#Fruits Basket another summaries

[dark-moonlust]

Getting Pounded by Nagas PART 2: Pregnant

Pairing: Two nagas x human reader

Summary: Mating with your nagas finally made you pregnant. You are sensitive and needy but your overprotective mates are there to take care of you.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, naga smut, egg pregnancy(don’t expect accurate pregnancy stuff, this is naga smut), double 🍆🍆, oral(fem), double pen,lots of come. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is part of a series. Find all the parts here.

“Mnn…mnnn—mo-re, more!" you moaned and clung back to your mate, your holes stretching around his thick shafts.

“You’re almost there, little mate,” Ragnor rumbled, his twin cocks filling your pussy and ass wide.

The room echoed with the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. Ragnor sat back in the couch as you rode him with your back to his chest, your swollen belly facing outward. Your legs were spread wide, fully bent at the knees as his double cocks filled you deeply. Ragnor, your handsome mate with gleaming red scales, gave measured upward thrusts, his hands cupping your ass to keep you steady. His long tail was coiled protectively around you both, the tip caressing your rounded stomach.

Flushed and panting, you felt each plunge deep, making your breasts bounce with force. Keeping one hand at your ass, your naga pinched your hard nipples while shallowing down your moans with his tongue. It was a loud wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as you moved up and down on his cock.

It hadn’t been long since you and your two naga mates had started trying to get pregnant. It began during your naga mate’s rut, and soon after, you found you were expecting. Although you conceived like a human, your babies would be hybrid nagas. Yes, babies—two of them. You carried two soft-shelled eggs, free-floating within a specialized sac inside you. The doctor said that as your pregnancy progressed, the shells would harden. Once you laid the eggs, they would hatch soon after, and you could hold your precious babies.

You were not scared of your pregnancy.

You had the best mates ever and a highly experienced doctor on superhuman births.

You would carry your babies for twelve months. Yours wasn’t a typical human pregnancy. You were already six months along, healthy, with a nicely rounded and delicate belly.

Carrying baby nagas made you incredibly horny, too. You were incredibly needy, craving your mates and so easily aroused that you craved sex all the time. Your nagas were more than eager to satisfy you in many many ways. Plus, the more sex you had the better. Your nagas’ seed was good for you and the eggs, it nurtured you both and kept you healthy.

Just then, the door creaked open and Thorne, your green-scaled naga slithered inside. He was just as huge and handsome and he carried a basket of fruits in his arms. You’d had a craving before and he’d gone to find wild strawberries and sweet peaches for you. But while waiting for your fruit, you’d gotten horny. Hence the current situation.

“Look at that pretty view,” Thorne said as he slithered close, a grin spreading across his lips as he watched your holes strain around Raynor’s cock.

“Our mate is needy,” said the naga currently balls-deep inside you. “You came just in time.”

Thorne, his serpent eyes dilated, set the basket down and bent in front of you to kiss your belly lovingly. He then kissed the top of your nose, then your lips, his tongue brushing with yours. Ragnor resumed fucking you and you gasped in Thorne’s mouth as you were bounced you up and down. You whined, pleased and happy to have both your mates under your attention.

Thorne let his warm lips close around one sensitive nipple while another hand massaged your breasts. He watched entranced as you were fucked and gave your body loving caresses. You tried to speak to him, but the words caught in your throat as the thrusts grew faster and more demanding.

“Easy love. We’re here,” Thorne said as his hands joined Ragnor’s under your hips, helping to keep your legs spread wide and ride the dicks.

“Nn… please,” you whimpered, burning with the need to come.

“You’re doing so good, love. Look at you, riding those dicks, taking them deep,” Thorne purred, his tongue licking around your swollen clit.

The touch was electric and you trembled, jolts of pleasure traveling through you. “Oh gods,” you moaned, head falling back on Ragnor’s chest.

“That’s it,” Thorne drawled, his tongue working its magic on your clit. “Let go for us, mate. Let go.”

The slick sounds and moans intensified, Ragnor’s thrusts turning erratic, his fingers dimpling the soft skin of your ass. Your muscles seized and you came, riding wave after wave of blissful rapture. Your naga mate wasn’t far behind. With a few more pumps, the cocks inside you pulsed, feral growls echoing as he spent inside you. Loads of cum filled you up, your belly bulging even further.

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” Ragnor said, his breath hot against your ear. “Still feels so tight.”

“Such a good mate. Came good and hard for her mates,” Thorne said with one final kiss over your sensitive clit. “Now she will be rewarded as we feed her favorite fruit.”

You had no choice but the lay there, back against Ragnor’s chest, his cocks and seed lodged up inside you while they fed you. The mate currently not inside you reached for the basket of fruits and brought a juicy piece to your lips.

“Eat, my love,” Thorne said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “You need your strength.”

“But…hnn,” you sighed, the cocks inside you made you so full you could barely move.

“You don’t have to move, little mate,” Ragnor said, as if being buried balls-deep inside you was the most normal thing to do while feeding you.

“Relax and warm your mate’s cocks,” Thorne said. “The longer the seed stays inside you the better it is for you and our eggs.”

Humming in agreement, Ragnor rubbed soothing circles over your stretched stomach. Your other mate offered you fruit and you opened your mouth, taking bite after bite. The strawberries were the perfect combo of sweet and sour, the peaches ripe and delicious. Your mates licked the sweet juices running down your lips, their eyes darkening with lust. You knew they were far from done with you and you couldn’t wait to have them fucking you again.

Once you had eaten your fill, Ragnor carefully lifted your pregnant form out of his cocks and deposited you in Thorne’s arms. You were carried to the soft bed and placed down on all fours, ass high up in the air. Thorne, his green scales shimmering in the dim room, slithered behind you, his tail keeping your legs apart while his thumbs spread your asscheeks and exposed your holes in all their glorious mess. The cum from earlier still dribbled out of you.

“I love it when you’re leaking, freshly fucked,” he said while guiding the head of his shaft, hard and leaking, at the entrance of your pussy. He sunk in a little, just the flared cockhead and kept the other cock outside of you so that it rubbed the crack of your ass. Ragnor slithered beside you, propping you to sit back on the cock and then started licking your breasts.

