom’s sight beyond the door to the kitchen. Julieta’s countenance unfurrowed- Mirabel had proven many times over that she could take care of her cousin. 

“Back in an hour,” Julieta called, letting the door close behind her and bustling down the grassy expanse that led to the village. It was a muggy summer day, and almost every Madrigal had chosen to spend it in cooler areas around the rivers and up the mountains. Mirabel didn't mind the heat.

Bruno sighed and flopped back into his seat. With his well worn ruana and untamable curls, he always looked like he was one pulled thread away from unraveling. Mirabel tucked herself around the arm of the chair, peering up into his face. 

“What, did you think Antonio would pick today to become a terror? For the first time in his life?” Mirabel gave Bruno a bemused smile. 

“I don’t even need a babysitter,” Antonio informed them both. He was such a serious six year old, Mirabel could almost believe it. 

Bruno chuckled, rueful. Mirabel basked in that laugh. She loved how it softened his face and made decades of worry lines melt away. 

“Panicked. It's been a long time since I had to be responsible for anything larger than a rat,” he said. 

“You do so wonderfully with those rats though,” Mirabel searched for a sign of the little friends that couldn’t bear to be too far from Bruno. Ah- a tiny face poked out of his hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Just don’t want another bad thing to happen on my watch,” Bruno shrugged. His eyes snapped over to Antonio who had started fidgeting. But the boy just resettled himself on the ground to talk with his lizards some more.

There was an odd quiet at Casita without the rest of the family to help liven it up. Mirabel fiddled with the fabric seam of the armchair, linen rough on her finger tips. 

“It’s a good thing I never had children,” Bruno admitted to Mirabel. “I’d have worried myself to death over them.”

“I think you’d be a great dad,” Mirabel meant it. 

Bruno flushed at the compliment, turning more and more red as Mirabel didn’t qualify the statement at all. 

"Really!" Mirabel insisted.

“Thanks, kid." Bruno tilted his head, wry. "That ship has sailed. Imagine wanting to start a family with the ‘most ominous soothsayer of the Encanto’,” Bruno allowed a foreboding tone to seep into his words and even wiggled his fingers above his head in menacing claw shapes, like Camilo had. 

Mirabel couldn’t help but giggle at Bruno's theatrics. But what he said struck her as totally wrong. She couldn’t articulate why. 

Later that day, washing dishes after another Madrigal family dinner, it occurred to her. I would, Mirabel thought. The conviction burned fiercely in her chest. I would want to. 

A wise part of Mirabel knew that this half formed thought was an offshoot of something enormous and important, and still undisturbed. There was a jungle of convictions growing wild in darker parts of her soul. It was something she was still realizing about Bruno, something that once thought, could’t be forgotten. Mirabel shrugged it off. 

Besides, it was too late to say it- for now, anyway. 

#brumira

[swamp-chicken]

My word any of those prompts sound amazing but may I request 14 for ethubs? Thank you! :D

14. I hate singing but I will sing for you // 758 words

“No, seriously, how have you never heard of Auld Lang Syne?”

“I don’t know, it’s never come up!”

The coffee shop was bustling this evening, hermits curled over their warm drinks, quiet chatter occasionally punctuated by the whoosh of milk being steamed at the espresso machine. It was technically open mike night, but no one had volunteered other than Joe, who had been steadily reading through Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” for the better part of an hour.

“It’s a new years tradition, Bdubs.” Etho insisted. He was sitting at the counter, slapping the bar top emphatically. “You gather together with your friends, you sing the song, you cheer.”

“I don’t believe you. What does that even mean? Old lang sin?”

“It’s,” Etho paused. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a tradition.”

Bdubs poured a latte into the shape of a… heart? Well, maybe a pinecone. He handed it to Tango and turned back to Etho. “You should sing it for us, then.”

Etho blinked “Me? No way. You’re the one that can sing.”

“As we’ve established, I don’t know the song, Etho.” Bdubs tugged the clipboard that held the open mic sign-up sheet across the counter. “So I’ll put you down for one rendition of ‘Old man sing?’”

“Bdubs!” Etho hissed, trying to wrest the clipboard away from him. “No way!”

The balcony door opened and Cleo let herself in. She spotted Joe, frowned and made a beeline towards the counter. “I thought we were doing christmas carols?” she asked Bdubs, hushed.

