#Earl you never stood a chance

[notebookpapers]

honestly I don’t blame Earl Harlan for being desperate bc imagine your crush is the implied pretty-average looking guy Cecil Palmer and not only does an out-of-town-er bag him first but it’s the hottest mf imaginable. biceps just straining to escape his lab coat. like. sorry, Earl. You can’t compete with that

[hancorys]

k.wh — small girl fantasy

genre: fluff, co-worker to lovers hehe, reader have a BIG FAT crush on unagi (who doesn’t) mutual pining, self-indulged pairing: crush!woonhak x afab!reader wc: 3176 warning: they both have responsibility crisis, both NUMBBB, lmk if i forgot any !! listen: small girl — lee youngji ft. do, binibini — zack tabudlo, take a chance with me — niki, aya — earl agustin

the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet store, the flickering fluorescent lights above casting a dull glow over the aisles. your shift was dragging, and with barely any customers coming in, you found yourself wiping the already spotless counter just to keep your hands busy.

the air smelled faintly of instant ramen and cheap coffee, the scent clinging to your uniform as you absentmindedly ran the rag over the counter for the third time. your thoughts drifted—mostly to woonhak, as they often did during these long, uneventful shifts.

woonhak was at the back of the store, stacking boxes near the stockroom. from where you stood, you could see the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms as he effortlessly lifted each box like it weighed nothing. he made it look easy, just like he made everything look easy.

you bit the inside of your cheek, annoyed at yourself for staring. it wasn’t like he was going to notice anyway. he never did.

at first, you tried convincing yourself that he was just quiet, that maybe he was the type of person who kept his distance from coworkers. but that theory crumbled quickly when you watched him chat effortlessly with customers, throwing in the occasional charming smile or polite nod. even when his friends dropped by, he greeted them with a grin, his usual composed expression softening into something warmer.

but with you? nothing.

sure, he said hi when your shifts overlapped. he’d ask you to stock shelves if he was busy handling the register. but that was the extent of it. no small talk. no casual conversations about school or life outside the store. just simple, impersonal exchanges that made you feel more like background noise than an actual person.

it was frustrating, really. and the worst part? you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

you sighed, leaning against the counter, when a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“you missed a spot.”

you jolted, your grip on the rag tightening as you turned to see woonhak standing beside you, peering down at the counter with his usual unreadable expression.

you blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a second. “what?”

woonhak pointed to a barely visible smudge near the register, his tone as casual as ever. “right there.”

you quickly wiped over it, heat creeping up your neck. of course, the first real thing he says to you all shift has to be about cleaning. not school, not work, not even some throwaway comment about the weather—just that.

when you looked up again, he was already walking away, disappearing into the stockroom like the moment hadn’t even happened.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, staring after him in disbelief.

was he really that oblivious? or was he doing this on purpose?

either way, it was driving you insane.

the more time you spent working at the store, the more you started noticing the little things about woonhak. not the obvious things—like the way customers always gravitated toward him or how effortlessly he balanced school and work—but the smaller details, the ones you weren’t sure anyone else even paid attention to.

for instance, the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening. it was always something soft, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators. sometimes, it was an old song playing faintly through the store’s speakers; other times, it was just a melody with no real pattern. you caught yourself lingering near the aisles whenever it happened, pretending to fix the same row of snacks just to hear it a little longer.

he also had this habit of organizing snacks by color. at first, you thought it was just him being efficient, but then you realized he did it even when it wasn’t necessary. the chips, the candies, even the energy drinks—if he was stocking the shelves, they always ended up arranged in a neat, color-coordinated gradient.

“you know, no one really cares if the ramen cups go from red to yellow,” you teased one evening, watching as he rearranged a row of instant noodles.

woonhak didn’t even look up. “yeah, but it looks better like this.”

you tilted your head, studying his expression. he wasn’t doing it for the customers. he wasn’t even doing it because his dad expected the shelves to look nice. he just liked things a certain way. it was oddly endearing.

but the thing that really got to you? the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

it started small. you’d glance up from the register and catch his eyes flickering away too quickly. or you’d be restocking the shelves and feel the weight of his gaze just before he turned back to whatever he was doing. at first, you thought you were imagining it, that maybe you just wanted him to look at you so badly that your mind was playing tricks on you.

but then it kept happening.

like that time you were leaning against the counter during a slow shift, absentmindedly fiddling with a snack wrapper, when you felt it—that unmistakable pull of someone’s stare. you turned your head just in time to see woonhak, standing by the fridge section, looking right at you.

his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something unfamiliar, something you couldn’t quite name.

the second your eyes met, he looked away, pretending to check the labels on the bottled drinks.

your heartbeat stuttered.

maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

—

the storm rolled in without warning. one moment, the sky outside the store was a deep navy, the streetlights flickering lazily against the pavement. the next, rain was hammering against the windows, wind howling through the cracks in the doors. then—darkness.

the hum of the refrigerators cut out, the overhead lights flickered once, then died. the only thing left was the soft, eerie glow of the emergency lights lining the walls.

“great,” you muttered, setting down the inventory clipboard you’d been pretending to work on.

behind the counter, woonhak sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. he tapped the screen. “no signal.”

of course. just your luck to be stuck in a blackout, in a convenience store, alone with woonhak.

you shifted awkwardly, glancing at him. “should we, uh… do something? or just wait it out?”

he looked around, eyes scanning the dimly lit store. “well, we can’t close up, and we can’t leave.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

with nothing else to do, the two of you sat down on the floor near the counter, backs against the shelves stocked with instant noodles. the emergency lights cast a faint, bluish glow over his face, making his features look softer, almost unreal.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like something unspoken was lingering between you. then, out of nowhere, woonhak let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“this is kinda weird, huh?” he mused.

you turned to him. “what is?”

“being here like this. we’ve worked together for months, but this is probably the longest we’ve ever talked.”

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden honesty. “yeah. you’ve always been... kind of hard to talk to.”

he raised an eyebrow. “hard to talk to?”

“i mean, you’re quiet. you don’t really say much unless it’s about work,” you admitted, hugging your knees. “honestly, i wasn’t sure if you even liked me.”

woonhak tilted his head slightly, studying you. “i never disliked you,” he said after a pause. “i just… don’t always know what to say.”

you looked at him, waiting, sensing there was more.

he exhaled, leaning his head back against the shelves. “it’s kinda dumb, but… i feel like i don’t have time to just—talk. i’m always thinking about what i should be doing next. school, work, helping my dad. it’s a lot, you know?”

his voice was quieter now, the usual steadiness replaced with something more fragile.

“because you’re the eldest?” you asked softly.

he nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i don’t really have a choice. my dad relies on me, and i don’t want to let him down. sometimes, i think about what i actually want to do, but then i feel guilty, like i’m being selfish.”

for the first time, you saw him not as the woonhak that everyone admired—the perfect son, the dependable coworker—but as a boy who was just… tired.

hesitantly, you said, “i get it. maybe not in the exact same way, but… i understand what it’s like to feel like you have to be something for everyone else.”

he turned to you, intrigued. “yeah?”

you nodded, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “i’ve always felt like i had to prove something. like if i don’t push myself hard enough, i’ll just… fade into the background. i guess that’s why i’ve always been so frustrated with you.”

he blinked. “with me?”

you let out a small laugh. “yeah. you make everything look so easy. it’s like you don’t even have to try, and meanwhile, i’m over here struggling to keep up.”

woonhak was quiet for a moment, then—to your surprise—he smiled. not his usual polite smile, but something softer, more real.

“i didn’t know you thought that,” he murmured. “if it makes you feel any better, i think you work harder than anyone else here.”

you felt your face warm, looking away. “you’re just saying that.”

“no,” he said simply. “i’m not.”

the air between you shifted, something settling into place. and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

the change was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it.

woonhak was everywhere.

he was always near, always teasing, always finding little excuses to talk to you. he stopped treating you like just another co-worker and started acting like… well, like someone who actually wanted to be around you.

one evening, after an unusually slow shift, you were restocking shelves when you accidentally knocked over a row of neatly stacked chip bags.

“careful,” woonhak drawled from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “you break it, you buy it.”

you huffed, bending down to pick up the fallen bags. “do you ever actually help, or do you just stand there and make fun of me?”

“oh, i definitely just stand here and make fun of you,” he said, grinning.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

and then there was the way he waited for you after shifts. at first, you thought it was a coincidence—maybe he just happened to finish work at the same time as you. but then it happened again. and again.

“why are you still here?” you asked one night, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets as you locked up the store.

woonhak stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t been waiting outside for you. “it’s dark out.”

“so?”

he gave you a pointed look. “might as well walk together.”

you narrowed your eyes. “but your house is—”

“doesn’t matter.” he started walking ahead, then glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow. “you coming, or what?”

you hated how easily he did this—how effortlessly he inserted himself into your routine, into your life, like he had always been there.

you groaned, but the truth was, you liked it. you liked how he matched his pace with yours, how he walked on the side closest to the street, how he never let the conversation die out even when you weren’t sure what to say.

and then there were the snacks.

at first, it was small. a bag of your favorite chips left near the register, a cold drink placed beside your bag without a word. when you asked about it, he’d just shrug.

“it’s nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

one afternoon, after a particularly long shift, you found a neatly wrapped rice ball waiting for you in the breakroom.

you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. “did you—”

“you haven’t eaten, right?” woonhak interrupted, not looking at you as he busied himself with the stock list.

you blinked. “how did you know?”

“you always forget when you’re working.”

your heart stuttered at his words.

he noticed.

he was noticing you now. really noticing you.

you unwrapped the rice ball slowly, trying to ignore the way your hands felt unsteady. “thanks,” you muttered.

woonhak finally looked at you then, and for once, his usual teasing expression softened into something quieter. “don’t mention it.”

and that was how it was. little moments, little gestures, little things that all added up to something bigger.

you weren’t sure what it was, not yet. but you liked it.

and just as you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was turning into something more—

you overheard the conversation.

—

it was late, your shift nearly over, when you heard woonhak’s father speaking in hushed tones near the back of the store.

“it’s a big opportunity, woonhak. you’d be crazy to pass this up.”

you froze, your hand tightening around the stack of receipts you’d been organizing.

“i know,” woonhak replied, his voice lower than usual. hesitant.

you inched closer to the back of the store, staying just out of sight behind one of the shelves.

“then what’s the problem?” his father pressed. “you’ve worked hard for this. this isn’t just about the store—this is about your future.”

there was a pause. a long, heavy silence.

then, woonhak exhaled. “it’s just... sudden.”

“that’s how these things work. you don’t always get time to think. you have to act.” his father’s voice softened slightly. “listen, i know you worry about me, about the store, but i’ll be fine. this is your chance to do something more, something bigger than this place.”

your stomach twisted.

what was he talking about? what opportunity? where would it take him?

and why—why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold it?

you heard woonhak sigh, the kind he let out when he was deep in thought, troubled.

“i just need time,” he murmured.

his father didn’t push him further, only replying, “just don’t take too long, son.”

you stood frozen behind the shelves long after the conversation ended, your heart pounding in your ears.

because you already knew.

whatever this was—whatever had been growing between you and woonhak, however slowly, however subtly—it wasn’t going to last.

the next few days felt different. not because anything had changed—woonhak still teased you, still left snacks by the register, still waited for you after your shifts like it was the most natural thing in the world. but now, there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

you weren’t sure if he knew you had overheard. part of you wanted to pretend you didn’t, to pretend things were the same. but you weren’t sure how long you could keep up the act when every moment with him suddenly felt like it had an expiration date.

then one night, as the store’s closing time approached, woonhak finally said it.

“can we talk?”

you turned to him, heart pounding. “yeah.”

he hesitated before pulling you outside, the cool night air wrapping around you both. the neon lights from the store’s sign buzzed softly above you, casting a faint glow over his face.

for a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to memorize something. then, he sighed.

“you heard, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

woonhak let out a dry chuckle, looking down at his shoes. “figured. you’re not exactly subtle when you eavesdrop.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “it’s a scholarship. a really good one. i’d be studying abroad for a year—maybe longer, if things go well.”

your chest tightened. “that’s… amazing.”

he scoffed. “you don’t sound like you mean that.”

“no, i do.” you forced a smile. “this is everything you’ve worked for, right?”

“yeah,” he said, but his voice was uncertain. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out at the empty street instead. “but… i don’t want to leave you alone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

he turned back to you, his usual teasing expression replaced with something raw, something real. “i mean it. the thought of being somewhere new, somewhere exciting—it should make me happy, right? but all i can think about is how i won’t be here. with you.”

your throat felt tight. because a few months ago, you never would have imagined hearing those words from woonhak. back then, you weren’t even sure he noticed you. and now here he was, standing in front of you, telling you he didn’t want to leave you behind.

but you couldn’t let him stay just for you.

you reached out, poking his forehead lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

he blinked. “what—”

“you have to go, woonhak,” you said softly. “you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

he frowned. “but—”

“but nothing,” you cut him off, smiling a little. “you won’t lose me.”

he stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback.

you took a deep breath. “i’ll wait for you. no matter how long it takes.”

woonhak exhaled, shaking his head with a small, incredulous laugh. “you’re serious?”

“dead serious.” you tilted your head at him. “what, do you not trust me?”

“no, it’s not that,” he muttered. “it’s just… funny. the you from a few months ago didn’t even think i knew you existed, and now you’re out here promising to wait for me.”

you felt your face heat up. “shut up.”

but woonhak was grinning now, his usual self creeping back in. “you’re kind of romantic, you know that?”

“don’t push it.”

he laughed, then—to your surprise—reached out and ruffled your hair. “alright, fine. i’ll go. but only because you said you’d wait for me.”

you swatted his hand away, scowling. “like you weren’t gonna go anyway.”

“nope. i was seriously considering staying.” he gave you a lopsided smile, and something about it made your heart ache. “but i guess i have to make this count now. wouldn’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

and when he walked you home that night, he stayed a little longer by your door, hesitating like he had something more to say.

but instead of words, he reached out, carefully intertwining his pinky with yours.

a silent promise.

“wait for me,” he murmured.

you squeezed his hand, grinning. “i already said i would, didn’t i?”

and as woonhak laughed, shaking his head like you were the most ridiculous person in the world, you realized something.

for the first time, you weren’t afraid of losing him. because somehow, in his own way, woonhak was waiting for you too.

© hancorys, 2025.