Inch by inch you sat back on Thorne’s great cock. It invaded your pussy, spreading your walls to fit inside. The stretch was intense, yet you reveled in the fullness. Thorne began to move, fucking you with steady deep thrusts while kissing your lips, his tongue sliding against yours. Your other mate’s hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts and suckling your nipples.

“Mnn…more, please!" Your whole frame quivered.

“What do you need, little mate?” Thorne asked, slowing his thrusts.

“My ass,” you whined, desperate need building inside you. “Empty.”

“We can’t have that, can we?” Thorne nodded to the other naga and said. “Hold her steady. She’s too overstimulated, I’m afraid of hurting her.”

Eager to help, Ragnor carefully shifted you on your hands and knees, pulling your asscheeks apart to expose your pouting rosebud. “Look at that pretty pink hole.” He kissed it, then watched as the other naga finally pushed his second cock into your puckered entrance. “That’s our good mate.”

The thick head pressed against you, opening your ass and past the tight muscles. Fuck, you loved when you had both cocks inside you. You couldn’t go without them. You moaned lewdly when they started pounding you, drawing in and out of your slick depths.

“Is this what you wanted, little mate?” Thorne breathed in your ear.

“Yes! Fuck, yes don’t stop—”

“I’ll never stop,” he replied, his hands reaching under your belly to cup your breasts.

Ragnor was busy as well, tracing the curve of your backside and kissing into your mouth. His long tongue pushed past your lips, shoving down your throat. From behind, Thorne was panting, his huge cock stretching your pussy while the other claimed your ass. You felt full, so full and loved. So very loved.

A tongue down your throat, hands teasing your body, cocks pounding you.

The insistent fucking and teasing ripped a shattering climax from you.

Tensing, you whined and Ragnor’s tongue withdrew from your mouth so you could cry your pleasure out fully. You sobbed at how good it felt to ride your orgasm. Thorne’s cocks inside you pulsed and came as well, feral growls coming from your mate as he released rope after rope of his cum inside you. Your other naga kissed your face and rubbed your belly, whispering how good you were to them, how blessed they were to have you in their life.

Well-fucked and satisfied, you collapsed onto the bed, still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your mates took their places on your sides, Thorne pressing against your back— both cocks deep inside you, keeping his seed from escaping. Ragnor pressed against your chest and they took turns kissing you, their hands constantly touching your belly. Their tails wrapped loosely around your body, the tips flicking your rosy nipples.

“How are you feeling, love?” Thorne asked, fingers tracing your swollen stomach. “Are you okay? We weren’t too rough with you, were we?”

“I’m feeling amazing,” you purred, satisfaction pouring over you. “The eggs are fine, too.”

“They are growing strong inside you,” Ragnor said proudly. “We’ll take good care of you, mate. Whatever your need, you’ll have it. We love you more than anything.”

You nodded and felt tears prickle your eyes. Stupid hormones… they made you oversensitive.

“Happy tears,” you explained before any of your mates lost their shit about seeing you cry. “I love you both so much. I can’t wait to hold our babies.”

Tagging @nekrara 🖤Hope you all like this! Next part will be reader going to the doctor and preparing for laying the eggs. Smutty stuff loading.

[celestial-grls]

Courtside Crew - Paige Bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and your daughter Zoe attend Paige's basketball game word count: 1k a/n: was having real bad baby fever and could not stop thinking about Paige as a mom

"Remember, baby, one at a time." You assisted your toddler with her bag of fruit snacks while trying to keep your eye on the game.

It was the 4th quarter of a game against Chicago, and the Valkyries were struggling with some players in foul trouble. It was loud in the arena, with fans on all sides groaning as the refs called another technical foul. Even though you and Paige have been together since she started playing professionally, you still got nervous about her games.

You and Paige welcomed your daughter Zoe about two and a half years ago, and she gets as excited as Paige does for any basketball-related events. She munched on her fruit snacks, grabbing two or three in her tiny little fists as you nervously tapped your fingers against her leg.

Zoe has successfully attended a handful of games, mainly the home ones, since traveling with a toddler isn't a science either you or Paige have mastered yet. She loved coming to them because it meant seeing her mom in action, running up and down the court, and making baskets. The loud arena erupts in cheers, and every time you cheer, she repeats after you despite not quite knowing all the rules of basketball yet.

There was only another minute and a half left to the game, with the Valkyrie three points behind Chicago. Paige had passed the ball to one of her teammates from the corner of the three-point line. When the ball swished into the basket, it secured enough lead for the Valkyrie to take home the win.

You and Zoe watched with your eyes glued to the court, Zoe's head tucked safely under your chin while she wriggled on your lap to follow where the ball was headed. The opposing team brought the ball up to the basket, ready to make the shot, before it was blocked by one of Paige's teammates. There was only enough time left in the shot clock for the Valkyrie to try and score.

Paige was laser-focused on protecting the ball, dribbling it up the court, and making a pass to one of her teammates. Right as her teammate was ready to release from the paint, they got blocked by a member of the Chicago Sky. She passed the ball to Paige with ten seconds left on the clock.

You could see the gears turning in your wife's head as she stepped back to shoot from the three-point line. You've seen her do it a million times, and it still makes your entire body buzz with excitement. Once the ball bounces against the backboard and falls into the net, you and Zoe shoot up and scream.

"Zoe, baby, did you see that!?" You couldn't contain your excitement as you propped her up against your hip, her hair bouncing as she laughed happily.

The game was complete once the buzzer sounded, with the Valkyrie winning by six points. The entire arena cheered for the team's second straight win. You grabbed your purse and held Zoe's hand as you shuffled through the crowd to find Paige.

"Mommy, you won! You won!" Before you could even put your daughter down properly, she ran straight to Paige on the court, finishing up a quick post-game interview.

Her little sneakers squeak against the floor before Paige picks her up, holds her against her hip, and kisses the fat of her cheek. "Hi, princess! Yes, we did. Where's Mama?"

You were close by, instantly lighting up at the sight of Paige holding your daughter. Paige's cheeks were flushed from playing the entire last quarter, and she was all teeth, alternating between smiling and smacking kisses to your daughter's head.