Bdubs grimaced. “You and me both. No, it’s apparently the novel.”

Cleo groaned. “Joe.”

Bdubs smirked at Etho. “This guy, though, he’s volunteered to sing us something! Old sing long.”

“Auld Lang Syne,” Etho corrected offhandedly. Then, catching Bdubs and Cleo’s smiles: “No, I am not singing.”

“Oh, Etho, I think it would be lovely.” Cleo cajoled. Etho swore he saw something dark in her smile.

Bdubs though, was smiling at him genuinely. He covered Etho’s hand with his own. “Come on, you would do great. And it would really liven the place up.”

Against his better judgement, Etho wavered. “Well…”

“Please?” Bdubs asked. “For me? I love to hear you sing, but you never let me.” He pouted.

Bdubs eyes were shining, his cheeks pink from the heat of the room. Etho didn’t stand a chance. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “I’ll do it. For you.”

Cleo nudged him. “Look at you, being so sweet.”

Etho rolled his eyes. He tried to will down the heat in his face.

Bdubs didn’t notice. He had snatched the clipboard back and was scribbling down Etho’s name with a beaming grin on his face. He finished writing with a flourish, and raised his eyebrows at Etho. “Are you ready to go on now?”

“Am I… what?” Etho stuttered.

“Thank you so much, Joe!” Bdubs announced, loudly. The cafe quieted. Joe, interrupted mid-sentence, merely blinked. Bdubs walked around the counter and grabbed Etho by the arm, hauling him behind him. “Thanks so much for that great story! Next up is our very own Etho!”

“Oh,” Joe said. “Well, that’s Dickens everyone. I hope you enjoyed!” There was some scattered applause. Nonplussed, Joe closed the book and sat next to Cleo.

Bdubs lowered the mic. “Like I said, next up we have Etho, singing… what was it again?”

“Auld Lang Syne,” Etho sighed.

“Auld Lang Syne!” Bdubs proclaimed. “Feel free to sing along if you know it. Etho says it’s a tradition but he is frequently wrong, so.” Bdubs stepped back and gestured at the mic. “All yours!”

Etho stepped forward, heart suddenly pounding. Bdubs hopped off the stage, returning to his place behind the counter.

“Right,” Etho said. He tried to re-adjust the mic. “As Bdubs said… wow, this is low. Bdubs, you’re so short.”

“Hey!” Bdubs squawked.

There were a few laughs, and Etho peered into the crowd, relieved to see Scar and Grian giggling in the corner.

“As Bdubs said… he doesn’t think this is a real song. So, please help me prove him wrong.” More laughs. Impulse, Pearl, and Gem were smiling at him from a table.

“It’s absolutely a real song!” Beef shouted.

“Yeah, let’s show him,” Tango agreed.

Etho let out a breath. These were all his friends, here in the crowd tonight. He glanced at Bdubs, was was watching him from behind the counter, eyes bright with affection. “Everyone… on three! And a one, and a two…”

The whole shop joined in.

#ethubs #my fic #this is very much inspired by cleo's video where joe asks her over for chrismas carols but alas. he is reading a christmas carol #ty for the prompt !! #moth-like-habits #etho #bdubs

[bl-inkstone]

"there's things i want to say to you, but i'll just let you live. like if you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did."

a thoughtspost about lisa reflecting on what it means to love and be loved by you.

lisa minci is the greatest mind of six generations combined.

she is the witch of the purple rose, the revered spantamad prodigy that even, until now, the akademiya still respects. she is an esteemed knight of the favonius order. a humble librarian. a good friend and mentor to anyone willing to ask. and, in the warm circle of your arms while you two lay in the bed you share, yours.

yours, as much as she can give you. as much as she's allowed, with the constant trickle of sand bearing down in the back of her mind. the nagging reminder of time and how little she has of it drags something acrid into her mouth as she wakes, like she always does, in the dead of night for no reason at all. lisa awakens with something sharp and bitter, like the tang of her stronger tea blends, in her chest and fights the urge to hiss at such a tired routine. her only solace now that she's conscious to suffer her insomnia is the vision you make beside her.

she looks down at you, tracing the curve of your face with sleepwarm eyes and quiet, searching hands. lithe fingers ghost over your skin like a crystalfly's kiss — light and airy and so, so delicate, as if she can't bear the thought of disturbing you. it's here in the hushed hour where lisa loathes and loves to wake up every night (to allow herself brief reprieve and a sliver of rage at her unfair fate; to allow herself reminders of softness and love so great it eases the storm in her heart).

when lisa thinks of love, she thinks of warmth. like the afternoon rays that wash over her when she goes to take her naps in the library. like the cups she gingerly holds when she needs something stronger than her usual blend and doesn't want to risk staining her pretty teacups with the tannin in her tea. like the flutter of gossamer wings in her stomach when you look her way and smile at her like you have the rest of forever to love her.