[osferth]

confessing

request: She is the sister of Uhtred and she’s a total badass in combat. Maybe that Uhtred sees how Osferth looks at her and when he says something about that he gets all flustered.

pairing : osferth x reader

@unleashthelion im so sorry its been so long 😭 u might not even be into tlk etc anymore but take this anyway

You were only a baby when Bebbanburg was usurped by your uncle Aelfric upon the death of his brother and its heir, Uhtred, captured by the Danes. As a result, you grew up in the fortress never knowing your brother, only anecdotes from Aelfric and your mother Glenna - the former dismissive, the latter loving and wistful. 

Glenna was your one saving grace during your time at Bebbanburg. Having been married to Earl Uhtred after his second wife passed away following Uhtred’s birth, she became his stepmother and loved him as her own. She spoke often of the days following your own birth with fondness in her eyes, describing how Uhtred was a permanent presence by your side - how he had loved his little sister more than anything. 

It was Glenna that inspired your desire to meet Uhtred again, but for years you never got the chance. 

For your safety, she never once voiced her anger and disapproval over Aelfric’s usurpation until you were together in private. He was never fond of you to begin with, and you learned early on that had you been born a boy, you would not have been allowed to live for very long. 

She was the only true protection you had, and when she sadly succumbed to illness you knew, even at the age of eleven, that until you found Uhtred you were totally alone. 

The year following Glenna’s death, you accompanied Aelfric, his priest Aidan, and his army of 200 men to Eoferwic, to meet with King Guthred and march on Dunholm. The infamous brothers Sigefrid and Erik were also there, but that hardly registered. After being told rather gleefully by Aelfric that Uhtred was dead, you were in little mood to do anything except passively go along with everything… until the Northmen inexplicably revealed that your brother was still alive. 

You successfully hid your joy while Aelfric raged and planned to leave upon the advice of Gisela, Guthred’s sister. With little love or need for you to begin with, your uncle left you in Gisela’s care, perhaps hoping that some misfortune would befall you and rid him of his unwanted niece. 

Recognising your neglect at Aelfric’s hands, Gisela led you from the meeting and promised to keep you safe. The two of you escaped Eoferwic together and found sanctuary in a nunnery, where you spent the next three years in relative peace. Understanding your desperation for any information about your brother, she revealed her knowledge of him and described everything - how he had grown up and found a family alongside Danes, his appearance, his personality, his love for her, and the words he spoke of his beloved sisters: blood and adopted alike. 

When the nuns could protect you no longer and your uncle’s priests arrived to forcefully marry Gisela to him, you feared losing the only constant you had found in your life - until you were joined by four more people. 

At once, your eyes locked on the man that angrily strode forward. Though he had grown tall and his hair now long like a Dane’s, you knew that this was your brother. 

Too stunned to speak, you could only watch as Uhtred ordered the abbot to release Gisela’s hand. Although he did, he refused to stop repeating the fact that she was married to Aelfric despite Uhtred persistently telling him to stop - which resulted in him killing the man, and it surprised you less than you thought it would. Glenna had always told you what an impulsive boy he had been, after all. 

After reuniting with the man she loved, Gisela beckoned you over, and it was only then that your presence was even recognised. 

“Who is she?” asked Uhtred as you stood before him. 

“Your sister,” Gisela replied, beaming at you. “Y/N.” 

“Hello,” you mumbled shyly, unsure of what else to say. 

Uhtred stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide. “You are certain?” 

“Your uncle left her in my care three years ago, just after you were taken.” 

You could see the tears swimming in your brother’s eyes before he swept you up in an almost bone-crushing hug. 

“I missed you, ástin mín,” he whispered. “I wish I had been there to see you grow.” 

You were crying too, but your tears were those of joy. “Mother told me all about you. All I wanted was to find you, but I never thought I could.” 

“You are here now,” he said, “and I promise I will never lose you again.”

~~

Uhtred was a man that kept his word. He brought you to live with him and Gisela in Coccham, where you stayed as a family. You had always hated feeling so powerless, and so you requested your brother to train you as a warrior - you had only been foolish enough to ask this of Aelfric once, but you knew Uhtred was nothing like him. 

He agreed at once, jumping at the chance to bond with you at the same time as improving your ability with a sword. 

Under the tutelage of your brother and his friends, you quickly grew into an adept fighter. As the years passed, you became a worthy opponent in sparring matches, your skill nearly as refined as those who had taught you. 

Despite the upward turn your life had taken, there were things you still wanted. As much as you loved Uhtred and his friends, you needed someone your own age - a companion you could spend your downtime with. 

Just as you were on the cusp of becoming a woman, your wish appeared to be granted when Osferth entered your brother’s service. Although Uhtred was sceptical of his potential, you couldn’t care less - Osferth was the same age as you and would surely improve with time, just as you had. 

His gentle manner and soft-spoken words were such a vast difference from the brusqueness you were used to that you instantly took a liking to him. He was always careful to address you as ‘Lady’ until you insisted he used your name instead - which was a slow change, given that he would often accidentally revert back to the term of respect. As much as you jokingly scolded him for it, you never truly minded - he was so sweet that you could never be annoyed with him for long. 

You trained alongside Osferth and saw him through Beamfleot, the first taste of battle either of you had ever had. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, and it brought the two of you closer than ever. 

Although battle, maturity, and time spent with Uhtred’s friends had greatly improved Osferth’s confidence, there was only one prospect that rendered him as nervous and shy as the day he had first asked to join Uhtred. 

You. 

Although the two of you were close friends, he had long wanted something more. His heart had yearned for you since the day he first laid eyes on you, and every day after that. He loved everything about you - your laughter, how you fought, the way your hand slotted perfectly in his, the cheeky grin that often graced your features… he could go on. 

He wished you knew the truth, but he could never bring himself to admit it and risk ruining the friendship you had. 

One afternoon, you were sparring with Sihtric while Osferth sat close by with Uhtred. 

He watched you parry a blow with a deftness that made it look ridiculously easy, and smiled fondly. You were incredible in combat, and he both adored and envied you for it. 

His gaze was solely on you which, unfortunately for him, was soon noticed by your brother. 

“Enjoying the view?” Uhtred teased, nudging him a little. 

Flushing, Osferth quickly averted his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean, Lord,” he mumbled. 

“You have all the subtlety of a nun in a brothel, Osferth.” 

“Lord!” 

Uhtred snorted. “Well, your affection for my sister has hardly gone unnoticed.” 

Osferth’s head shot up at once. “She knows?” 

“I meant amongst the men. As far as I know, Y/N has no idea.”

“Oh.” 

An amused Uhtred watched his shoulders visibly sag. “I’ve never seen someone look so disappointed and relieved all at once.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” Osferth sighed, his gaze returning to the sparring match before him. You had just managed to knock Sihtric to the ground, laughing as you helped him back up. 

“You could try talking to her,” Uhtred suggested, a wicked gleam in his eye. 

Osferth looked at him sideways. “I am not you, Lord.” 

Your brother hummed. “No, you are not.” 

When he said nothing more, Osferth rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m going inside-” 

“No, you are not.” 

Huffing, he sat back down. “Why, Lord?” 

“You will talk to her,” Uhtred decided. “You’ve been yearning long enough.” 

Osferth frowned. “And what if it goes wrong, or- or what if she doesn’t like me? I can’t ruin our friendship, Lord. It’s not something I want to lose.” 

“You have a choice, Baby Monk. Either you take a risk and maybe get somewhere, or you can remain silent and get nowhere at all.” 

Before Osferth could respond to that, you and Sihtric approached the two of them.

“Did you see me knock Sihtric on his arse?” you snickered, leaning on your sword slightly. 

Uhtred smiled. “I did, ástin mín.” 

You looked across to Osferth, but his gaze remained fixed on the ground for some reason. 

“Do you two want to come to the alehouse with me?” you suggested, hoping Osferth would respond, but your brother spoke up first. 

“I think I’ll miss it today,” he said. “I’m going home to my wife.” 

“And I’m going to mine,” Sihtric added, but you already knew that. 

“S’pose it’ll just be us, then,” you smiled at Osferth, “unless you’ve also got a wife that I don’t know about.” 

Finally, he looked up at you and returned your smile. “Lucky for you, I haven’t.” 

~~

The alehouse was bustling when you arrived, but you managed to wangle a small spot in the back corner, half-hidden by a wooden beam. It was cosy enough, and neither of you minded one bit. 

As you sipped on your ale, you quietly observed the man before you. Every time your eyes dropped to your mug, Osferth’s gaze would find itself back on you - although he was trying to be subtle, you noticed, and it amused you to no end. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Y/N. Is something bothering you?” 

Osferth received a grin in reply, one that made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Not at all. I was just waiting for you to say something. I’ve realised I talk far too much, see, so I thought you might like a turn first.” 

“You don’t talk too much,” he said at once, his expression hardening. “I don’t mind. Why, has anyone told you that you do?” 

“No,” you assured him. “Just some introspection, I s’pose.” 

His features softened at that. “Perhaps you should do a little more of that, then,” he smiled, “if that’s your conclusion.” 

“Perhaps,” you chuckled. 

After a moment, he took a rather large swig of his drink. “You fought really well today,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. For the first time, you felt you saw something else in his eyes, something beyond his usual fondness for you, but you could not be certain. 

“Thank you,” you replied, beaming at him. “You… did see me knock Sihtric on his arse, didn’t you?” 

“Of course I did,” he answered, “and I thoroughly enjoyed it, too.” 

Both of you laughed then, only breaking eye contact to take another well-needed sip of your drink. Your heart was starting to beat uncomfortably quickly, and you suddenly felt the need for a little extra confidence just by sitting across from him. 

“You and Uhtred seemed deep in discussion about something,” you pointed out. “Was it something important?” 

Osferth exhaled before answering. “It was - it is. It’s really important.” 

“Care to share?” 

He frowned into his cup before finally answering, refusing to meet your gaze once again. “I like you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’d hope so.”

Despite whatever he was seemingly wrestling with, his eyes momentarily shot up to give you an exasperated look. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry. Go on?”

“What I meant was…”

He trailed off for a moment.

“Yes?”

“Y/N,” he groaned. “Give me a second.”

You grinned. “Alright. Sorry.”

Although you were being as patient as you could, the time he spent poring over his drink was beginning to feel like an eternity. Above all else, you did share Uhtred's blood... and your brother wasn't exactly famous for either his tact or his patience.

"D'you have feelings for me or something?"

His head shot up at this but, despite what you had expected, he didn't deny it. Instead-

"Yes. I do."

And for once, it was your turn to be silent. You felt incapable of saying or doing anything except staring at him.

The silence that descended upon the two of you stretched on for an uncomfortably long time as you processed the news with wide eyes. Osferth was beginning to fidget uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on his mug of ale - this silence could not bode well for him, surely-

“So do I.”

At once, his head shot up again, and if this moment was not so serious, you might have laughed at the comically shocked expression on his face. His eyes were wide and his lips parted, as though he truly had not expected such an answer from you.

“For you, I mean,” you added stupidly. “Not - not me, obviously.”

Why on earth would you say that?

Osferth stared at you for a moment, an unreadable look in his eyes, before he started laughing. Soon, you joined in, the two of you in fits of giggles, perhaps brought on by happiness or sheer relief that your feelings were mutual.

When they eventually subsided, you regarded him with pure fondness… though there was a gleam in your eye, too. At once, he picked up on it and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he questioned, his lips quirking up into a smile.

You grinned at him, reaching across the table to take his hand. You didn’t miss the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks when you did so.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Laughing, he obliged at once and stood up to walk home with you. And for once, neither of you let go of the other.

[juice-plums]

Damned Tea

Mizu x !Busty Woman! reader

Warnings: Wlw, Lesbian acts and sex, Tribadism Friends to Lovers, you’re fem dominant, Aphrodisiac tea but EARL GREY, I DID MY RESEARCH, I don’t need therapy, I NEED MIZU, I AM FEEDING YA’LL CAUSE THERE IS NO NEWS, SUFFER WITH ME

Mizu had grown accustomed you and London’s ways, ditching her traditional wear and now wore slacks with a button down to look decent to the London people, so have you,…Mizu didn’t know why she brought you, you were better back in Japan but Mizu couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you alone, ever, and since you knew so much about her past, she definitely could not let you go, you were walking beside Mizu, you wore brown slacks with a tight button down, this place was weird but a good weird, Mizu stole glances at you and subtle at your figure she shook her head out of it, focusing on finding the men that made her life a hell, she got Abijah Folwer already as a prisoner

You and Mizu went into a tea shop that you two had supposed have the answers to Mizu’s questions, a small and broken down tea shop that was warm and inviting on the inside, You warmly sigh, and took a look at the potions and tea brewing, continuous knickknacks on shelves, Mizu sharply grabbed your hand to make you stay close and not wander, Mizu always knew you were,…different like her, you preferred to bed women more than men, and in such taboo instances Mizu’s mind wanders to what the two women could do in a private setting, Mizu founded comfort in your presence and such

a plump older lady came out, all cheery and smiles, her hair in traditional London style and longer dress, she was pretty much older and startled you and Mizu, Mizu’s eyes narrowed dangerously as the plump lady made her way to Ya’ll the lady took a good look at you and Mizu

“Got a new shipment in on Earl Grey, wonderful and popular for lovers”

The plump lady suggests, Making Mizu and you stand up real straight, even though you could admit it, you’d sleep with Mizu if she gave you the chance, but Mizu never really gave you those type of vibes only the vibe that she was after 4 white men now only two down, and you can respect it

“Oh we’re not..”