She excitedly whispers to Zoe when she spots you coming over, "Oh! There she is, Zozo! You see her?"

Zoe whips her head around until she sees you, getting completely sandwiched between you and Paige as you go to hug the both of them.

Paige goes to press a kiss to your lips, the top of Zoe's head tickling your chin. The chaos and excess energy of the game leave Paige when she finally gets to see you and Zoe after all of it. Her relief shows as she asks you, "Did I make my girls proud today?"

"Of course, baby. You always do," you affectionately gush. Paige carries herself with so much confidence no matter what, but parenthood has seriously brought out a different side to her than you ever knew. Watching her play so selflessly because she knows Zoe is watching makes you fall harder for her every game.

Zoe nods in agreement, wraps her arms around Paige's neck, and tells her, "You did good, Mommy!"

Paige smiles at Zoe, ticking her neck as she bounces lightly and tells her, "Thank you, princess. I gotta go do the cameras. Are you gonna be good for Mama?"

In toddler speak, 'do the cameras' meant post-game conferences and press in general. Usually, Paige would go while you and Zoe headed back home and tried to get her to bed at a reasonable hour.

Zoe nods at Paige seriously before asking, "Story tonight?"

Paige replies, "You can count on it, princess." She kisses you goodbye and hands Zoe off to you. As much as Paige loves her job, she can't wait to come home and spend time with you and Zoe. She sends you a text as she walks through the tunnel.

Your phone buzzes with the text that reads: No falling asleep on the couch before I get home

You smile before typing back: Hurry home and you won't have to worry abt it!!

[oceandolores]

ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

masterlist!

next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

[aangelinakii]

THE FROZEN SECTION.

— cold aisle, warm touch.

summary : you're about to find out that your tired boyfriend is a lot more affectionate than he is normally. and he probably won't even remember by the morning!

note : also realising this is quite similar to another fic i read, can't remember who by but just clarifying this wasn't inspired by theirs and anything overly-similar was just coincidence :)

maybe it was inhumane to drag jason back out the house after he'd just come back from patrol, and flopping down on the couch beside you was the first thing he did once he'd shut the window, but you had no food in the fridge!

late night cravings weren't unheard of, but they become a lot less easy to manage when your cupboards are deprived.

"hey, jason?" your voice was soft as you lingered above him, leaning down to brush his thick black hair from his eyes.

beneath your touch, he sighed, one eye blinking open blearily. he gave a hum, tired and croaky. as you removed your hand from his head, he brought one of his own, gloves still envolping his palm, to rub at his eyes.

as he parted two of his fingers to peer up at you between them, you crouched down to his level, having put on a hoodie and a pair of white linen pants, to speak to him. "i know you're tired, but i'm heading down to the store. wanna come?"

jason stayed silent for a few moments, the lid over his eye blinking from beneath the shadow of his hand, before nodding, and pushing himself up from the sofa.

"yeah, one sec," he grunted as he shuffled into the bedroom, peeling off his gloves as he did so, and stuffing them into one of the pockets of his tactical pants.

you lingered in the doorway, watching as jason lazily tugged off his upper half, discarding his jacket to the ground, along witb his bullet-proof top. for just a small space of time, you were able to intently take in his strong frame.

he stepped up to the clothes drawer and rummaged through the folded t-shirts and hoodies for something to quickly tug over his head.

deciding to give him some privacy, especially after a night that seemed rather jam-packed, you stepped back out into the rest of your shared flat to make sure you had your things together.

you lingered by the front door, keys jingling, when jason reappeared, bleary-eyed and messy-haired, heavy boots clumping along the floorboards.

the walk to the all-night grocery shop was quiet, and you had that pang in your stomach of guilt — but you knew jason, as tired as he appeared on the outside, wouldn't rather anything else. and your thoughts were confirmed when he slung a lazy arm over your shoulders.

he was a heavy man, you knew, consisting of muscle and gunpowder, but you really felt it as you walked along the pavement, shifting a fraction of his weight across the line of your shoulders.

what a tired guy; let's get home quick, and he can get tucked up in bed.

as soon as you stepped into the bright store — too white for this time of night — jason seemed to cling to you, large hands unwavering upon the round of your shoulder or the settle of your waist. it was unlike him, especially somewhere so... public, despite the darkness outside the store doors.

he stuck to you like a koala joey as you stepped through the aisles, filling your basket, with fresh fruit punnets and bread, and crisp packets and cereal boxes.

next down on your list: ice cream, the flavours you and jason most like to snack on when it's either too hot to go outside, or when a film is in need of watching.

all around, the air chilled as you set foot in the frozen section, and jason's once-soft grip on your waist tightened, and his body moved closer to yours, an attempt at conserving heat, you suppose.

but when you stopped in front of one of the ice cream freezers, and slid open the door, jason's brick wall of a body pressed into you from behind, muscles unwavering from beneath his thick hoodie as they wrapped around you.

impossible to keep in, you let out a chuckle. "i know, i know." his chin came down softly upon your shoulder. "i just want to get you your caramel swirl and then we can head back, okay?"

jason gave a hum from behind.

content, you moved to reach into the freezer, but squeaked as you found your arms unable to do so.

when you looked down, crease forming in your eyebrow, jason had wrapped his arms around your front, muscles straining ever so slightly to keep yours in place.

maybe he just hadn't realised. and so you reached out again.

"jason!" you laughed, not doing much to struggle from beneath his hold, strong, but not menacing; playful, in fact.

in your ear he let out a sleepy chuckle. "sorry." and he pressed a soft, short kiss to the button of your jaw, grasp slackening as you reached out to grab the carton of caramel swirl you know jason could finish in half a second.

"just wanna be in bed," he mumbled again, voice muffled against the nape of your neck.

"i know, i know." you dropped the carton into the metal basket hanging from your elbow, and slid the freezer door shut again.

letting out a content sigh, warmth erupting in your chest, you turned around to peer up at jason, meet the cosy green of his eyes beneath lowered lids. pressing yourself up to your toes for just a moment, you left a sweet kiss on the corner of his mouth, barely grazing his lips.

"can we pay now?" he smiled, eyes brightening at the contact, the hand on your hip fidgeting with the fabric of your trousers.