(it's unfair, she laments behind her soft, amiable smiles with a muted fury raging (always raging) in her chest. i can't love you enough, my dear. why is my forever not as long as yours?)

the chill of the night never fails to leave her shivering, and it is in those wicked, bitter moments that she curls herself closer to you. you're a beacon of warmth and peace to the witch that's been fighting against time since the day she got her vision. you're a place of rest, comfort, love. to lisa, you are home.

she wishes she could have your forever too. forever, to love and to hold you, like you promise her to always do. she wants to buy a house together — she doesn't want to live in the small apartment her job came with any longer than she has to. something with those charming redbrick walls you like pointing out to her when you stroll across the city together. a small garden for her herbs and some vegetables, and hanging planters to liven up the outside face. the living room would have two chairs and a sofa, a sturdy little coffee table, and the pretty rug she had bought two years ago in sumeru will finally have a use. a lived-in bedroom with too many pillows and blankets piled up like a nest in the center of your bed. a warm kitchen with something always cooking, baking, or brewing, and the scent of your life together would seep into every crack and crevice of the home you share. there would be all sorts of knick knacks in your home, and frames detailing some of the most precious moments of your relationship would line the walls. your first anniversary, for example. a particularly sentimental date. your first windblume festival as a couple, and (and, if she can dare to dream it) your kiss on your wedding day.

you'd be married, in her dream of forever. you're radiant in the glow of domestic life, and her heart no longer aches with the weight of an everpresent deadline behind her. instead, lisa's deadlines are gentle and pleasant things. don't be late to our anniversary, lisa! you'd call as you leave your house in the morning. don't slack off today, alright? i'm making your favorite! you'd smile. finish your work soon. be safe in your travels. tell me all about your adventures with the traveler.

come home soon, safe and sound, ok?

it really is unfair, she thinks, that she's fallen in love with you. it really is cruel, she weeps, that you've fallen in love with her.

the feel of your arms around her is a pain she clings onto with her entire being — the grand prodigy that she is is nothing compared to being yours. with her fate as doomed as it is, pride is inconsequential. if she only knew where and to who, she'd beg until her knees and throat were raw for more time, for an answer, for a chance at the forever you'd never know she can't walk with you.

her hourglass leaves her perpetually one, two, three steps behind you in the endless march of time. she can try all she likes (and by celestia she has tried) to catch up and walk with you step-for-step, but she's only mortal. there's only so much she can do. she's clever, but not clever enough. one, two, three steps behind you and everyone else she has ever loved — all lisa minci, the greatest mind of six generations, can do is watch.

loving and being loved. what a wicked, terrible, beautiful thing.

"lisa...? what's wrong? can't sleep again?"

"it's nothing, darling. go back to sleep. i'll follow right after."

[man this was a fight and a half to write. lisa is such an interesting character and although im not super confident that i wrote her well, im really proud of how this turned out! for all you lisa lovers out there, i hope you enjoy this <3]

#miyo.muses #lisa.togo #this started out as a yan post which turned into a fluff post which THEN turned into this #haha #im sorry i really wanted to write smth sweet for her #but this is what came out #dbhdjbfdejw this was so hard to finish oml #ms lisa u r so complex and tragic i love her sm ueueueueue #anyways i hope u guys enjoy!! #genshin impact #genshin lisa #lisa x reader #edit: i put it under a readmore bc after checking the wc this was almost 1k words hdfj sorry yall