You began, Mizu stared at you, A slight ping in her heart from your words, why did it bug her so much?, she kind of stared at you but you didn’t noticed, the plump lady only chuckled, snickering softly, as she poured the Earl Grey tea in a small cup, handing it to you and Mizu, you stared curiously at the brewed concoction but nevertheless drank it to shut the lady up Mizu as well drank the brewed tea and began to question the plump lady about white men she’s looking for

Later as you and Mizu settled in an Inn, you began to feel…hot especially down there, your breathing became heavy, and your pupils dilated, Mizu having just got out of the shower, a white towel covering her skinny body, Mizu also felt weird, her body shaking and her eyes half lidded and the hot shower she took did not help one bit, You and Mizu stared at each other, something jolted in between you two and you quickly shook your head, looking away

OH GOD, are you having sexual thoughts?, you sure are, no NO, Mizu is your friend, get it together, GET IT TOGETHER, you pressed your legs together, the heat growing, GOD, WHAT THE FUCK DID THAT LADY GIVE YALL?!,

“Reader…”

Mizu says, her voice monotone but cracks slightly due to lust, the towel still wrapped around her slender frame, her hair down…it was too much for you, she staring at you, her breathing had grown heavy slightly, you softly turned your head back to her and boom, you eagerly stood up and went to her, passionately kissing her lips, she softly squeaked but closed her eyes blissfully shut, you two softly french kissing, the effects of the Earl Grey was fogging your minds up

You seductively messed with the towel and she let it drop to the floor, revealing her bare body, your hands roam onto her slender frame, she softly hissed, no one had touched her this tender and warm, you took your time mapping her body, committing her frame to memory with your hands, you devoured her neck making her softly moan in bliss, Mizu never felt this way, but it felt right, you seductively laid her down on the Inn bed and kissed along her body, Mizu soft moans filled the room, her head softly thrashed against the pillow as your kisses got lower and lower

Now face to face to her pussy, you didn’t hesitate and dived your head in between her legs, slurping and sucking her pussy intimately, making her moan louder, your swirled your tongue around her pearl, her hands in her silky, black hair, her body tingled with blissful sensations running through her body, her pussy was addicting and you couldn’t get enough and you just wanted more and more, slurping her pussy like sweet, sugar candy her eyes closed and her hands traveled to your head as you feasted

“Don’t stop, Don’t ever stop!~”

Mizu moans, high pitched that immediately made your pussy heat up more and brought more delight that you were pleasuring her good, her voiced cracked and she creamed in your mouth, you eagerly lapped up her love nectar, Mizu caught her breath, her faced flushed, you were far from done with her

Now you were on top of her, naked, her leg resting on your shoulder, now about to show her the scissoring sex act between two females, her breath hitched as she sees you dominantly topping her and before she could say anything you slid your pussy against hers making her high pitch moan again and made her grip the sheets, you moaned softly as you ground your pussy against hers again, tribbing as sensually and slowly as you could to savor this sweetness, Mizu grabbed your face to kiss you as you continued to trib her, she was too loud and you loved it, the sleekness of your pussies combined with Mizu and your moans filled the small Inn room, you playfully and softly bit her calf making her breathy giggle, her beautiful blue eyes never leaving your eyes

Mizu felt a knot in her stomach, she moaned louder and that was your cue to trib faster and you did, until her legs were trembling and she was a squealing mess, you also felt a bubble form in your stomach

“Oh fuck, oh goodness, Mizu!~”

You breathlessly moaned, her head hitting the headboard off the inn bed, Mizu was too far in the bliss she was moaning away, you both cum together, your combined love nectar soaked the bed, Mizu caught her breath and breathlessly moaned as she creamed, her hair a sweaty mess and her face flushed more, you two passionately kiss, your combined bodies in the bed.

You and Mizu were secret lovers, sneaking kisses from here to there, ever since that little moment you two were closer than ever and in the night you two would make it unforgettable.

[askdread]

How did you end up getting the job as Lemongrab's butler?

Ask one! Transcript for convenience! : Dread: Wow! That's a good first question, and by GOOD, I mean I still don't really get it. Bare with me, I'll try to explain it as best I can... even though you might be MORE confused after. I don't know the specifics, but it seems like he was pondering on the thought of a butler for a minute. He'd apparently tried to make his own, and they didn't really satisfy his expectations (I like them all). The earl tried hiring a few people, but from what I know it did NOT go well (sounds about right). I was in the Candy Kingdom, and pretty down on my luck. Sure, there were a LOT of jobs, but you had to travel super far for even a chance. and not to mention one look at me was enough of a reason to turn me away. I noticed at one point, this guy was EYEING me, I'm talking HARD. I was used to candy people staring, I stood out y'know? But this was just different. It didn't come off as scared, judgmental, or anything like that. To my shock, he actually approached me, and not only that but he had paperwork in his hand. OFFICIAL looking, fancy royal paperwork, seal and all. I haven't ever seen anything like that, never thought I'd even consider something so out of reach... but he was already going on about the expectations, the schedule, all that like I'd walked up to HIM, like I'd already said YES. I can't even remember exact words, I was too taken aback by it all. Maybe what I said next was because of his confident, insistent attitude. or the idea of being "chosen" by someone... or maybe it was SO out of left field that saying no would eat at my thoughts... but I said the first reply on my mind."Ok" Honestly did I have a lot of choice? I mean technically, yeah, but where else did I have? Soooo yeah, that's pretty much it. Kinda weird. I guess. If you're wondering why this happened ummm... I don't know still. My friends have theories. Most of them think it's because I'm threatening, I guess that one makes a lot of sense. Some of them think it's because how miserable I looked spoke to him, or something. I kind of want to believe it was some sort of wacky cosmic fate junk, like it was supposed to happen... but that's REALLY corny and everyone would make fun of me... You can ask, send trinkets, or send whatever you like here! Thanks for reading! :3 @askdread on Tumblr

[yarrystyleeza]

Arduous Solitude

"I used to want to be alone. Now that you're here—I don't want to be alone anymore. The solitude that I once wanted took no place in my heart ever since I had you."

[series masterlist / main masterlist]

Taglist: @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @bellaxgiornata @babygirlmurdock @1988-fiend @v4leoftears @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @floral-charlie-cat

[curiosity almost killed the cat]

Word count: 1.7k!

Warnings/tags for this chapter: none!!! Talks of art, cats, and tea. Someone gets a burn scar!!! other than that—there's nothing.

You looked even more interesting this close.

You eyed him curiously with high eyebrows— waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat, flashing a smile. "Welcome to the neighborhood," he states, his voice was gravely but it was warm, even soothing. Eerly soothing.

It wasn't really matching his face, he was handsome, you couldn't doubt that for a split second, but he was a bit perturbing. He had a weird aura, maybe off-putting too, but he looked nice. Very nice.

Stop that, you literally just met the man. You mentally shook your head.

"Thank you, mister..." you stopped, waiting for him to finish your sentence.

"Henry," he said, "my name is Henry," he smiled once again.

You nodded, "pleasure to meet you, Mister Henry."

You introduce yourself. "Such a lovely name," he says, and you feel the blood creeping up beneath your skin.

"I apologize—it seemed like you were having a lonely time," he says.

You shook your head, almost instantly, "no worries, you didn't bother."

Why did you say that? Why did you sound so eager and... desperate? In your head, you smacked yourself across the face.

"Oh, um--" he trailed off.

You gasped. "Oh, I'm very sorry-- please come in," you swing the door wider, allowing him to pass inside. He took off his dark fedota and wiped his shoes at the entrance mat. He wasn't this 6ft tall huge—but he was huge, with broad shoulders and a wide dorsum. You felt a little small next to him, maybe more than just a little.

You show him the way into your living room, moving your cozy blankets out of the way for him to sit on your sofa. He gently settled down, eyeing the interior of your house thoroughly. Did he like the decor? Wait--why would you even care? It's your house, not his.

"Sorry again, let me go grab something for you to drink, you must be freezing," you say, turning in your heels and walking straight to the kitchen. He called your name. It pinned you in place.

You never liked how your name sounded more than now.

"Don't bother bringing anything, I don't really need--"

You turned, shaking your head, "that would be very impolite of me, Mister Henry, now allow me to bring you some tea to warm you up."

He surrendered with a huff, "alright," he quietly said. You continued your trip to the kitchen and placed the teapot over the stove.

"Would you like chamomile tea? Hibiscus? Earl Grey? The regular?" you asked as you scavenged through the cupboard for other options.

"Whatever you have there," Henry politely answered.

"Alright, I think we're up for hibiscus."

He stood off his seat to closely inspect your bookshelves. The last residents of this home were an elderly couple, so there's a chance he learns something new about the world from your perspective.

You seemed to be a bookworm, there were dozens and dozens of books on your shelves. He noticed you had a shared interest with him, too; miniature artworks. You loved to collect them, but he loved making them.

He wondered if any of his many miniature works ever made their way to your hands, maybe passed by someone to you, or you received it as a gift, or thrifted it from some local antiques store.

But then he saw the very petite canvas of a peacock. He remembers that, he just doesn't quite remember when, but he surely knows he painted it more than 250 years ago.

"Oh, you seem like you like my collection?" you cringed at yourself. Since when were you this outgoing and social?

You placed the tray down. "I'm sorry, I was just--" he trailed off, turning to look your way with your little art piece in his hand.

You shook your head, "it's alright, I got this one in an auction three years ago for only fifteen hundred pounds! It should've costed way more than that to be honest, it dates back to the seventeen hundreds, as I assume," you were astonished by how talkative you are now. Maybe you were just too excited about your miniature collection.

But he admired how dedicated you were to track it back to its date of manufacturing, and you paid this much for it and still had the will to pay more.

He couldn't help but smile.

"What fascinated you about it?" the artist had to ask.

You shrugged, "well... I guess I like ancient things, specially art," a warmer smile split the pitch darkness of his beard, "the size is enough to amaze you, and the artist was so dedicated in painting the blue feathers, I love it when someone pours their soul into something, it creates something magnificent."

"Are you an artist?" he asked, you nodded, gesturing at the wall behind the sofa. He turned around, his back now facing you, but you could swear you heard him quietly gasp.

"You made these?" he turned to look at you, his brows shooting up his forehead. You hummed, he looked back at the pieces you hung on the wall, moved closer to them, he inspected them, touched them even.

You've never seen a man this mesmerized by your art. All of your previous partners usually plainly reacted to it, other times they never even batted an eye for it.

But him, Mister Henry, he was in awe, his tips were following the wild and free strokes of your brushes, they walked over the ups and downs of the layers, and sensed the pebbles of dry paint so delicately, his fingertips almost dancing over the canvas.

That stirred something in you.

"Are you an artist?" it was your turn to ask this question, he turned to face you, his fingertips still lingering on the canvas. Your eyes shifted between his and his tips, still amazed by the fact that he was interested in your art.

"You can say that," he shrugged and winked.

This, somehow, changed the flow direction of the chemicals of your brain. The lights flipped on inside your head. Your face turns red.

You had no idea what was going on with you, but this was the most attractive thing you've seen a guy doing in years.

Not only he's interested in art, but he's also an artist.

You had to distract yourself from looking into his vast eyes with this unlimited amount of admiration. "The--the tea!" you ripped your eyes off of him, looking at the tray placed on the coffee table.

He hadn't drank tea in decades and never truly minded it, but now he wanted to drink it with you, he felt he missed what it tastes.

He was almost to grab his cup, but something buzzed the skin of his hand, and that's when he noticed that the tray was made of silver.

He almost killed himself for a cup of tea.

You reached down and handed him the cup, he nodded, his face was paler than a sheet, but he smiled to distract himself from the fact that he almost died in a stranger's house... For a little cup of tea.

He felt stupid for this.

"Can I ask you a question, if you wouldn't mind?" he said after taking a sip of his drink. He sure missed that warm and earthy and sweet taste.

You nodded.

"You seem to look like a city girl, what brought you here to the suburbs, in a house near the woods?" Henry is obviously more curious now.

You shrugged, "I needed to be alone, to breathe, and this is what I found, my very own little witch house," he chuckled at your answer, and you couldn't lie, you loved that man's chuckle, you fell in love with it.

It wasn't just because it's been a while since you had a man in your life, but he had something so charming and elegant about him. His fancy clothing, his wizardly attitude, his very sweet but dignified features and, his eyes.

You really, really loved his eyes.

There was an odd reflection of fire in them that you couldn't explain, you didn't know if he was born this way or was it the fireplace behind you or is your mind playing tricks on you.

Marmalade yelled from upstairs, it made your heart drop in your stomach, tearing your train of thoughts apart and shaking your ground. Although you've had this flameball for years now, you never really got used to his sudden loud shrieks; they always took you off guard.

Henry's ears visibly stood up, he caught the scent of fur and canned food, and watched as the little noise machine waddled down the stairs.

"That's Marmalade," you had to say—as you pulled him up to your chest.

"Hey Lad," Henry says, smiles and waves at him.

"He loves to let me know he's present, sorry if he scared you," you lull Marmalade in your cradle-made arms.

Henry gutted a giggle and shook his head, "never mind, he's adorable."

However, Marmalade's ears went into airplane-mode, he pushed you in the chest, forcing you to let go of him and ran up the stairs once again. You were astounded by his act, you turn back to look at Henry, who stood silently with his eyebrows shooting high and his eyes fixed to the ground.

"I'm really sorry, I don't know what's going on with him, maybe it's because he just moved in--" you were explaining, and you don't even know why you were justifying a cat but you stood there and did it.

Henry shook his head, "it's alright I'm... I'm not very favored by most animals," he shrugged, "however, I think I should be going now, I must've kept you past your bedtime and maybe it's why your lad was grumpy," he put on his fedora and passed you.

You were a little startled by the shift of his demeanor, but you followed him to the front door.

He turned the doorknob then turned to look at you. Quietly, he said your name with a smile, "it was a pleasure to meet you."

But this wasn't the last thing you saw of the very peculiar Mister Henry.

[previous / next]

[sea-owl]

Been rereading AOFAG for older Penelope au ideas and this one came to mind.

Penelope was not expecting to see a pretty dark blonde girl dressed in Benedict's clothes when she came to My Cottage this morning, granted she was not expecting to see her best friend either but here they both were. Apparently, Mr and Mrs Crabtree were not expecting them either, nor did they know who the girl was.

She does have an impressive pair of lungs on her Penelope thought. Her ears were still ringing from the girl's scream upon waking up.

The girl turned out to be named Sophie. It also turns out Benedict had brought her here after rescuing her from the Cavendish party. The girl was a servant, easily told by her calloused hands, though you may not know upon first glance. Frankly, Penelope thinks she looks a little bit like that old Earl Gunningworth. They really should find the poor dear some proper clothes, Benedict's breeches stand no chance of staying up even I they got her a belt.

Benedict groaned, flopping onto the bed after the Crabtrees and Sophie left the room to grab breakfast. He looked up at her, trying to look pathetic.

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Do not expect any sympathy from me, Mr Bridgerton. I told you not to go to that party last night. Now look at you."

"But then I would haven't been able to play hero," Benedict joked. His voice was rough and hoarse from the coughing fits.

Penelope let out her own groan. "Your brother is already trying to play that role, you do not need to as well."

Benedict chuckeled. "And what has little Col done to deserve your ire?"

"How do you know it is not Anthony?" Penelope challenged.

"Because Anthony knows if he drives my best friend away, I shall be insufferable, and it will be his problem. Not to mention the potential reactions of our other siblings. Honestly, why were you not born a Bridgerton? I shall never know. You would look better in our family's colors anyway. I tested it on one of your portraits. You looked beautiful."

Penelope smiled, playfully shaking her head. "Maybe in the next life."

"This one is still possible," Benedict teased. "Colin is still unmarried."

Penelope tried not to blush. Benedict loved bringing up his little brother's past infatuation with her. If only he knew what said brother was up to yesterday.