[divinesolas]

LURKING !

monsterfuckertober day 2

summary: your life is completely shit. but one day you decide to do a good deed and clean a gravestone. and the ghost is very thankful towards you. maybe a little too thankful

w.c: 1.5k

c.w: ghost!jace, more plot than smut, fingering (fem), reader has a very depressing life, but dont worry jace is there to cheer her up, going based off my own ghost lore, talk of death, not proofread.

monsterfuckertober masterlist

taglist (open) @chimmysoftpaws

you were going nuts. you were so sure of it.

Your life had taken a massive downward spiral within the last two years. Both of your parents had died in a horrible car accident, then you found out your boyfriend of five years was cheating on you with your best friend and the rest of your friend group had chosen them over you and had left you all alone, you had been demoted in your barely paying retail job and could barely afford your bills.

Life was completely shit. spending most of your time alone in your apartment barely being able to afford groceries eating some shitty cheap takeout. You cried and you cried but your life never changed.

Yet it took one day for strange things to start happening to you. The worst thing had happened, after a long grueling shift dealing with annoying customers and shitty managers your car wouldn't start no matter how many times you tried. You cant even bring yourself to cry anymore, simply too wore down from everything going on and knowing you definitely cant afford to fix it or call a mechanic you simply leave it there to deal with another day and start the long walk home.

You end up stumbling across a graveyard you had never even noticed before. A particular gravestone catches your attention, you should just keep walking, go come and take a cold shower, since the heating in your apartment hasnt been working, and cry yourself to sleep but you cant take your eyes off of it.

its so dirty, like someone hasnt visited it in decades, you cant even read the words on it. You dont know what compels you to drop all your stuff next to it and spend your last 15 bucks on some supplies to clean it at a store nearby.

Suddenly you're on your knees scrubbing down the old stone until your wrist grows sore. after far too long and far too much sweat builds up on your body you can finally read the words on it.

jacaerys velaryon

1875-1896

beloved son and brother

you trace over the name with your dirt covered thumb as a sloppy attempt of pronouncing the name leaves your mouth. You don’t know why but a cold chill runs down your back, its almost as if a hand comes to caress your face and you jump back. Youve spent far too much time here you fear you’re starting to hallucinate. You head on your way home, sure you’ll regret the money you’ve spent tonight later knowing youll not be able to afford dinner tonight and sigh.

When you wake up the next day your apartment is warm. It's unusual, knowing the heating in your apartment is broken but when you go over to it you almost burn your hand at the heat of the radiator. did they fix it while you slept? That would be strange wouldn't they need to come into your apartment.

You try not to think about it maybe it was a problem with the building? you try not to think about it and walk towards the kitchen to eat. You freeze when you see a basket of fresh fruit sitting on the counter. you certainly cant afford that, and you get even more scared when you open up your fridge and cabinet and see them packed filled with your favorite foods and snacks.

You think maybe you just blacked out and went into debt buying yourself a bunch of stuff but when you check your account it looks normal. Now you worry, maybe you were still dreaming? but it seemed as real as it could get.

Your eyes hit a bouquet of flowers, red roses contrasting the bland apartment walls. you walk closer to it and notice a small note attached to the top and your breath hitches.

thank you.

now you’re even more lost. were you genuinely going crazy? who would even be able to do this and who would even be thanking you? when was the last time you did something worth thanking.

no. theres no way right? ghosts arent real. and they certainly dont have the ability to be able to do things like this. Maybe whatever higher power was out there was playing tricks on you. It started to feel less and less like a trick when you walked outside to go to work and saw your car there, perfectly fixed up without a scratch.

It grew harder to ignore the strange things that were happening in your life when people seemed to no longer bother you at work, it seemed like your bank account never dropped even when you would buy take out or have to pay rent for the month, the food in the fridge would stay stocked. You actually began to enjoy life, you smiled a lot more, without the troubles of bills or annoying customers and coworkers you actually felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

It also grew harder to ignore the presence that felt like it had entered your life and you didn’t want to. It was a welcome presence to you at this point, you had no clue what it even was, but you could feel the soft caresses on your face, the slight tingle of arms wrapping around you. Its strange, you should run in fear, be scared for your life but you cant help but revel in the airy affection. Its never touches you too strongly though you know it can after some ‘accidental’ grips and strokes onto your skin.

You later on learn its a he, further confirming your idea its this jacaerys though he never outright confirms it. he leaves you little notes along with a fresh bouquet everyday. It was romantic. or maybe you were just so touched starved that you had begun losing your mind and none of this was even real.

one day the tides in your relationship completely change. as your feelings for the mysterious figure in your home grows the more your desires grow. knowing he’s lurking in your home you’ve never taken the liberty to pleasure yourself as your imagination runs wild in the nights you spend in your apartment feeling his hands on your arms. you cant take it anymore.

Its been an especially long shift after work, your clothes are stuck to your skin from sweat, you cant even be bothered with eating right now as you toss of your clothes with a wicked fast pace as you make your way to the bathroom not bothering to check if there were any notes or gifts from him waiting for you.

You sigh as soon as you step in and allow yourself to soak in the steaming water for a good while. you soon enough notice a heart in the steam covered glass and your breath hitches. hes probably seeing you naked right now, it never truly occurred to you he’s probably seen you naked all this time. The idea has your mind running rampant on a track you cant seem to stop.

You cant suppress the whine that creeps up in your throat and you decide to fuck it. Theres nothing he can really do right? hes always around, you have to relieve yourself one way or another.

you leave your back against the wall. maybe you can make it a show for him. Your hands run down your body, giving your tits a light squeeze before continuing to drag them down your body towards your awaiting hole. He makes no move for awhile, even as your hands toy with your aching clit, as you whine and moan out as your insert one then two fingers into you, pumping them in and out of you.

What causes him to finally show himself is when you breathily say his name in a whisper, calling out to him. your fingers suddenly stop as a harsh grip is forced onto your wrists and your hands are ripped away from you. you look up at the empty space infront of you, you almost go to whine and complain before you feel pressure on your clit and throw your head back.