[venbyte]

it’s been twenty minutes since he agreed to do this — to sit beneath the desk whilst miguel worked on fixing malfunctioning wrist bands and warm his cock in his mouth and truth be told, he was starting to get bored of the silence and the waiting. head lifts from where it rested against his thigh to pull back off him, stretching out his aching jaw before taking him back in his mouth, shifting him sitting sideways up onto his knees. he waits a moment, hearing the huff and pause of work, eyes meeting his as crimson glances down at him — waits until he hears him resume his repairs and waits a minute longer before he acts, using that time to readjust to the feeling of him. he starts slowly at first, taking him an inch deeper before slowly pulling back, another inch and back, another inch and holds there, feeling the way his throat stretches around miguel to accommodate him. it’s not all of him, not by far, but it’s over half and more than before, the most he can manage at this angle. the sounds he draws from miguel only spurs him on, pulling back and swallowing those three extra inches again, each time growing bolder and quicker, heavy but controlled breathing fanning from nostrils. this should liven things up a bit.

he'd promised peter that if he was good and stayed seated with his dick in his mouth, he would fuck him afterwards, he only needed to work on a few things. however, it's taking a bit longer than anticipated, twenty minutes passing and miguel was still yet working on malfunctioning wristbands that he needed to be done sooner rather than later. he expects him to be good, to continue cockwarming him but the pull off makes eyes flick down to see him stretching out his aching jaw, shifting from beneath the desk.

tinkering away at the wristbands, what he doesn't expect is to feel peter taking inch by inch, something that captures his attention quickly. looking back down at peter, a low groan is pulled from him, seeing the way he continues to take him, more than half. ❛ jesus fucking christ ... ❜ murmured, he's half tempted to leave his work to later, abandon the wristbands to focus on peter despite him going against what he said. reaching down, fingers thread and curl into peter's hair, tugging a bit hard and growling. despite the annoyance he feels, he can't help the way his dick twitches in his mouth, much too turned on by the very sight and feeling of peter almost able to take all of him.

tilting his head a little, crimson eyes watch him like a predator to prey, a hunger that needs to be satiated. ❛ what did i tell you about disobeying, huh ? do you want to be punished, peter ? ❜ his smooth voice drops to a growl. with another tug, he pulls peter off of his dick, eyes catching and focusing on the way a trail of saliva connects from the tip to peter's lips, making him groan. it would be so easy to punish him, but he has something else in mind now. pushing his chair back a little, he leans in close to peter, eyes wandering to take in his current state, the flush of cheeks, the tent of pants. smirking, he finally lets go of his grip on peter's hair, instead tilting his head up by placing a finger beneath his chin.

❛ since you want to suck my cock so badly, how about i fuck that pretty mouth of yours, hm ? is that what you want ? to be choking on my dick as i fuck your throat ? i bet you'd look so pretty taking it all for me like a good boy ... ❜

#spiderbitten #🕸️ ˖˙ you're just going to have to shut up and trust me ― ❪ interaction ❫ #nsft #do not look at me

[rcmclachlan]

CCS wedding? 👀

I've been writing this fic for literally two years. In the story, Touya and Yue figure their shit out at Sakura and Syaoran's wedding.

+

Touya smirks like he can taste blood in the air and starts making his way over. Yue's heart begins racing the way it would precede a fight, and his hands curl and uncurl. He wants to put his hands on Touya, wants to feel skin against his knuckles. But not to hurt. Never to hurt.

Their shoulders jostle a little as Touya sidles up next to him, arms crossing as he surveys the room. "Why are kids always so sticky?"

"You could press one of those children to the wall and it would no doubt stay there," he mutters, and Touya laughs. "I'm almost positive it is a normal state of being for humans. All of you are sticky."

"I heard no complaints this morning," Touya says, leaning in to press his grin to the shell of Yue's ear. The same one into which Ruby Moon had poured the sweet, poisonous reminder of Touya's original destiny.

Yue bites his tongue nearly in half and refuses to so much as look at him. "If Syaoran hears you, he will attempt to kill you and I will not stop him."

"Might actually liven up the party," Touya says, and Yue blinks.

"This is not lively?" Someone on the dance floor lets out a blood curdling shriek, which is followed by uproarious laughter. Yue banishes the dagger that had materialized in his hand on instinct.

Touya gives him a droll look. "Oh yeah, I'm having a blast. Let's get some air."

"Syaoran will certainly kill you if you leave this wedding."

"Don't make it sound like I'm selling state secrets to the Syndicate, all right? I just want to talk to you without the accompaniment of a bunch of drunk infants doing the Macarena."

#ccs #touya/yue #wip game