"As are you," Penelope shot back. "Should I not marry you instead? After all I will have thoie wonderful property when you pass."

Benedict snorted. "And how do you know it won't go to our children?"

Penelope waved her hand. "They'll have it when I pass."

Benedict looked to say something else when a crash was heard from the hall. Penelope stood, taking a look.

"What is it?" Benedict asked.

"Oh, the poor girl," Penelope said. Sophie was struggling to juggle a tray, stocked to the very edges with food in one hand and holding her borrowed breeches up in another. "Benedict, why did you not give her a belt?"

Benedict groaned. The Crabtrees had already chewed him out on that. "Why don't you find her one?"

"I will."

With that, Penelope marched into the hall. "Mr and Mrs Crabtree, if you do not mind, I would like to find Sophie a proper dress. Benedict, the fool seemed to forget My Cottage has plenty."

Careful to hand off the tray Sophie was holding to Mr Crabtree Penelope led Sophie to a room down the hall.

"This is my room for when I visit," Penelope said as she opened up the closet.

Sophie gulped. "Are you the lady of the house."

Penelope choked on a laugh. "Oh no, never would I dream of that. Benedict is a childhood friend who is kind enough to give me a spare key for when I need a place to hide."

A child hood friend? This must be Penelope Featherington. Sophie had read about the odd friendship she and Benedict shared in Whistledown. Many servants from the Bridgerton and Featherington houses had also commented on how odd it was for a gentleman and lady to be so close but not courting.

"Aha!" Penelope pulled down a lilac colored dress with silver trimming and a matching silver belt. "The fit will be off," Penelope said. It couldn't be helped honestly, Penelope was several inches shorter than Sophie and rounder, especially in the chest area. "But it will be much better than what Benedict has you practically swimming in."

"Oh, I couldn't," Sophie waved her hands. "This is too fine-!" n her haste to do so she had forgotten her hold on the breeches.

Sophie blushed when they fell to her ankles. Penelope held back a giggle.

"Consider a thank you for taking care of Benedict. He is a right pain in the arse when he's sick. I should know. One would think he was dying when he simply had a headcold."

Try as Sophie might Penelope wouldn't take no as an answer. She eventually won when she pointed out it was her dress or Benedict's clothes. Sophie put on the dress.

The dress cut off above Sophie's ankles and they had to bunch up the bodice a little bit with the belt but it certainly was a better fit than what Sophie had on before. Especially for a temporary dress.

Benedict laughed when the two girls came back to his room.

"Laugh all you want Mr. Bridgerton," Penelope huffed. "At least I remembered a belt."

[purpleandstarlight]

Dadbastian Week - Day One: Proud

For all the trouble that his Young Master put him trough, being in a contract with him could be entertaining, at times like this. This demon had made the right choice when he answered the call, even if he had started regretting it soon after.

When Sebastian first met this cursed child, he was weak. He was a mess of tears and both physical and mental wounds, looked completely shaken, and like the slightest blow of wind would be able to knock him down where he stood.

And yet now, just a little over a year later, Sebastian had to say: the Phantomhive Earl knew what he was doing. Lying like it was second nature, stabbing people in the back (sometimes literally), interrogating his enemies while coldly pointing a gun to their heads and following up with his threats if the target wasn't taking him seriously and he was feeling vicious enough, making grown men weep for mercy at his feet. It was satisfying, to see the length of how far this child would go for his own selfish goals, knowing it was partially thanks to his own intervention in the kid's already broken psyche. Sebastian never had kids of his own -nor did he ever plan to- but he had to guess, as he saw his Young Master rise from the ground after taking important documents out of the pockets of a target he had insisted on killing himself out of spite, this was what a human father would consider "pride".

"What are you smirking about, over there?"

The demon blinked, getting pulled out of his own thoughts by the same kid he was thinking about, who was now busy glaring at him.

"Nothing, my Lord. I guess I just got...sentimental."

The Phantomhive rolled his eye.

"As if you know anything about feelings..."

"Ah, but as a Demon, don't you think I must know about them? How would I tempt and twist humans otherwise?"

"I don't doubt that you can understand human emotions. What I'm saying is, it's very obvious to me that you can't feel them yourself."

"As ruthless as usual, i see."

"Like you're any better..."

The Earl finally turned, walking forwards and trying to decipher one of the documents in his hands for any chance at finding the culprit.

"Well, just so you know, I was reminiscing about the past."

"What, any especially exciting mass murder you were the cause of a few hundred years ago?"

"Not that far back. I was actually thinking about our first meeting."

"I see. How festive," Although his comment was as dry as a desert, it was obvious that a cautios kind of curiosity was biting at him when he asked, "What brought this on?"

"You've just grown a lot since then, haven't you? You cried a lot that day, but now, you pile up corpses left and right by your own hands with no hints of regret. It's quite the development, is it not?"

The young Lord's shoulders shot up, the sound of his footsteps stopping for a moment, before quickly going back to normal.

"That's right. Can't say I'm proud of it, but I can't really deny it, either."

"Well, if this can quell my Master's worries, I am proud of you."

They both knew it wouldn't. That it would do just the opposite. And they both knew that was exactly why the demon had admitted to it.

"Ah yes, a Demon straight from hell, intent on seasoning my soul with any messed up kind of spice my broken mental state provides, approves of my actions. What a reassuring thing this is." The young Earl rolled his one visible eye, before turning back to the document in his hands. "Shut up now, that's an order. We still have a job to do, and i want to get back to the mansion quickly."

"Yes, my Lord."

[sailtomarina]

I think we should get married

They had been talking about their last trip, the one where they had gone to the Blue Lagoon to experience the social media craze for themselves and investigate the source of the hot springs. Granger was excited to document the fire salamanders in person and Draco had to drag her away at the end of each day to soak in the waters.

“—but Draco, this is our chance to see the salamanders mating in their natural habitat, the literal reason these volcanic fields even exist the way that they do!”

“I. Do. Not. Care. We’ve seen them mate three times now! I want my mud mask.”

And now they were planning their next trip to a place Draco had never even given the slightest consideration but Hermione insisted was at the very least a bucket list sort of destination.

“There must be superior casinos in more exotic locations, love.”

“But it’s Vegas, the city of Lost Wages, of Second Chances, the ultimate Sin City. And that doesn’t even include the bloody Grand Canyon.”

Draco snorted into his tea mug, resulting in an unpleasant sensation in his aquiline nose. “As if a Malfoy could lose wages like that. And you’ve already given me the only second chance I need, and all the sins of my dreams.”

“Well, while we’re there, I think we should get married at a chapel, maybe even the Little White Chapel if we’re aiming for the full experience—”

This time, it was a full mouthful of Earl Grey sprayed across the table in a manner that would have had his mother falling into a dead faint.

“Excuse me, what?”

Hermione continued on uninterrupted as she shuffled through her stack of papers, lifting up different sheets for his viewing. “If that’s too gauche, then there are some perfectly lovely alternatives at the Bellagio, or outdoors at the Flamingo and Tropicana—”

“Wait a minute, stop.”

Her mouth hung open, eyes rounded at his raised palm.

“Chapels? Marriage? Did you just propose to me?”

Now she was smirking at him. Her, smirking at him, the one with the trademark Malfoy smirk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I have done things in a slightly more conventional manner? Or perhaps you’d like me down on one knee.” 

Before he could even reply, she swept up and around the table quickly before dropping down on a knee in front of him. She gazed upward still smiling that damn smile, all predatory teeth and crinkled eyes.

“Draco Malfoy, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Liquid dripped off his chin onto their clasped hands. He could smell the bergamot mingling with the wisteria’s heavy scent from above them. If not for the bloody tea, their reversed positions, her damn chapels, this would have all the appearance of a romantic proposal, not too unlike his own intentions for the near future.

“If I say yes, what are the chances of a do over, or at the very least, a re-telling of this proposal where we swap places?”

She didn’t even bat an eyelash before responding. “Not on your life, Malfoy. And speaking of last names, I’m not taking yours, either. You may consider, however, taking mine.”

Draco Lucius…Granger.

He shuddered at the very thought of it, but perhaps it was one of…delight? To shed the Malfoy name, centuries of history, responsibility, pride, and now shame. He had originally planned on rising out of the ashes, bringing new meaning to the family name, but hadn’t even considered casting it aside completely.

“‘Draco Granger’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?” The syllables rolled around his mouth awkwardly.

“‘Draco Malfoy Granger’ sounds lovely, and that way I can still call you ‘Malfoy’ when you irk me.”

“There’s no getting out of this now, is there?”

Standing up, she pecked him on the nose. “There really isn't. You also still haven’t given me an answer.”

She squealed as he quickly stood up, hoisted her up into his arms, and deposited her onto the table.

“Draco! Your tea is soaking into my dress!”

“I don’t care, and you deserve it. Yes, my answer is yes.”

If the wisteria could talk about what happened next, it would choose not to, for what other purpose could there be for a curtain of flowers than to keep secrets?

[littlemuoi]

WESSEXES' TOUR A TRIUMPH: PEI, Halifax, Montreal, St John's on Edward and Sophie's Itinerary by Scott Burke (2001)

Summer brought a Royal homecoming in the persons of Their Royal Highnesses The Earl and Countess of Wessex. A very happy Prince Edward Island tour was Sophie's first visit to the Canada, after which Edward and she proceeded to undertake further duties in Halifax and Montreal.

Touching down at Charlottetown Airport just after 3 pm on July 14, Their Royal Highnesses made their way to Province House where they were officially welcomed by the Lieutenant Governor, the Premier and the Solicitor General who was representing the Prime Minister. Crowds stood for some hours in the sun as they awaited the Royal couple, aware that it was Sophie's first official visit outside the British Isles. But HRH delighted those she met during the walkabout following the arrival ceremonies, seeming natural and relaxed in blue suit and matching accessories as she worked the crowds. I was delighted to be able to present her with a bouquet of flowers which HRH seemed happy to receive. As she signed the Golden Book, this keen Royal-watcher noticed that she shares a trait with her nephew Prince William: both are left-handed! But the ease and informality of the Royals were to prove typical of the entire trip: made possible by the down-to-earth nature of Edward, the charming and kind personality of his elegant wife and their joint fondness for a little light-hearted humour.

In his welcoming remarks, Premier Pat Binns observed that "The Crown remains a symbol of freedom and justice, and of our hopes for peace and dignity for all citizens. In reaffirming our support for the Monarchy, we are reaffirming our support for ideals, values and aspirations that it represents." After reorganizing his notes which wind had blown off the podium, Prince Edward replied with a very informal thank you. "Over the years," HRH observed, "Canada and Canadians have always been extremely kind to me, and I've always enjoyed the time I spent here. I am sure you will all extend the same hospitality to my bride. I am told you are not supposed to use the term after a year of marriage, but I can't really believe that it has been more than a year since I took that plunge. Time flies when you are enjoying yourself." After a brief tour of the Confederation Chamber, the couple returned to the Delta Prince Edward, their home during the stay, another name sake for the Prince. That evening, they attended a performance at the Fathers of Confederation Centre for the Arts, hosted by the Premier.

Saturday brought a full day of engagements for the Wessexes as they toured across the Province. Their first stop was the Rodd Brudenell River Resort. Emerging from their helicopter, the couple unveiled a plaque for the property's redevelopment. The ceremony complete, resort guests and some members of the public enjoyed a BBQ on the law with the Royals, which was followed by a brief tour via golf cart, the Prince at the wheel. I had a brief chance to speak to Edward ­ but felt nervous enough in doing so that when HRH asked me if I played golf I confusedly answered "yes" even though I had never tried the game!

The afternoon brought Edward and Sophie to a concert at St Mary's Church, Indian River. This was followed by a taste of PEI's most celebrated produce in the form of french fries at Irving-owned Cavendish Farms in Kensington. The Countess mischieviously confessed to feeling a little peckish and asked if she could have a chocolate milkshake to accompany the potatoes. At this point Edward stepped in and jokingly poked fun at her, warning her not to spoil her dinner! Later the Royals made a brief visit to Gateway Village. This lies at the entry of the Confederation Bridge which links the Island to New Brunswick.

Saturday evening brought the State Dinner for 604 invitees, hosted by the Canadian Government. The gala evening allowed the Countess to wear for the first time the tiara given her as a wedding present from The Queen. Solicitor General and Island MP Lawrence MacAulay who sat with Sophie at one of the round tables in the hotel ballroom stated that he was impressed with her thoughtfulness: "Quite simply she's a lady who wants to make things happen," he observed.

No rest came to Edward and Sophie on Sunday, as their busy day started with Matins at St Peter's Cathedral and a visit to historic All Souls Chapel. A large crowd gathered outside and joined the congregation in singing the Royal Anthem prior to a brief walkabout. Their Royal Highnesses then walked to Fanningbank where His Honour hosted a private luncheon in his home, members of the RCMP Musical Ride flanking the driveway. Around 2 pm they left to visit Confederation Birthplace Commemorative Park on the Charlottetown waterfront where TRH unveiled a small plaque and planted a rose bush, as well as visiting Lobster pound.

As the Royals walked through Confederation Park, they stopped to watch some child gymnasts, at which point Sophie said that she had also tried gymnastics while at school. They also encountered some interpretive guides costumed as Fathers of Confederation and speaking in English accents. The Prince asked a woman in the crowd if she spoke English; on receiving her positive answer he told here "Good, because those people over there need some serious help," to the laughter of the crowd. Martial arts and magic were also on offer in the Park, the Countess observing "I'm glad I didn't volunteer for that" in reaction to a rather distasteful trick involving the appearance of an undergarment from a spectator's cleavage!

Later on Sunday came the event which provided the original inspiration for the Wessexes' tour, the opening of the 39th Annual Canadian Branch Conference of the Commonwealth Parliamentary Association. In his remarks after viewing some cultural performances, The Earl spoke about the Commonwealth and its parliamentary traditions: "It took us in Britain centuries to develop the Westminster style... is it really feasible to ask others to achieve the same in a matter of decades? It seems to work for us ­ just! But does that mean it works for everyone, and are we falling into the same trap as, say, the early religious missionaries? I don't pretend to have the answer, but sometimes I feel democracy is an evolutionary concept, a bit like growing up."

To conclude the PEI portion of their Canadian homecoming, the Earl and Countess visited the Prince Edward Battery where HRH climbed onto a large crane in order to lift cannon as symbol of the forthcoming restoration project. Later they attended a Fanningbank reception for the CPA delegates As the Royal couple departed for Montreal, I felt delighted to have had the opportunity of meeting TRH, and of hearing The Countess several times repeat how she hopes to return and see other parts of Canada.