His hand quickly replaces yours, making quick work to shove his fingers deep inside you and pump and press them against your walls. you eagerly accept this phantom like presence as your legs begin to shake, you call out to him like a siren, hangs gripping at your breasts playing with your nipples while he continues to bring you pleasure, releasing with a long shout of his name.

you stay in the shower for awhile longer before exiting with your skin pruned and shaky legs. You take a deep breath as you go to do your skincare in the mirror and your freeze. A man around your age, curly dark hair and stunning eyes looking at your affectionately in the mirror. you turn around but see nothing there.

looking back in the mirror it was odd. finally seeing the man who had been doing you so much good. he was far too attractive, you did not know if he was always naked but he certainly was right now and it bas you throbbing.

you feel him as you see him wrap his arms around you and tug down your freshly put on towel to expose you once again and you allow him too, but this time you wont be taking your eyes off him.

—

sometime during the month ill definitely write them actually fucking LMAO but take this for now lovelies later.

[fangswbenefits]

Oral Fixation

Summary: Astarion is quite sure you are going to drive him insane from how adorable and clueless you are when eating those juicy fruits around him... and he just has to do something about it.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Oral fixation. Slight corruption kink. Oral sex (m receiving). Innuendo. Cumplay.

Word count: 2k

Astarion was sure he was going to lose his sanity.

Whether it'd be from the tadpole or you, he wasn't certain yet, but he had a vague idea.

He just couldn't tear his eyes away from your lips as you took a bite from an apple.

With each passing second, he could feel his cock harden more and more.

From the way your eyes closed to the way you hummed when swallowing... it was all driving him closer to the precipice.

But what made him more obsessed than ever was just how adorably clueless you truly were of what you were doing.

As he sat down next to you by the campfire, he could tell you felt totally at ease with him.

You trusted his company and he just couldn't tear himself away from you.

A few droplets of juice began dribbling down your chin and along your neck, and he promptly reached out with his thumb to collect them.

You flinched slightly under his sudden touch and glared at him with a smile. "Oh! Didn't notice you next to me."

Gods.

You were too sweet for your own good.

"Yes, you were distracted keeping that mouth of yours busy," he said so casually that others might have missed the innuendo.

And, in fact, you did.

He adored hurling those at you when you least expected, knowing you missed every single one of them as he kept edging himself.

He then brought his thumb to your lips and you quickly parted them, allowing him to slide it in.

His cock twitched violently and he felt the familiar droplets of precum begin to drip from his tip.

The sight of you sucking gently with an innocent look on your face could easily make him come, so he would need to tread lightly.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked, trying to remain as nonchalant as he possibly could.

Your tongue swirled around his thumb as you nodded.

He pulled himself out of you, much to his disappointment, feeling an intense wave of lust take over him.

As adorable as you looked suckling on his thumb, he wanted your lips around his cock.

He needed to feel your warmth and he felt his cock throb at the thought of you struggling to get past the first few inches.

"Gale found some apples and peaches in a nearby cellar," you chirped happily, smiling widely at him. "Wish he wasn't so tired, so that we could all share."

Astarion wasn't bothered by the wizard's absence.

At all.

In fact, he was more than grateful to have your undivided attention this late at night.

"Well, you are our leader, so it seems only fair that you have the best of the best."

He shifted slightly closer to you, grabbing a peach from the basket on the ground, offering it to you.

You gave him a genuine and heartfelt nod of appreciation, leaning in to sink your teeth into its soft skin.

"Does it taste good?" he cooed, nearly wincing from the unbearable increasing tension inside his trousers.

The ripe fruit nearly melted under your hungry bite, its juices pouring down from the corner of your mouth.

"You should use your tongue more," he suggested.

Your eyes met his and he spotted the usual hint of confusion.

"Look. You are ruining your shirt," he explained, tugging at the now stained fabric that covered her chest. "Your tongue can be helpful, ensuring you can keep it all in," he finished, fearing the implication in his words had been too on the nose.

He had certainly gone too far.

But...

You merely chewed your bite away and nodded with a smile.

And he grew even harder, if that was possible.

Astarion felt like a hypocrite as he could feel his own mess down below, and it would take long for all that precum to seep through the fabric unless he found a way to deal with this.

Suddenly, you took the peach from his hand and took another bite, darting out your tongue to collect the overflowing juices.

"Like this?"

He swallowed, bringing his hand to his waistband, trying to discretely tug at it to alleviate the maddening strain from his cock.

"Almost like that."

You frowned. "Then how?"

You were making this too easy for him.

"I could teach you."

The two of you had been quite intimate in more ways than one before, but it had all been quite chaste.

Still, he was more than content with how things had naturally progressed, even if his body yearned for you to loosen up just a bit more with him.

He wanted to truly show you how much of a devoted lover he could be, and he wanted to teach you how to enjoy every single moment of it, while also giving back.

You sat up straighter, looking eagerly at him. "Then tell me. It shouldn't be that hard, right?"

Oh, it's quite hard, alright, darling...

He felt a few more droplets of precum seeping through the fabric of his underwear.

"I could just show you."

You nodded, waiting.

He rose to his feet and offered you his hand. "Maybe in my tent?"

You joined his side, staring at the basked filled with fruit. "Why not here?"

"It's getting quite late."

You nodded.

The shift in positions had him realise just how much precum he had already leaked for you, his underwear clinging to his strained cock.

"Besides, there are other sweet things for you to taste.

Not only that, but he wasn't about to have you take his cock in your mouth in the middle of the camp, risking getting caught.

No.

He wanted you all to himself.

"Oh. Alright, then," you said with a soft smile.

Gods... he wished he could devour you right there and then and turn that sweet smile into a whimper of pleasure.

He guided you to his tent in silence, occasionally glancing around to ensure no one was going to disturb this.

As you walked inside and he closed the flaps behind him, you turned to glare expectantly at him.

"So...?"

He tugged downwards on your hand.

"You want me on my knees?"

He nodded, desperate to free his aching cock.

"Wait... why?"

As you did what he expected from you, you were then able to eye-level with his crotch, the candles providing enough light source.

And then your eyes widened.

"Oh... oh... you're..." Your voice trailed down, and he nearly moaned from the way you gulped.

"Painfully hard? Yes."

Your eyes didn't move and he took the chance to finally undo the lacing of his trousers, letting out a groan of relief as he freed his cock.

What a complete mess...

He was completely soaked in his own precum, a few drops dangling from the tip before hitting the carpeted floor of his tent.

Your eyes widened again and your lips parted. "I've... never... I've never done this..."

He brought his hand to grip your chin, caressing your jaw with tender fingers.

"Would you like to?"

Shifting closer, Astarion watched as his hard cock hovered over her face.

Your eyes met his. "I don't know what to do."

Astarion was quite positive even your worst attempt would effectively bring him to completion.

As a matter of fact, he was already certain he wasn't going to last long just from how you faintly pouted at him and because he knew you were a perfectionist at heart.

That you would struggle to take his cock, but would be too stubborn not to try.

"I can teach you, darling."

You were burning under his touch, contrasting beautifully with the coldness of his own skin.

He then shifted even closer, and a string of precum dripped onto your lower lip.

You immediately darted your tongue out to swipe across the tender flesh, and he couldn't hold back a low growl.

"Open your mouth for me. Wide."

And you did.

Of course you did.

You were always so eager to learn from him.

You had been appointed to lead the group, but in the privacy of his tent, he was the one leading you.

"Tongue out."

He wrapped his fingers around his cock and gave it a tight squeeze, drawing more droplets of precum from it, so he could have them land on your tongue.

In the back of his mind, he wondered how his cum would taste mixed with the sweetness of your mouth after having indulged in those apples and peaches.

He tugged on your chin and pressed the underside of his cock flat against your tongue. "No teeth."

You immediately nodded, resting your hands on your thighs, waiting for him to make the next move.

He really wasn't going to last long.

But he wanted to at least make it to the back of your throat, if you could even take him that deep without gagging.

Your warmth and wetness welcome the first few inches, and he hissed as your hands flew to his clothed thighs for support.

"Easy now, darling... don't bite off more than you can chew," he tutted, caressing your flushed cheek.

His other hand kept you in place, thumb pressing down on your chin, parting your mouth wider for him.

"You can take more, can't you?"

You nodded, but he could tell you were beginning to struggle slightly, breathing heavily through your nose and eyes wavering.

Astarion took pride in being gentle no matter how badly he wanted to reach his peak.

And you deserved that.

You deserved it all.

And so, he took a moment to let you adjust to his girth all the while trailing soft caresses along your cheeks.

"You are doing so well, my sweet," he cooed, loving the sight of your mouth stuffed with his cock. "Just a bit more..."

It took all of his willpower not to buck his hips as you reflexively swallowed around him, trying to ease him in deeper.

He pulled his shirt up just so he could properly watch you take more of him.

Your fingers gripped him tighter and he kept on showering you with praises, unable to look away as yet another inch of his cock disappeared past your lips.

"You look so beautiful..."

Almost there...

But as he was about to hit that sweet spot at the back of your throat, you began tapping on his leg, and he immediately slid out.

He immediately took your face in both hands. "Are you well?"

You coughed, wiping a few tears away, spit mixed with his precum coating your lips and chin. "You're just... too big..."

Astarion was actually average, but your inexperience was truly endearing, and he would still take that as a compliment.

He brushed his thumbs along your cheeks.

"You are doing amazingly, darling."

You gave him a slight pout. "Let me try again."

Stubborn as always.

He nodded, and you resumed your previous stance.

"I am not lasting long," he warned, wanting to make sure you understood the implications of carrying on. "Do you think you can swallow?"

You looked unsure for a while. "Maybe.... you can just come on my tongue and... I'll slowly swallow?"

His cock twitched at your suggestion and he groaned in approval.

By the time he slid back inside, he could feel his peak approaching more and more rapidly.

He wanted to fuck your mouth so badly, but he knew he had to hold back for your sake. After all, he could always make this a regular occurrence.

And practice makes perfect.

You began to tentatively suck and Astarion nearly burst right there and then.

That innocent suckle tied with your eagerness was a powerful combination, and he no longer cared that others might hear his grunts of pleasure.

"Good girl... you can suck harder if you want to," he encouraged, feeling his eyes nearly dropping shut from the overwhelming sensation.

You hummed around him, pressing the flat of your tongue against the underside of his cock.

And Astarion just lost it.

He barely had time to pull out before the first spurts of thick cum were being squeeze out by his hand.

"Tongue..." he barely managed to say before you promptly spread your lips, tongue fully out as he emptied himself on it.

He fucked his hand a few times as he rode out the blinding wave of pleasure, quite surprised he was able to keep his eyes on you the entire time.

He couldn't remember the last time he had come this much.

You did try your best to keep it all on your tongue, but his cum began to dribble from the sides, down your chin, neck and finally staining your shirt.

As he slowly came down from his high, he quickly unbuttoned your shirt, wanting to see the thick liquid coating the top of your breasts.

What a sight...

He could get hard just from it alone.

As he squeezed the final drops onto your tongue, he saw a single string of cum bridging your lower lip to his tip.

"I do apologise for the obscene amount," he said truthfully.

You merely grinned as you allowed some of it to slide down your throat.

But before you could swallow all of it, he got down on his knees and took your lips in his, wanting to taste your sweetness mixed with him.

You pushed some of it against his own tongue and he eagerly swallowed it, caressing your jaw.

He tasted sweet and salty and he reckoned he could get addicted to this.

When you finally parted from him, your eyes kept that expectant glint on them. "So... how was my tongue?"

He leaned in to press a soft peck the corner of your lips.

"Could use some more work, but the road to Baldur's Gate is long, and I believe we can make the time to practice.

A/N: sorry... got carried away.... haha....

Masterlist

[darthfighter]

your shadow

Part One of Your Shadow series

warnings: some violence & immense tension !!! not too many warnings for this chapter

summary: as you attempt to run away from your past, it seems as though a presence brings the past back at your door.

word count: 1.7k

authors note: the qimir brainrot is so real i decided to publicly post my first ever fic since there is a drought of them for this man. so hopefully you guys like this :’) i plan to make another part to this series soon!! so be on the look out <3

part two here

Olega was supposed to be an escape. A way out. This was supposed to be a safe haven from your suffocating life you had run away from. You were constantly on the run. Finding nothing but remembrance of your past everywhere you settled. There was never a break, just a faint breath at the back of your neck whispering a hot memory of what you try to forget.