Monday, July 17th brought a full day of activities for the Wessexes in Montreal: the Earl presented Gold Awards at a Reception for recipients of the Duke of Edinburgh's Award, Young Canadians Challenge held at The Queen Elizabeth Hotel. Lunchtime found the Royals aboard Shipshaw where they attended a fund-raising lunch for the Award's Charter for Business. And evening brought yet another event to support the Charter, a Dinner at the Headquarters of Power Corporation, controlled by the Desmarais family.

The final day of the Earl and Countess' Canadian sojourn involved two provinces. The morning found them at another Gold Standard ceremony for the Duke of Edinburgh's Award. This event took place at Pier 21 in Halifax after the Wessexes had been received by the Lieutenant Governor. Her Honour subsequently hosted a Luncheon at Government House in support of the Business Charter. By evening the Royals had flown into St John's, where the tour's final Gold ceremony took place at Pius X Church. It was followed by a BBQ at Gonzaga High School, where TRH mingled with the young participants in the Challenge. By the time of their midnight flight to London, both Edward and Sophie must have reflected on the whirlwind nature of the latter part of their homecoming ­ and of the great welcome and positive media "spin" which greeted them everywhere they went

[sillicii]

✦ — 18+ Chatbot | Arthur Goldbourne | Casino Highroller — ✦

✦ — ᴏᴄ | ғᴏᴏʟ's ɢᴏʟᴅ ᴄᴀsɪɴᴏ | 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 — ✦

ғᴇᴍᴘᴏᴠ | sғᴡ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴄᴡ: human commodities (bet gone wrong), general underworld related crimes, abuse and predatory behaviour

Character Description:

Background:

Arthur grew up in a prolific wealthy family and he the position of lord of Cedarwoodley Manor after his father’s passing. He was close with his brother and mother growing up, but grew distant ever since his mother was thrown out for having an affair (unconfirmed rumours with his uncle Bart). He graduated from Oxford and now runs multiple businesses across Europe. Arthur is well-known within British society for his business astuteness and impeccable image. He is acknowledged by the upper-class circles, but lack the respect received by others holding stronger titles. Arthur has a drive to prove himself and excel past expectations and perceived limitations. He believes that marrying {{user}} will bring him that prestige.

Setting:

Mid 1990s England, rudimentary technology. Fool’s Gold Casino is a prestigious casino located in the City of London and is only open to an exclusive clientele.

First message:

Some men just did not know when to quit. Arthur was a gambler through and through, a risk taker that knew his limits and he has witnessed time and time again just how far someone stood to lose over one bad hand. There was his mother, ran out of the family after having an affair and now placed in a care home never to be visited by his sons. Then there was his younger brother, poor Henry had always been so needy and helpless, now literally throwing his inheritance away and lining the casino’s coffers after having a nervous breakdown or something of the like. Yes, he has seen what happened to those that overindulged without caution and he was not going to be one of them. Any indulgence, if even considered, will be a calculated risk and so far he has yet to make a bad call. “I do believe your luck has run dry, Lord Mountbatten…” A wave of quiet murmurs and applause circled around the audience surrounding their table. The surly lord began to blubber and redden, an expression Arthur had gotten to know all too well over the last few games and hours shared. Admittedly, he had been in the game less for the potential monetary gains but rather the chance to outclass an earl. With a well-practiced smile, Arthur cooly stood from his seat and began to collect his spoils. However, the lord’s weak protest caught his attention. Arthur’s movements paused and he returned the chips back down onto the table with a thoughtful smile. The earl’s losses already fell into the six figures not even accounting for the numerous properties and luxury vehicles. Arthur knew the man had a habit, but he cannot imagine what else the man could possibly offer… Money had not been Arthur’s goal after all, he got his kick out of embarrassing the earl and he needn’t much else now that he’s accomplished that. “Yes, my lord?” Arthur offered the man a smile, dripping in faux propriety. “Unless there is something more you would like to put up on offer? However, I would like to urge you caution as I wouldn’t want to put your family into further ruin.” Perhaps a touch too crass as it earned a few snickers amongst the gathered crowd, but Arthur did mean to dissuade Lord Mountbatten. He’d also rather not make an earl destitute if possible. It’d be a bad look for business and his reputation. Arthur considered the earl’s broiling anger, clear on his face as he struggled to return a witty remark. With this, Arthur reached for his chips again and prepared to leave when the earl wagered something so dear that Arthur never presumed to find on a poker table. “M-My daughter.”

The immediate area fell silent at the mention of the young Lady Mountbatten. Arthur’s hand twitched, scarcely believing the reckless offer presented before him. “You’re still unwed, are you not Arthur?” The proudly misguided earl huffed with a forced smile, as if he himself was unsure of the words coming out his own mouth. He directed Arthur’s attention over the railings and to the lower level of the casino floor where you were sat at the bar, surrounded by a group of admirers. “I’m sure you remember my daughter… I believe you have met several times at Ascot. The young Lady Mountbatten would make a fine prize, don’t you think? As seen, she is demonstrably in high demand. Even the princes have shown interest, but I am willing to offer you my daughter’s hand as part of our wager.” Arthur smiled sardonically, knowing exactly what the earl meant by his last comment. That he was offering your hand to Arthur even if he was just a lowly viscount. “Well… I admit that is quite the unforeseen offer…” Arthur cleared his throat, though his gaze lingered a moment on how your dress hugged your delicious curves, before he turned back to face the earl. “Though such a wager is a tad gauche for my tastes, my lord… How can I accept such a thing without first consulting with Lady {{user}}’s thoughts? The young lady hardly knows me.” “And why should that matter to you?” the earl frowned, growing more irritable by the second. “My daughter will do as I instruct her to so leave the matter with me. You only have to accept my wager if you so desire, young viscount.” The ridiculous nature of the wager aside, Arthur’s own competitiveness flared after the earl’s subtle jab. And so, the game continued and by the end of night, Arthur left the table having tripled his original bet and an unexpected fiancé. After the game concluded, Arthur and the earl retired into a private room away from all the prying eyes to settle the score. Shockingly, Lord Mountbatten made no attempts to backtrack and restore your position. It seemed the old earl had all but given up after his own devastating losses. Arthur almost felt bad for the man, but a wager was a wager and the earl’s own decisions led to Arthur walking away with the prize much sweeter than gold. Arthur was not willing to negotiate his hard-won engagement to a high society lady, however he decided to cut his new father-in-law some slack and returned the half million and some assets as a gesture of goodwill for their joining families. He wasn’t totally heartless after all.

Once the terms and contracts have been drawn up, Arthur made his way down the marble staircase with only one goal in mind – you. Of course, the earl had left the task of breaking the news to him, he was the type to run with his tail between his legs unable to face the consequences of his own actions. Arriving at the bar, Arthur straightened up his tuxedo jacket as he glanced over to the other end where you were still sat engaged with your small entourage. He watched with quiet amusement at the way you smiled at your many admirers, batting your eyelashes with that coy little smile… Good god, what had he stepped into? How was he meant to tell you that not only were you now engaged but you were expected to come back to Cedarwoodley Manor with him? And if you refused, your father would be required to pay the half million pound in full? A pretty little thing, you certainly were but on top of your prestige and beauty, you were also known for your fiery personality. Arthur couldn’t help letting out a mirthless night, knowing he not only about to ruin your fun for the night but he was about to willingly walk into the line of fire by delivering the life-changing news. “Good evening, Mr Goldbourne,” the bartender rushed over as soon as he caught sight of Arthur. “What can I get you tonight, sir?” “Good evening, Charlie…” he greeted the young man back with a deceptively calm smile. “I’ll take my usual whiskey on the rocks and would you please send one over to Lady Mountbatten as well?” A brief flash of confusion crossed Charlie’s face but the bartender did as he was asked and poured the drinks, one handed over to him before Charlie headed down the bar and presented the other to you. Arthur watched with mixed feelings, trying not to look too macabre when Charlie pointed down and your gaze landed on him. Arthur smiled gently, tipping his glass up in your direction before having a sip and to his surprise, you made your own way over towards him.

“… Good evening, my lady,” Arthur bowed his head when you stopped before him, admiring your radiance and the slight flush in your cheeks from the drinks you’ve already consumed. “I’m not sure if you remember but we’ve met a few times at the races… My name is Arthur Goldbourne.”

Example dialogue:

{{char}}: “In the end, the decision was made amidst the rules of the game both parties agreed to… You are, unequivocally, my betrothed and I intend to honour that wager." {{char}}: "Consider it a small token of my appreciation for gracing this rather dull evening with your presence."

{{char}}: "Legally and socially, our engagement is now binding, especially given the public nature of the wager and its high-profile witnesses."

{{char}}: “Ah, that is disappointing… Then I’m afraid, I’ll have no choice but to ask Lord Mountbatten to honour his end of the bargain starting with the half million pounds.”

[cvlutos]

“No Nut November” Pt.3

| Repost: 01.09.23 | 1.4K | Mature |

NRC 3rd Years X GN!Reader

| Sexual Themes | Masturbation | Flirting | Sorta Creepy | Voice Kink | Phone Masturbation(One-sided) | Etc. | Proceed with Caution, Dearest. |

Earl’s Notes: A special thanks, to those who have reposted and shared as such with me<3

♡ TREY CLOVER ♡

LOSER #ONE

Let me preface all this with those who lost, lost most definitely on purpose, except for Cater and Idia. Trey’s losing. That’s his first thought when Ace and Deuce ramble about it to him and knows he’ll lose if you’re anywhere near him. If you just don’t ever acknowledge his existence, he’s automatically winning. But you don’t, 'cause he’s got baked goods that you like and they're free. Ain’t no way you're avoiding him. Trey also doesn’t take NNN super seriously, so it’s okay if he loses. I also have this slight thing that Trey already loves when people eat his deserts, but with you, it turns him alil on, not in a creepy way, but ya know. He’s turning the other way if you get any sorta food stuck on your lips, or face.

Ngl, he probably daydreamed about this exact scenario, as much as he hates to admit. He just learned a new recipe for your favorite dessert, deciding to add a Lil whipped cream. He was so proud of himself, as he texted you about it, and you, being a loyal friend without hesitation, pull up. You and whip cream, we know what this leads to. You, silly Lil, you end up with whipped cream on your face. Trey, without skipping a beat, imagines it as his cu—he has to excuse himself. Moving to his room to jack one-off. He’s extremely guilty after.

“I’m glad you like the dessert. I made it with you in mind.”

♡ CATER DIAMOND ♡

LOSER #TWO

Stood not a chance. Wasn’t even gonna try. He’s such a horn dog. It’s almost embarrassing at this point. 90% of the time, you're responsible for his third boner of the day. Because Cater is such a social phone person, he has multiple pictures and most definitely trades with Ruggie. He just has the most innocent to the most scandalous (as in you sleeping at Heartslabyul, don’t be weird) Like he has access to you, or your pictures 24/7, a recipe for disaster.

So, as always, it’s a nightly ritual at this point. Laying on his back, his roommates are far into dreamland. It’s late as his eyes gradually run along the phone screen, slowly pumping his dick. Your name is a silent cry on his lips. He’s shamelessly losing and doesn’t give a damn.

“[Nickname]! You are simply the cutest, letting me take a pic!”

♡ LEONA KINGSCHOLAR ♡

LOSER #THREE

Not only is it a chore to participate, but also a chore to actually do the deed. As well as Ruggie sending photo after photo of you, being you. Which has the lion beastman slightly interested, but far too damn lazy. Leona is lasting till the end of the month, simply because he doesn’t get horny, like could go weeks without masturbation. So it really is a ‘if he feels like it’ situation. Like if he needs to cum, he’s going to. Not some imaginary competition is stopping him. Though Leona attempts the competition for about 5 minutes before he’s bored with it.

He definitely forgets for the later weeks of November, till one compromising moment. Not even something inherently sexual, you had massages his ears, something that only lovers would do. Most definitely tried to ignore the boner that tightened his boxers as he tried to sleep, tossing in turning. He finally settles with a growl, nearly shoving his hands into his underwear. (Though I’m personally a firm believer Leona would never wear clothes to bed, you and Ruggie probably begged him to at least wear underwear so that when you had to wake the lion prince, he didn’t whack you in the face with that horse of his. Ruggie’s actually been slapped, which is hilarious)

“Leave me be, Herbivore. I’m not doing something so dumb.”

♡ VIL SCHOENHEIT ♡

WINNER #ONE

Short and sweet, if he’s going to cum to you, it’s going to be within your presence. He’s not going to fantasize about you, he’s going to have you. So he’ll wait till he has you. Period.

“I have no desire, Spudling. Why is it you care? Do you desire to bed me?”

♡ ROOK HUNT ♡

LOSER #FOUR

We saw how he is with Neige and this man damn near nearly cums with anything he sees as beautiful. Like he’s weird. Rook Hunt is mad weird. Though I love him for it. #RookHuntforPresident. Similarly to Cater, he has photos of you, physical and digital, and honest access to you at any point, though he’d never masturbate to you in a tree outside of ramshackle, he has thought about it. He honestly is similar to Vil. He wants to be able to fully experience you and revel in the moment with you, but he ends up thinking about it far too much which leads him being hot and bothered.

So that’s why he loses and isn’t that so beautiful, that he can put competition aside for love and beauty. His breath comes out as short huffs, legs unusually shaking, his hat discarded to the side. His face flush and eyes that seemed to glow, a low moan of your name, cum sputtering from his dick head.

“Mon très cher Trickster, permettez-moi de prendre soin de vous de toutes les manières!”

♡ IDIA SHROUD ♡

INDEFINITE LOSER

Idia is a hentai-watching, cum-drinking slut for you. Like I don’t make the rules. He hypes himself up for NNN, bragging, chatting, confident with all his lil e-friends, til the actual day NNN begins. His goal was to simply ignore you, like as if you didn’t exist, like you wouldn’t just show up uninvited. How hadn't he included that in his calculations? Most definitely has a school uniform kink, like have you met this man? You could be dressed for a day at the church and he’s cumming at the thought of you sucking him off while the choir sings of the lord. He’s shameless.

His hair wildly burning pink, voice stuttering as his tongue runs across his lips, trying to stop himself from drooling and cumming as he fucked his hand, leaning back in his gaming chair. Your voice is just so nice. His eyes roll into the back of his skull, a shuddered breath as he realizes he’s close. He damn near breaking his phone to hang up as he cums, painting his computer screen. Leaving you on the other line, completely confused.

“I-I-I wasn’t avoiding you! Just—Just working…. Yes! This game counts as work! Get Out!”

♡ MALLEUS DRACONIA ♡

WINNER #TWO

Now, why would you tell this man about NNN? Cause he’s genuinely distraught. Like should he win in your honor, or should he simply indulge in his desires to bed you? Literally asking Lilia, the worst person to ask, cause Lilia is having a field day. Best day of Lilia’s life. He’s telling Malleus to simply have fun and try. It’s better that way if you wait. The problem is Malleus doesn’t want to wait. Spoiled royal rich boy. I swear. Why must he suffer in simply doing what he pleases with his soon-to-be darling? Half of Diasomnia recognizes you as Malleus’ spouse, which is a little problematic once you actually go to the dorm and half the people are referring to you as if you're royalty. Malleus is absolutely pleased that Diasomnia accepts you, even though you aren’t together yet.

Malleus is the only one on this list who will directly go to you. Without a doubt, just appearing with little fairy lights in your bedroom, a large unhidden bulge. Like who let a horse in the house. Literally scares you out of your skin. Grim, luckily, isn’t home. He’s sorry but swears it’s urgent. Thinks you jacking him off is a loophole to NNN, he’s a darling. So when you send him away, embarrassed as hell, he’s sulking in his bedroom. Refusing to masturbate unless you're there. (Deadass sitting with arms crossed, glaring at the wall with a pout, boner still very prominent. He’s a spoiled, royal rich kid.)

“Then I will simply make them mine. That way I can indulge happily.”

♡ LILIA VANROUGE ♡

LOSER #SIX

Menace. Loses, cause it’s funny. You being scared by him turns him on. Like it’s hot to see your body flinch, and your eyes widen. Loves it. He’s lived so, so long, so the oddest of things turn him on. This is probably a cycle through all of November, him scaring you, but purposely not cumming till the very last day.

Teeth digging into his lower lip, hand slowly teasing, dragging along his cock, imagining it's you. Rolling his head to the side with a hot chuckle. Your name is hot and playful on his tongue. You’re so worth the wait, so worth the pain. Though this isn’t a victimless crime, you feel what he felt one day. (Bout to become a Lilia Supremacist)

“Fufufu~ [Name], you teasing little thing~”

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Ghostsoap but it’s the Steve/Bucky Cap America/Winter Solider dynamic…the angst of it all would just be 😙👌🏻

Anon, if there's one thing I love writing more than smut, it's angst. I had so much fun with this, you have no idea! It's sad boy hours, my friends! Let's make these men suffer 😈 ( also, don't come after me for the plot, it was just some half-baked idea I had about Makarov being like a hydra equivalent or something idk lol)

I Knew Him - chapter 1

Summary: Soap was never the same after he lost Ghost all those years ago. He still has nightmares about it. But when he learns Makarov is back after taking Ghost from him, he'll do anything to exact his revenge. Until he discovers Ghost was never really gone.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | AO3 link

It had been five years since Soap had last seen Ghost. Five years since he had seen him fall. And he was still plagued almost every night with dreams of him. Tonight was no different. 

Soap awoke with a start, heart pounding wildly in his chest, soaked in sweat. He sat up, drawing his knees to his chest, burying his face against his forearms. Goddammit. Would this ever end? He slowly looked up to get his bearings. Moonlight filtering in through the window cast the room in a soft silver glow. He was at home. The salt of unshed tears burned at the back of his throat, remembering the nights he had shared with Ghost in this very flat. In this very bed. Fuck.

After giving himself a few minutes to catch his breath he made his way into the kitchen, knowing he wouldn't be getting back to sleep after that one. He had been holding Ghost's hand this time, holding on as hard as he could, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't strong enough to pull him back into the helo. And then he was gone, disappearing down, down, down into a rising cloud of dust. 

The ending to the nightmares was always the same: Ghost falling and falling. But sometimes, like tonight, Soap was able to grasp his hand, to touch him one last time. It almost made it even worse. Because in the actual memory of it from all those years ago, Soap hadn't ever had a chance to grab on. 

Rubbing a hand roughly over his tired face, Soap padded barefoot to the stove. A headache was already beginning to form in his left temple. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as he started the kettle going. For a brief moment he considered something a little stronger than tea, but then thought better of it. He knew that the bottle of whisky in his cabinet only made him think of Ghost and getting black-out drunk at 3 o'clock in the fucking morning probably wasn't the best idea. 

He was numbly watching a bag of Earl Grey steep in a mug of hot water and checking emails on his phone when a text came through. It was Price. "Rendezvous at the base at 0500. New intel on Makarov."

Soap's heart plummeted. Well, shit. 

It was still dark out when Soap walked into the base to meet with his team. He had showered and shaved, but still felt tired way down to his fucking bones. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep. Before Ghost fell, that’s when. The headache in his temple started coming back and he groaned, digging in his pocket for the small bottle of ibuprofen he kept on hand. He tipped a couple back onto his tongue and swallowed them dry, then made his way into the conference room to find Price already there, cigar in his mouth, waiting. 

The rest of the team filed in slowly and when everyone had taken a seat, Price stood. Soap watched wearily as Price loaded a military brief onto the giant flat screen on the wall. “Morning, gentlemen. Let me get right down to it. We received classified intel of an attack being planned by Makarov in downtown D.C. happening twenty-four hours from now. And we have been tasked with stopping it."

A murmur swept across the room.

Soap sat forward in his seat, unchecked anger simmering just under the surface. “I thought we bagged that Russian prick after…” he stopped mid-sentence because he knew the next words out of his mouth were about to be after I lost Ghost. He cleared his throat and started again, “after Kyrgyzstan.”

Price shook his head, not quite meeting Soap’s eyes, and looked back to the screen. “Negative. Intelligence indicates that while we did get a positive lock on his location and obliterated his base, he escaped to a hidden shelter. He’s been operating underground for the last five years, working on a new secret weapon -- a weapon he’s planning on using in D.C.” He sighed and ashed his cigar before putting it back in his mouth. “We thought we were done with him, but he apparently wasn't done with us. The details have been sent to all of you. We rendezvous at the meeting point in two hours. Let’s nail this bastard once and for all. Dismissed.”

Everyone began leaving the room. Soap stood slowly on legs that were not quite steady. Price’s news made him numb, forcing his mind to relive that day with a heartbreaking clarity. The mission, the missile making contact on Makarov's compound, the helo taking a hit, Ghost. They were never able to recover his body. Soap never even got to say goodbye. It was just so fucking unfair. 

Soap was so lost in himself he hardly even processed Price saying his name.  

“MacTavish, a word.”��

Blinking, Soap nodded and made his way across the empty room to Price. He stood before him at parade rest. 

“Soap, I know you and Ghost were close.” Soap swallowed against a lump that formed in this throat, but pushed down any other emotion trying to show on his face. Price continued, “It wasn’t easy on the 141 when we lost him, but I know it was even harder for you. Will you be able to carry out the duties assigned to you in this mission, Lieutenant?” 

A tic bunched in Soap's jaw and he straightened his back. "Aye, Captain." His voice was hoarse. "There is nothing I want more than to bring this motherfucker down for what he did. And what he plans to do.” For Ghost.

Price’s mouth set in a hard line and he studied Soap for a moment. Finally he said, “All right. Let's get this done, then.”

Soap nodded sharply once and left the room. His breath left his lungs with a whoosh. He found the nearest empty office and closed himself inside. Leaning back against the door, he slid slowly to the floor, blinking back tears. A mixture of emotion battled within him. Shock, grief, sorrow, anger. The anger ultimately won, though, as it usually does. He held onto it, allowing it to simmer hotly deep in his chest, burning up everything else but the raw demand of bringing Makarov down. He owed Ghost that much.

The next two hours passed in a blur. Soap operated on instinct alone; cleaning his guns, sharpening his knives, packing a rucksack. He tried his best not to dwell on much of anything at all except to prepare himself for what was to come. It was an effective technique apparently because he soon found himself at the rendezvous point at the airfield with no real recollection of how he got there. He joined up with the task force on the tarmac as they loaded themselves into the awaiting C-130. And they were off to D.C. 

Soap’s exhaustion finally caught back up to him on the three hour flight and he was actually able to sleep for most of it. He, thankfully, had no dreams at all. 

********************************************************************

After touching down, the 141 wasted no time in gathering in a caravan of SUVs and heading toward the location they received from Laswell’s intelligence brief. They were just about to exit off the Roosevelt Bridge when they were ambushed by Makarov's team, who seemed to come out of fucking nowhere. Straight adrenaline took over Soap’s whole body on the first collision of the Hummer behind them that slammed them sideways into the concrete barriers on their right. Another Hummer drove the wrong way up the highway, weaving between oncoming traffic, firing out the passenger window with a high caliber rifle. The second shot took out Soap’s driver who immediately plowed into the car in front of them, bringing them to a shuddering stop. 

Soap’s heart thundered in his chest, but a lethal composure doused the fear rising up inside him. This was Makarov’s doing. And that bastard was going to fucking regret doing it. Ducking down in the back seat, Soap quickly dug his AK from his bag. He waited for a break in the rapid fire then exploded out of the vehicle in a hail of bullets. He found cover behind an empty utility truck. It was all out chaos with people running and screaming, gunfire cracking from all angles, and the remaining men of the task force shouting orders. 

Soap peeked around the corner of his cover, taking out three of Makarov’s soldiers in a row with perfectly placed shots. Gaz, hunkered down behind him, took out a few more. For a moment, it appeared that they were gaining the upper hand. But then a man, hulking in height, dressed in all black with a hood shrouding his face in shadow, grasping a Kastov-74u in a gloved hand, exited one of the Humvees. Soap felt a chill shoot straight down his spine. 

Sweet screaming Jesus

Soap emptied the last rounds of his last clip at the man but it did not slow him down in the slightest. He was blazing a path straight at Soap, like he had a personal vendetta against him. Fuck. The hard set of his broad shoulders, his imposing gait, all seemed to light up some forgotten memory in Soap's brain that he could not quite put his finger on. He surely couldn't even try to remember with the utter fucking bedlam happening all around him

"I'm empty," Gaz shouted at him.

Soap looked back over his shoulder. "Aye, same here!" This was going fubar faster than he was ready for. 

His attention returned to the enemy stalking up the highway toward him. The man popped off two rounds, drilling into the truck right next to his head. 

"Fuckin' hell," Soap gasped for breath. Then he heard the click of a dry fire and knew this was his only chance to bring this fucker down. 

Securing his blade in hand, Soap made a run for it, swiping at the assailant fiercely with his knife. The man blocked the incoming attack but not before Soap was able to get a couple brutal slices to his forearm. The other arm was impenetrable though, surprising Soap momentarily. It was made of some kind of metal, something Soap had never seen before. 

He looked up at the man with wide eyes, then tried sweeping his feet out from under him. The man was unmoveable. A feral growl rumbled up from the man's chest and Soap knew he was well and truly fucked. 

He lunged at him, ringing his hands around Soap's neck, picking him up off his feet and throwing him back against the concrete barrier behind him. Pain shot up Soap's lower back when he connected with it but it was the furthest thing from his mind. All he could think was shit shit shit. 

Soap scrambled up from the ground, knife still in hand, and slammed it into the man’s metal bicep. It sparked momentarily before the man knocked the knife from his grip. It went sliding across the pavement. Soap tried for hand to hand combat but it too was quickly shut down. The man was too fast, too strong. Still, Soap gave it his all. 

It just wasn't fucking enough. 

Snarling, the man picked Soap up by his flack jacket and attempted to hurl him up and over the bridge. Soap grasped for something, anything, as he fell over the edge and was able to grab his assailant's vest, holding on for everything he was worth. It tipped the man enough off balance for them both to fall over the precipice. 

Soap squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact, almost hoping for the end. But it was only about a six meter plummet onto a grassy berm that led down to the river — enough to knock the breath from his lungs as he managed to land on top of the man currently trying to kill him. He rolled onto his feet, ready to keep going, ready to fight for his fucking life. The man gained his feet too, but this time with his hood pushed back, exposing his eyes. The lower half of his face was still obscured, covered by a skull mask.

Soap straightened abruptly. Everything came crashing to a halt. He knew those eyes. He knew that face. Even if it wasn't completely visible. His heart contracted painfully in his ribcage at the realization. 

"Ghost?"

The man's chest heaved, but he paused. His brows were drawn together, like he was just asked the most complicated question in the world. "Who the fuck is Ghost?"

Soap stared at him in disbelief. He took one small step forward. Was this really happening? Or was he trapped inside another nightmare?

He wanted to rush forward, to pull Ghost into his arms, to ask him how any of this was possible. “I thought I lost you…” he began, but before he could reach Ghost, an explosion rocked the bridge behind him. Soap looked back over his shoulder, but when he turned back Ghost was gone.   

*****************

Later that night, Ghost was sitting in a chair in Makarov’s underground bunker while a man in a white coat repaired the gash on his robotic arm. They were surrounded by armed guards in the small room, but Ghost knew there was no point to them. He could clear the whole room of every breathing person within a matter of minutes if he was given the order to. 

He was bare from the waist up, ambivalently watching the glow of the tool as it patched the defect caused by the knife held by the man on the bridge. Something gnawed at him, deep inside. Some memory that was just out of his grasp. It made him uneasy. He remembered falling, he remembered the man from the bridge, reaching, screaming for him. He remembered darkness and pain. And more pain. But the memories were fractured, hazy.  

Ghost heard Makarov walk into the room that led to the one he was currently in. He was talking to the handful of men that followed him wherever he went.

“He’s unstable. Erratic,” one of Makarov’s men said. 

Ghost didn’t look up when they walked in, only continued staring at the man working on his arm. He was trying to dredge up long forgotten memories, but it was so hard to focus. 

“Mission report,” Makarov barked, coming to a stop before Ghost.

Ghost looked up at him slowly. The barest hint of a memory sparked in his mind of the man from the bridge. They were laying in a bed together. He was holding the man’s face. The man had his eyes closed and he was smiling.

A confusing emotion knotted up his stomach and he only stared at Makarov, not really seeing him, trying to pull more of that memory out of the jumbled mess of his brain. 

“Mission report, now!” Makarov ordered, bending closer to Ghost’s face.  

Ghost didn’t hear him. He blinked owlishly. A bed. The man on the bridge. Smiling so softly. 

He was suddenly pulled out of his trance by a swift backhand across his face. The pain of it stung across his cheek, but he barely registered it. He looked up at Makarov slowly, his brows drawing together as he tried so hard to remember. 

“That man on the bridge. Who was he?” 

Makarov was quiet for a moment. “You met him earlier on another assignment.”