Today you thought- a simple task should be all that I tackle today. You didn't want something to weigh you down your shoulders every time you stepped outside as it usually does. But you thought a simple grocery run would be enough.

You walked through the streets of Olega. Vendors left and right. Smells that were salivating to sense here or strong rancid smells that clearly physically took on your appearance there. Fruits here and skinned animals you couldn't name there. It was definitely overwhelming, which in this case you were thankful for. You needed something off of your mind. Finally, you made your way to the vendor selling meiloorun fruit. You grabbed three and put it inside your basket, then gave enough credits to the seller.

The feeling of the fruit under your touch brought you back. Your eyes stung at your defeat. You remembered. The hot days on your homeplanet. Where you and your older brother would play outside in the hot forsaken heat, and your mother would juice her meiloorun fruit that awaited you both when you were done playing. The drink has forever been a comfort to you. Feeling as though, swallowing the juice healed your insides. Physically and mentally.

As you are deep in thought strolling along the street, you bump into a person. But before your fruit can fall out of your basket, you and the person catch the two fruit that flew out, into both of your own hands. Together, frozen in place, you both look at each other. Immediately there is a smile onto your face as the situation is quite funny in itself. As for the person, or now you know as you look at them, the man, is puzzled. He has a face of concentration. Like he is trying to read you. The expression on his face drops your heart to the floor instead. You pick yourself up in front of him and force your shoulders straight, as you were taught.

"I'm sorry about that, that was my fault." You apologize. Although in your head your voice was louder than when it actually came out your throat. You felt small at this moment. And indeed you were.

The man in front of you was covered in sheets of cloth like a robe, with straight black hair with strands in front of his face, and tall. He towered over you. The intimidation was seeping out through your stance. He says no words to your apology. No "It's okay" or "It was my fault." Just dark orbs staring into your apologetic eyes.

"Okay." You mumble, "Sorry, again." You turn your heel as quick as you caught the fruit and start to walk away, until.

"I think you're forgetting something!" He spoke. For the first time.

You turn around to see him still holding the fruit in his hand, that he didn't put in your basket. Embarrassment washes over you and you can feel your ears grow hot. You walk towards him to grab the fruit out of his hand with a shy smile planted on your face, but instead he still locks eyes with you as he drops the fruit into your basket himself. Leaving your hand in the air still.

"You new around here?" The man asked

Your hand is still in the air, you put it down before you answer. "Yes." you replied shortly, feeling the sting of embarrassment continue to course through your body.

He nods in return.

There is an awkward silence between the two of you. Although it feels as though his presence is something you've felt before. Something you recognize. It seems like the two of you sense it, but say nothing.

"I gotta get going. Again, sorry about that."

He says nothing again, just shakes his head up and down with a smirk plastered on his face. He moves to the side swiftly, and bows his head down as a signal of goodbye.

You start to walk away, but the farther you get away from him, the more you realize you have been holding your breath more than you thought. Heavy inhales and exhales left you as you left yourself.

-

When you had made it home, the man's presence lingered behind you like a shadow. You drank your childhood drink still wondering why he stuck to your thoughts. It started to frustrate you to the point you felt the fire in your throat, so you decided to sleep it off. To hopefully wake up in the morning with the encounter faded from your mind.

Hours had passed in your bed and your body sunk into the blankets. Your room was dim with a shadow casting through your blinds from the moons in the sky. Deep in sleep, your hand twitches. You felt something. Something there. With you. It brought you out of your slumber to only wake up to a dark tall silhouette inside your room with you.

The tightness in your chest from fear became so overwhelming you felt frozen. Your elbows rested from the jolt of you waking up, and lifted as the silhouette took a step towards you. The soles of your feet met the cold floor, and force dashed outside your room.

It was the first time you force dashed in years. You thanked Maker that you still knew how to do so. Your heart galloped against your chest as you stood inside your living room.

Waiting for their next move. That move being your bedroom casting a red glow. Ever so slowly, did the stranger walk outside your room beside the red lightsaber in their hand.

A Jedi? You thought. But demolished the idea of it as quickly as it came. Jedi don't attack the unarmed.

Your lightsaber. You knew where it was at. It laid in its case above your bathroom ceiling. You just needed to get past the stranger into the bathroom behind them. Your force dash is the only option that seemed to have the best survival against them. Your heel lifts against the floor and you speed past them in a blink of an eye, but you feel the swift of heat from their lightsaber right behind you. Luckily they miss you, barely. You close and lock the bathroom door. Although you know damn well that wont hold forever.

"And where were you.. all this time."

The modulated voice behind the door sends chills down your spine. You step on top of your toilet to grab a hold of the box above you. Finally, after years of never opening this box again, you take your lightsaber out and light it.

The stranger force pulls the door from their side, leaving you revealed.

You use the stance the Jedi have taught you. Whereas the stranger still lays their lightsaber down to their side while yours rests against your face leaving the purple hue against your complexion.

They stand in front of you, unmoving. You feel the intimidation radiate off yourself, and you decide to do something about it. You strike them and sway your lightsaber towards them. Only for them to block it immediately making both of your lightsabers clash together making a bright white shine as you two clash.

Both of you dance together. Moving both of your feet in sync, both going in a circle. Now their back is facing the bathroom you came out of.

Now this time, they strike. You block and force push them away from you, but it barely does anything. It could either be the fact you haven't used the force in so long. Making you weaker than before. Or the fact they could be more powerful than you thought. In this case, it's both.

You begin to feel your exhaustion take over. Your stamina on using the force is taking a toll on you. You internally curse to yourself in this moment knowing you need to survive. Feeling nothing but failure for all that you were taught, all gone to waste.

Purple and red bounce off of each other in the room. Red comes forward and they charge at you once more. You block with all your energy and the two of you clash together repeatedly making the loud sounds of the lightsabers hurt to listen to. You flinch at the sound, making you weak. Your durability has faded, and you feel disappointment for all that you are.