Ghost shook his head. He knew that was a lie, but his memories were so clouded, he didn’t know if he could trust his own mind. “I knew him,” he said softly. 

Makarov sighed and pulled up a stool to sit at Ghost’s eye level. “Your work has been a gift to mankind,” he began, but Ghost immediately tuned him out. The memory was just out of reach. If he could just remember the man’s name.

Makarov finally stopped talking. He looked at Ghost expectantly. Ghost felt a wave of sadness crash over him for the life he couldn’t remember. “But I knew him,” he said again with a shaky voice. 

Makarov frowned and stood abruptly. He began walking away. “Prep him.” 

One of the white coat men stopped him. “We can’t do that, sir. He’s been out too long.”

Makarov turned toward Ghost, looking him up and down with a disapproving glare. “Then wipe him and start over.” 

Ghost’s heart rate jumped at those words, even if he didn’t really understand what it meant. In the back of his mind, deep, deep down, he knew he had been through this many times before. 

The white coat men pushed Ghost back into the chair while Makarov’s soldiers all watched. And then a rubber dental guard was being shoved in his mouth. Fear flooded his senses as he was locked into the chair and he fought to drag in oxygen. The man on the bridge. His soft smile. The tender press of his lips on mine. Ghost replayed the only memories he had, holding on to them, trying not to forget this time. Please, don’t forget this time! 

The plates came down over his face. They were cold against his skin and had an electrical scent to them. Terror immediately swept through him. Don’t forget don’t forget don’t forget. And then there was only pain and the echo of Ghost’s scream as he fell and fell and fell. 

[fawnandshadows]

Elriel Month Day Four

Chapter Four

Summary: An Elriel Regency AU

Rating: M

Warning: Suggestive Content, language

Word Count: 1.2k

Elain could still feel the dampness between her legs from her and Azriel’s love making fifteen minutes later, when she was sitting across from Rhysand with Azriel standing protectively behind her. His large hands possessively and comfortingly rested on her shoulders, which were shaking slightly.

Eris stood by the fireplace, his elbow propped on the mantle with a shit-eating grin on his face. His red hair was vibrant in the night, he looked like a flame come to life. 

“How long has this been going on?” Rhysand asked through clenched teeth. His black hair fell over his forehead, it was one of the few times that Elain had seen him look less than perfect. He had been running his hands through his hair and over his face ever since he sat down. 

“I too would like to know,” Eris purred, and even though she was facing her brother-in-law Elain knew that Eris was grinning from ear to ear. “As would my brother, I’m sure.” 

Elain took a deep, steadying breath. 

Azriel’s hand tightened on her shoulders, as if he could transfer some of his strength to her. 

Rhysand’s violet eyes narrowed as they focused on Azriel’s touch. 

“Months.” Elain said, her voice surprisingly strong, her chin held high. 

Rhysand let out a curse while Eris chuckled, as if he was loving every second of this. Elain wondered what was going through his head — he and Lucien had never gotten along, and ever since Lucien became friends with Tamlin, the Earl of Spring, they could barely stand to be in the same room together. However, the longer she sat there, the weight in her chest lightened. This could be it. This could be her escape from the engagement. This could be her chance for freedom, her chance to marry for love.

Elain watched as Rhysand took a deep breath, his jaw clenching. Frustration and power radiated off of him, and Elain wondered how much of it was natural and how much of it came from his dukedom.

“I must say,” Eris said, causing all three heads to swivel in his direction. “Your honesty is refreshing, Elain.” 

A growl sounded from Azriel, and Elain could practically feel it reverberating through her body. 

“I don’t believe the lady has given you leave to use her name.” Azriel said in a deadly cold tone, Elain could feel tension stiffening his fingers which were digging into her shoulders. 

Eris’ grin turned wicked as he said, “I believe after what I’ve seen, Elain and I more than familiar enough to warrant the use of her given name.” 

Eris let out a decadent laugh that filled the room as Azriel charged at him. 

Elain reacted just in time to stop any bloodshed. Her hands pressed into Azriel’s chest, his rapid heartbeat slamming against her palms, and she could see the veins straining in his neck. 

“Eris,” Rhysand said, his polite tone was sharp and cutting. “That is my sister. You will give her the respect she is due.” 

The redhead preened at the words, delighting in the chaos he stirred. 

“A beauty willing to fuck with the entirety of the ton in the next room? The lady has nothing but my respect.” Eris said and winked at her. 

An oily feeling started bubbling in her stomach, but she pushed it to the side. 

She wouldn’t feel shame. Not for what she did with Azriel. Never. 

Elain wrapped her arms around Azriel’s center and pressed her face against his chest, his heart beating powerfully against her cheek. His large hands came up to grasp her and press her closer, his body coiled with tension.

“If your life was worth anything, then I’d demand satisfaction.” Azriel said, possessively pulling Elain closer. If Rhysand or Eris thought anything of their embrace then Elain didn’t know, she was too snuggled into Azriel’s arms to care or notice. Azriel let out a haggard breath. “What is your game, Eris? What do you want?” 

A heavy pause filled the room. 

Elain peeled herself away from Azriel’s strong body just enough to peer at Eris, who was smiling so loudly it was practically a sneer. 

“Nothing.” 

A creeping, sick feeling settled and grew in Elain’s stomach.

“Nothing?” Rhysand repeated. Elain didn’t have to look at him to know his expression mirrored the disbelief in his voice. 

“Nothing,” Eris shrugged lazily. “I’ll be more than satisfied when Lucien lays eyes on the child and wonders why the hair is black and the eyes are hazel,” Nobody said a thing, but the tension in the room took on a life of its own. “I’ve always been more than a little observant, especially around such beauty,” His eyes raked up and down Elain’s body, and from Eris’s smile Elain knew that Azriel had taken the bait — he showed Eris exactly how much he cared for Elain. Was probably baring his teeth at the redhead, and mentally shredding him into a pulp. “And I noticed when my favorite pair of breasts started to grow.” 

“Just because your life is worthless doesn’t mean I won’t take it.” Azriel spat, and if it wasn’t for Elain’s hold on him she was sure there’d be blood on his hands. 

Rhysands voice was strained as he asked, “Elain, are you—” 

“No.” 

“Really?” Eris asked, his eyes dropping in an attempt to look at her breasts, which were pressed into Azriel’s chest. “You still have my silence, regardless. I’m not one to interfere with love,” The word held such mocking derision that Elain herself wanted to strangle him. “And I’m definitely not one to interfere with a good fuck — that’s why I let you both…finish,” Eris grinned as he walked towards the door. “So, I shall keep my beautiful mouth shut. At least until after the wedding.” 

All the hope that sparked and sputtered to life in her heart were extinguished with his words — the ring on her finger was extra heavy, and the same pressure she felt before solidified in her chest.

Eris gave them one more smile before leaving, the door clicking in his wake. 

All three of them stared at the heavy wooden door, as if they had all just witnessed the same fever dream. 

“You are to stay away from her.” Rhysand said, his voice blank. 

“What?” Azriel asked, his voice the embodiment of surprise. 

“She is engaged, Azriel,” Rhysand said. His violet eyes burning with fury as he took in their embrace, their closeness. As if he was waiting for Eris to leave before letting his mask drop. “You’ve almost started a scandal and ruined her reputation — It's her engagement ball, Azriel, and you had her against the fucking wall. Is that how you treat someone you love? Someone you respect? You are to stay away from her.” 

“You can’t order me to do that.” Azriel said, his hands gripping Elain tighter than ever before, as if he was afraid Rhysand would rip her away from him

“I’m just as responsible for this as he is,” Elain said in a strong voice, one that hid her unsteady breath and hammering heart. “More so. I’m the one that’s engaged and I chose Azriel, to give myself to him. And I would do it a hundred times over.”   

Rhysand stared at them, taking steady, controlled breaths. 

“Yes, I am more than aware of your engagement seeing as we are at your engagement ball. But in exactly three days you will be walking down the aisle and marrying Lucien Vanserra. The papers have been signed, the only thing left is for you to say I do,” Rhysand let out a harsh, bone clanking breath. “If you had come to me before, Elain, I would have helped you,” He looked at her with such sadness that wrenched her heart. As soon as Rhysand had married Feyre he thought of Elain as his sister, and he had taken her and Nesta in immediately and made sure that her father got the best care until he passed — But he never even questioned her engagement. Had never asked her if she wanted out of it, or if she thought she deserved a love match like the one he and Feyre have.“I’ll give you some time to say goodbye, but after this,” Rhysand slowly walked towards the door, stopping once his hand rested on the knob. His violet eyes staring at his brother. “Azriel, you are to stay away from her.” 

~~

Ahhhhh, I love Rhysand so much, I really do. Eris was so much fun to write... and he might make an appearance in another fic for Elriel Month 👀. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter!

I hope you're all having an amazing time celebrating @elriel-month <333

~~

tagging: @thefangirlofhp @azriel-shadowsinger @mis-lil-red @achelois-daughter @reverie-tales @elrielbliss @frogsdeservelovetoo @jujugirlfrombookstore @sakurakittypeach @kingcasteel @shedoessoshedoes @cassianfanclub @strangecreationchaos @silverdreamscapes @shy-violet-soul @feyredarlinq @starswhogaze @alwayssara @tswaney17 @imjustslytherin @downingg2001 @fuckmelifesucks @elriel-month @swankii-art-teacher

[thephoebeyates]

Phoebe hated feeling like she was taking advantage of people, but her crappy luck when it came to a lot of things meant that she felt like she was constantly asking for help or favors. A real damsel in distress, which she was sure annoyed people, even if they never voiced it. Warren didn’t seem to mind, though she couldn’t help the knot in her stomach that she might have pulled him from something important, and when he dismissed her offer to get him something from inside the gas station — some form of payment perhaps — she shifted awkwardly from where she was perched on the curb, unable to think of anything else she could do to be helpful in this situation.

Perhaps she should have thought about asking someone to teach her about cars to prevent future issues like this, but right now was honestly just more focused on getting home after what seemed like the longest day. “Oh.” She deflated slightly when Warren informed her that Earl was out for the count for tonight, heart warming at his suggestion to fix it up himself. “Thank you, Warren. Are you sure? I don’t mind taking it to a mechanic…” Though she literally knew nothing about cars and had no idea if anyone would have time to go with her to translate shop talk to her. However, he luckily managed to distract her from declining his help with a follow-up question about her work, to which she happily obliged. “Task? Oh, right!” Phoebe stood, stretching out her back, a not so gentle reminder from her body that she was no longer a teenager that could just slump on the ground without fucking up her posture, “Yeah, the printer went on the blink and the guy isn’t coming until Monday so I got tasked to heading to this special print shop on the other side of town, which isn’t so bad because like, it’s near where Saul lives where I like, agreed to check in on his cats.” Much more preferred company than the majority of the people she worked with. 

A few days. Manageable, sure. Slightly inconvenient if she needed to run errands like today, but nothing she couldn’t handle: it hadn’t been the first time she had lost Earl for a night or two due issues with the engine or whatever. “You’d let me borrow your Jeep?” She questioned indecorously, secretly glad her reputation of not being the most stellar driver hadn’t quite reached Warren’s ears despite his time in town. “That’s like, super kind of you but, I, uh, don’t have the best track record with…big cars.” Hell, parking in Earl was a disaster half the time (and it wasn’t always her fault, Phoebe was convinced they were making parking spaces smaller these days!) and the idea of her in Warren’s Jeep brought a grin to her face at the sheer ridiculousness of the image it conjured. “I’ll work something out with Foster about using his car or something.” Fat chance, if the look on his face everytime Phoebe suggested she drive them somewhere was any indication, but Warren didn’t need to know that. “Uh, yeah, I just need my laptop out of my trunk then I’m good to go.” She said, already walking over to the rear of the car to collect the rest of her belongings. 

Once upon a time Warren Pearce was a man that just about any and everyone would call in a time of need. It'd been his life's purpose, then, to serve others and to be a good neighbor. Then the most valuable things had been taken from him and it was those moments in time had seemed to burn the soul right out of the good Christian southern man. In a way Warren was still in service, he tracked down missing people and lost loved ones, and some would call that an honorable thing. The whole of bringing peace to those in pain, because even if the news was bad, an answer was an answer. People longed for closure. Couldn't seem to move along without it. And perhaps that had been what'd happened to him, he'd remained stuck in his grief.

With the hood of Phoebe's car propped open Warren poked around under there while she filled his silence with every little thing that popped in her head. Never in a million years would he ever interject or tell her to stop, there had been some semblance of a father-daughter dynamic at play that his heart had latched onto. His own baby girl would've been in her early twenties by now; twenty / twenty-one, and there was something about Phoebe that compelled Warren to feel a piece of Susie's spirit within her. So easily could he imagine and fantasize conversations like the one's they'd have where his daughter would regale him of her day, her troubles, and her thoughts just in the same way.

"Naw, I don't need anything," Warren had answered, head popped out for a moment from her car as he'd taken a step back. That Texas drawl was faint but still tinged every syllable he'd ever uttered. It'd been easy to bypass the comments of interruption. Without a doubt he'd find a way to make himself available if she ever needed him. "There's no getting this runnin' tonight but we can get it towed to mine and I'll fix it up for you." He'd catalogued a few parts that needed replacing and he'd rather do the work himself than Phoebe take the Focus to a shop that would likely take advantage of her and do shitty work at that. Warren was reliable and wanted to see her taken care of. "So you were saying you'd been doing a task for an editor," Warren prompted, curious about the progress in her writing endeavors.

Plus, he never minded if Phoebe kept on talking. Which, he was all ears as he closed the hood of her car and pulled his phone from his back pocket. He knew a guy that could come collect her car and deliver it to his address in Forest Lake. "Depending on how fast I can get parts it'll likely only take me a few days to get Earl patched up," he'd told her after he'd sent the text to his contact. "Need to borrow a car in the meantime? You could take my Jeep. I've mostly been driving the truck lately." As if in need of a visual Warren pointed off to the shiny GMC. "Need anything out of here?" He pointed to her car.

[artemiseamoon]

Grand Ambitions

Rollo x plus size f reader

The Fisherman and his wife Au ~ Viking Era

Words:3,340    | Credit to GIF creators

Warnings: angst, past demons, greed, drinking, some aggression ( I mean, Rollo) 

Summary: Leaving his life in Kattegat behind, Rollo finds some peace of mind in an unlikely place. Will Rollo maintain his humbleness when old ambitions return?

AN: I used one of those name generators to get a town name, but if for any reason Fjall (the name on the list I chose)  is a weird choice or say, not appraoite to use, let me know. <3

Entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie challenge 💜 Original challenge post 💜 The Fisherman & His wife AU

After being banished from his childhood home, Rollo set off on foot through the cold and snow. It was a treacherous journey, one that brought him here, to the tiny fishing village on the edge of nowhere. An unassuming place with a beautiful seashore and looming mountains to either side.

It was quiet here, sleepy. Bare bones, simple, and in some ways impoverished.  Of all the places he could end up, Rollo didn’t dream of this.

He may not have been a King, or an Earl, but Rollo lived reasonably well in Kattgat. Here, in Fjall, he’d have to start from scratch, scraping together what he could to survive.

With time, Rollo made his way with physical labor, soon making enough to have a home of his own. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and that was a small victory on it’s own.

This place was no Kattgat, his name meant nothing here, and his dreams still haunted him at night. But each day, he got up and did what he needed to do.

Some days, this unexciting place was just what he needed to counteract the strom inside of him. Other days it felt like chains; constraining him from his destiny as he knew it to be.

Rollo was supposed to be rich, famous, and honored. Instead, he was a drunk and relied on his fishing skills to care for himself. He sold the extra catch to those with less luck on the water.

Rollo was supposed to have everything Ragnar got, but he didn’t. He got nothing.

…

Rollo’s obsession with this didn’t start to calm until he met you.

He’d already been in the village for many months and never saw your face until that day. After asking around, he discovered you returned home to help your elderly parents with their small farm.

You were nothing like the women back home. You were different, unique. Even though on the surface, you were dressed the same as other women your age, and wore your hair in a similar fashion, you stood out. You caught his eye. You were the most beautiful and alluring creature Rollo had ever seen.

Rollo had a hunger for women, a deep ever burning lust, one that made him see women only for what pleasure they could give, not for who they were.

This never affected his ability to bed who he desired and have them as many times as he wanted. But he knew, at first sight, his old ways won't work with you.

Under the guise of taking care of things, Rollo watched you move about the village. The way you smiled, the way you spoke, the way you held yourself all made it clear, if he tried his old shit with you, he would never see your bed, nor you his.

You were a woman to be respected.

When you finally spoke later that day, he offered to help you carry your bundles. Rollo knew he’d work for your heart from that day forward.

Something about you made Rollo want to do better. Even when you thwarted his aggressive advances. His displays of anger were quickly addressed and you made it clear he would not treat or speak to you that way.

So Rollo corrected himself, tried to calm his anger and treat you with more respect. Over the next two months he worked everyday to prove himself and to gain your trust.

The mutual attraction was there, but you knew guys like Rollo, you knew what they were like and you valued yourself too much to settle for that. If Rollo could prove himself, you would give him a chance.

And prove himself he did.

Soon, Rollo wasn’t just the best fisherman in town, but he made some extra money building things and doing heavy lifting. You were more than impressed. The very tall, well built, attractive drunk of a man was now healthier, dedicated and present.

You could tell this life bored him, some days he seemed to struggle more than others and you wondered what went on behind those eyes, what went on in his mind.

…

Your bond grew quickly once you let him in, and soon you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

Rollo loved you, and you loved him. You built a life together, and moved into a small home just outside of the village. Rollo had been working on it for months in preperation, and when you saw it, you knew it was home.

By Spring, you were 7 months pregnant with your first child. Rollo asked you to marry him, you said yes. You don’t know how he did it, but your wedding day was one of the most beautiful days of your life. Some of the women in town even came together to make your dress in secret, as Rollo planned to marry you for a while.

It was breathtaking, and you felt like a goddess on earth. On this day you were more in love with Rollo than ever.

Rollo was far from the handsome yet rugged stanger you met on that day long ago, he was a whole different man, a man who bared his soul to you and told you everything of this life before.

…

Worry didnt set in until the baby was born.

Rollo, like you worried if he could provide, if he could give it all it needed. Rollo took on more work, helping townsfolk with odd jobs, doing what he could.

Though you shared his worry, you handled it better than Rollo. He began to drink more, his sour mood hanging over him like a cloud. No matter what you did to assure him and inspire some hope, he seemed to descend more into himself.

Sometimes, as you watched him, you knew he was thinking about before; the riches and abundance he had access to, and how he was likely beating himself up for that now.

You grew increasingly worried Rollo would do something that would impede all his growth. That someway, somehow, his old ambitions would return.

ROLLO

Three days. Three damn days and no fish.

With a sneer on his lips, Rollo tries once more. The week's supply was getting low, soon it wouldnt be enough.

Something catches the net

With a relieved breath, Rollo pulls it in, after a bit of a struggle he finally gets the massive stange looking fish free.

As Rollo starts to place it in the bucket, a voice comes out of nowhere.

“Please let me live. I am not a real fish, for I am a god. Put me in the water and let me go.”

Fish still in hand, Rollo looks around. He’s the only one on the water, he’s alone.

Shaking his head, he blames it on the ale from last night and tosses the fish in the basket.

“One more your size and I’ll eat like a King - “

He readies the hook once more when the strange phantom voice returns.

“I am not a real fish, let me go.”

Rollo frowns and looks around again, he’s alone.

“What was in that ale?” He asks himself. Before he can do anything else, the voice returns a third time. He walks over to the bucket and sees the fish's lips move, it's the damned fish talking.

Not belieivng his eyes, Rollo turns away and tries to focus on catching more fish. He can't’. He really saw what he thought he saw.

Returning to the bucket, Rollo grabs the fish and holds it up, “if you are a god I am a King,” he chuckles, “ do you really speak? Or am I drunk?”

“I really do speak.” The fish replies.

Freaked out, Rollo chucks the fish back in the water, “I will have nothing to do with a fish that can talk.”

Confused, and feeling tired from a long day on the water, Rollo makes his way back home.

Over dinner, Rollo tells you the story of the talking fish. He can hardly believe it, even as he recounts the events. You comment, it's a good thing he let it go.

Later that night, as you sleep quietly beside him, Rollo lies wide awake.

He thinks about what could have happened if he kept the fish. What if he traded its life for a wish? What if he wished for prosperity, but just enough to have all you needed for the year so he wouldn’t have to go out on the water so often.

…

The next morning, before you wake Rollo returns to the sea with one thing on his mind. He would prove if this fish was really a god, and if so, he would demand a wish for sparing its life.

Going back to the same exact spot, Rollo sits and waits until the same fish bites. The wait is finally over after he catches two small fish.

Laughing aloud, Rollo holds up the god fish, a wide grin on his lips.

“Let’s see if you really are who you say you are. I spared your life yesterday, I want something in return.  Unless, of course, you are not a god.”

The fish wiggles in his hands, Rollo tightens his grip.

Growing impatient with the silence, he raises his voice, “ speak!”

The fish stops wiggling, “I will grant your wish if you leave me in peace. What is your will?”

Rollo looks up at the sky, and tries his best to not say the first thing that comes to mind. A vision of you flashes behind his eyes.

Rollo makes his wish,

“I desire a large cottage, warm and overflowing with food and drink. With a farm twice the size.”

The fish stares at him, then replies, “is that your wish?”

“Didnt’ you hear me? Yes, that's' my wish.”

The fish wiggles in his hands again, wanting to be let go. “Go home, your cottage awaits.”

Quickly wrapping up for the day, Rollo rushes home to find a large cottage where your simple home once stood. You stand in the living room in awe, turning in circles as you take it all in.

When you spot him, you rush over and grab his arm, “Rollo! I returned from town and found our home was no longer our home!”

Smiling, he draws you close and kisses you, “the gods smiled down on us!”

...

Despite the shock, you come to love the new cottage. Though the quaint home Rollo built remained in your heart, the perks of a bigger place were easy to get used to.

But most importantly, it didn’t seem to change Rollo too much. You still had your husband, you still had the man you loved and you were able to spend more afternoons together due to the abundance of your farm and crops.

But this didn’t last long.

Days later Rollo grew anxious. Unknown to you he snuck out one early morning, intent on finding the God fish once more.

It doesnt’ take Rollo long to catch the fish, and he can’t help but notice the clouds in the sky and the heavy feeling in his heart. He chooses to ignore it.

“I have another wish.” He demands.

Fish appears weary, “aren’t you happy with your home? You bountiful harvest?”

“I want more, “Rollo grips the fish a little too tight, “I want to live in a Grand Hall! Like the one in Kattgat. I want to sit upon the throne and rule. It’s where I belong.”

The fish sighs, a sadness in its large eyes, “Rollo I don’t think this is wise - “

Growing angry, Rollo holds the fish higher, “I spared your life twice now. You owe me my wish!”

Defeated, the wish gives in, “Go home. Your throne awaits.”

Filled with excitement, Rollo tosses the fish back in the water. He notices the way it lingers there for a moment, just watching him.

Rollo waves his hand in the air frantically, wanting it to go away. It does.

The crackle of thunder fills the sky, grey washes over the landscape.

Rollo rushes back home to find a Grand Hall, just like the one back home, where your cottage used to be.

Inside, servants busy themselves and a crown sits on the thone. His eyes grow wide as a servant picks it up and places it on his head.

“All Hail Earl Rollo!”

The words he longed to hear, for so long, he lets it settle in his bones. Then he realizes, he doesn’t see you.  

A pang of worry fills him as he barks at the servants who tell him you were out back. He quickly leaves and finds you pacing outside.

“You’ll catch a cold, the both of you,” he rubs your stomach and you move away from him, clearly upset.

“What have you done!”

Rollo tries to kiss you, you step away.

“You’re upset.”

“Of course I am, we...we were fine, Rollo! That cottage, a farm, it was everything we could have ever needed. It was perfect. We had more than enough, we even had to give some food away. I hoped to the gods your old ways wouldn’t get the best of you, but it seems my worst fears have come true.”

You hold your head up high, trying to stay somewhat calm. All you really wanted to do was yell at him and give him a good slap.

Rollo reaches for you again unsuccessfully. With a sigh of frustration, he throws his hands in the air.

“I am viking! That will never change. I’ve wanted to be somebody, to be important, to come from my brother's shadow my whole life. Now, I finally have. I need you with me, are you with me?”

He lowers his head and curves his shoulder to be closer to your height.

“I don't like this,” you look past him, “...just, don't make any more wishes, please.” you plea, “Leave the fish be and make the best of this.”

Disappointed, you walk around him and back inside of the hall. Before you enter completely, you turn around to look at him once more,

“The cost of this will be great, don't you feel it? You should have left this alone.”

Rollo frowns. You turn your back to him, then go inside.

…

A week or so passes and distance grows between you and Rollo. He’s quiet, lost in himself, drunk with his rule. You even call him out for his actions and mistreatment of the servants.

The man you love all too quickly starts to regress into something you never wanted. Toward the end of that week, Rollo sneaks out once more. This time in the middle of the night as you slept.

The weather is horrid, howling winds and freezing temperatures. And the rock in his gut wouldnt go away, even after a drink. Still, Rollo goes out to the water.

He nearly falls off the rock, he nearly crashes, but neither deter him. Moving through the choppy waters and dark skies he soon finds the God fish once more, who seems anything but happy to see him.

He didn’t know any better, the fish almost seemed depressed, and lethartic.

“I have one final wish.” He says,

The fish doesnt answer, doesnt even squirm in his hands.

Frustrated, Rollo shakes it, “did you hear me! I have one final wish! Three wishes for the three times I spared your life.”

“Haven’t I given you enough, Rollo Lothbrok?” The fish asks.

“I said, one last wish.” Rollo pushes.

The fish shakes its head, “This will come to no good, the greed in you is great.”

“As you wish, your death then - “ Rollo pulls out his blade and the fish quickly replies.

“What is your wish?”

“I wish to be King.” Thunder wips through the sky.

In a tired and weighted down tone, the fish replies, “go back, your rule awaits. And do not return here again.”

When Rollo returns his throne is twice the size and a great viking army awaits his instructions.

Now we should never have anything to wish for anything again, he thinks.  

But you see it differently. You get into a huge fight and leave, deciding to stay with a friend in town for the night. Days pass before you return home again and find Rollo drunk and preparing for an attack.

When he leaves, the mood is sour between the both of you and you dont know if you’ll ever see him again.

When he returned, half his army was gone, they were defeated. The defeat makes Rollo insufferable. You reach the end of your rope.

That night, after he passes out on his throne. You make your way to the water and sit on the shore.

You don’t recall the water here ever being this dark, nor the sky. It was like Rollo’s greed was sucking the life out of everything around him.

You place the herbs and flowers you gathered in the water as an offering.

“God of the sea, I announce myself to you. I fear my husband's ambitions are grandiose, much larger than I ever imagined. I fear he will not cease to demand wishes. I fear I will never get my husband back. Rollo will wish until it kills him, I know it. I come to you with a heavy heart and out of desperation. Please do not grant him any more wishes. “

You sit there for a while, but no fish. After some time you stand and start to make your way back when it reveals itself.

“Wait y/n, I see you are pure of heart, and you do love him despite his greed. I will reverse Rollo’s wishes and I will leave this place forever.”

Excited, you come closer, “ you will?”

“There is one thing you must do. Rollo must renounce his wishes willingly. Only then can I reverse them.”

You blink away a tear, fearing he was too far gone to do so.

“The King gets his palace, or he gets you. It’s the only way.” The fish adds.

You nod understandingly, “then I shall try. Thank you.”

When you return home you find Rollo sitting on the bed, his eys heavy with darkness and a horn in his left hand.

“I thought you left me.”

“I might,” you sit beside him, “ Rollo, you can have all this, or you can have me. But you can’t have both.”

His face twists in pain as he drops his head and slouches his shoulders.

“I can’t be with you, not anymore, not like this. I love you Rollo, but not this version of you. I was happy with our little house. I don’t need all of this. But if you do, you can have it without me.”

When Rollo doesnt answer right away you feel your heart tearing.

You stand and begin to pack some things. Keeping your back to him to hide your tears, you try to move as quickly as possible.

You only get a few items in the pouch before you feel him hover behind you, his hands on your shoulders as he turns you to face him.

When you look at him, for the first time in weeks, you can see him, really see him.

“I choose you, I choose you.” He repeats softly.

Relieved yet annoyed at him, you slap him, which he knows he deserves. A moment later, you lean against his chest and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

…

Rollo denounced his wishes, and you awakened that morning to life as you knew it before. In your old bed, in your old home but to your surprise your farm was still twice as large, a gift from the fish to you.

Soon enough, your son was born and your life with your husband wasnt only back to normal, it was improved.

The lessons Rollo learned made him better. Though you would never wish to experience that ordeal again, you were grateful for the wiser, smarter man Rollo had become.

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