Your chest heaves up and down from exhaustion, while the stranger stays completely composed. If anything, it fueled you with the anger you needed in this moment. You were revisited with the exact thing you were trying to run from. Feeling as though you fell off of the cliff you tried so hard to climb and rest at. Now, just bruised and wounded.

This time, you strike them and of course they block immediately. The two of you keep your lightsabers against each other in place this time. Sparks of the lightsabers flicker through the air. You look at the helmet before you. Cracks rest on their helmet making you finally take in their appearance. Although there is something of the presence before you that flows through your veins. It feels electrifying, in a way that doesn't resemble the fear you've felt this whole encounter. It's something curious. A curious feeling. The stranger sways their wrist to push your lightsaber away from you, only to push their blade to your arm.

Air escapes your lungs for a few seconds from the pain. You look down to your arm to see that there is a red flame latched onto the cloth of your shirt, with a tear showing your now burnt skin before you. You take a few steps back, swallowing your winces of pain to only look up to see the stranger gone.

Your home became empty with nothing but the sound of your lightsaber humming through the air.

read part two here !

[adrienneleclerc]

Is it possible to request a Lando one were his girlfriend is a well known voice actress that does video games and anime?

Hello, I will TRY, sorry if this took me a while, if it’s short, and if you don’t like it, but I really hope you like it

Girlfriend Reveal

Pairing: Lando Norris x VA! Reader

Summary: Lando Norris fans lose their shit when they find out he’s dating Y/N L/N, the voice of Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: i had to google animes I knew and see if the years coincided, I did my research.

Lando and Y/N met when she was recording the voice of Black Cat in the new Spider Man 2 video game and he was helping design the black and neon yellow suit. They have been dating for a few months and Lando was streaming with Max.

“Oh fuck!” Lando screamed at his computer screen before there was a knock on his door. “Baby, come in, you don’t have to knock.” Y/N opened the door and walked through

“But You’re streaming, i didn’t want to interrupt. I bought us spring rolls and I got myself some seafood pho, which is delicious, might I add, I’ll be in the kitchen.” Y/N said before walking back out and that’s when his comment section went crazy with fans asking who was that.

“Oh, that was my girlfriend, she’s cute, isn’t she?” Lando asked the chat. “Let’s see what you guys are saying, ‘are you dating Y/N L/N?’ Yes, yes I am, our relationship is growing strong. ‘Did you know she’s a voice actress?’ Of course I knew, that’s how we met, she voices the black cat in the new Spider-Man video game. She’s very talented actually, it almost doesn’t sound like her.” Lando laughed at his little joke. “Um ‘where is she?’ She’s in the kitchen, eating her food. Baby, my fans want you, they keep asking questions about you.” Lando said.

“Let me eat my pho and I’ll come back with the spring rolls.” Y/N said. 30 minutes later, Y/N came back with a plate of spring rolls. “Hey, LN4 nation, how y’all doing?” Y/N asked the fans, while Y/N took over Lando’s stream, he was happily eating the spring rolls they ordered. “‘Am I working on anything new?’ Well not really, I haven’t been called to dub another anime, maybe they’re waiting until the anime is done shooting for me to dub, I don’t know. I could be part of a new animated Disney or Pixar movie, I don’t know.” Y/N kept reading the comments until she landed on.. “‘Can you say a line from Fruits Basket?’ Yeah, i Can do that, let me just.” Y/N cleared her throat. “Yeah, I totally Can, i just need to get better at the whole breathing part.” (I looked it up on TikTok) Lando out down the tray of spring rolls.

“My beautiful girlfriend, the voice of Tohru Honda.” Lando said clapping and imitating the cheer of the audience.

“Ha ha, thank you. It was very fun dubbing the voice of Tohru. Sorry to take the attention away from you, Lando.” Y/N apologized, kissing him. “Did you eat all the spring rolls?”

“Of course not, I left you like 7.” Lando said.

“Alright, I’ll just be right here.” Y/N said, sitting down on Lando’s bed to view his stream.

“I’m back you guys. Yes, I know, Y/N is amazing, I haven’t watched Fruits Basket but I will soon, when Y/N isn’t there, obviously.” Lando said, Y/N chuckled. “Well, darling, hope you’re happy, my fans like you more than me.”

“It’s not my fault your fans like anime.” Y/N commented

“I know, I know.” Lando replied.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m your biggest fan.” Y/N said.

“Thanks, darling.” Lando said before returning to his stream.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

II ║ Threads

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part I: Seams | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: M

Summary: When Joel revisits Main Street Outfitters two weeks later, he finds you on your knees. Again.

Warnings: Very spicy thoughts but not explicit, sexual tension, sexual innuendos, some language, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: This crept up on me and happened just as I was finishing up edits. I am so grateful, and I hope Threads is a fitting thank you gift to you all 😘 I’m thinking about doing a sleepover celebration, we shall see!

Joel and Pin are back ❤️ They're back because you guys have been so generous with your love, sending me so many ideas and hyping me up - I can't thank you all enough! This chapter is all thanks to Singer machine anon who bravely (affectionate 😉) shared their story of getting stuck under a sewing machine table. I hope you enjoy this one!

A treadle sewing machine is powered mechanically by a foot pedal that is pushed back and forth by the operator's foot. 

If you're not familiar, here is a classic Singer treadle cabinet, which is no way big enough for the purposes of this story, so please exercise your imagination 😉

Joel hovers outside the Jackson Grocer’s, arms crossed, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible in front of the leafy display of butter lettuce heads.

It’s been a few months since he’s settled in, but sometimes he can’t get over how fucking nuts this place is. Looking at the shelves brimming with fresh fruits and vegetables outside, canned food and home goods inside, he could easily be standing outside the 24/7 mart in his old neighbourhood. There are even shopping baskets, for crying out loud - stacked neatly one on top of the other by the door.

A voice pipes up from his left. ‘Didn’t know you ate greens.’

Joel scowls. ‘I don’t.’

‘Why are you loiterin’, then?’ asks Tommy, picking up a couple of apples and examining them with exaggerated care.

‘I’m not loiterin’,’ he spits out the last word as if he’s above it, turning his gaze to the high street. 

Tommy tosses him a cocky grin, head tilted at a knowing angle. ‘Yeah, you are. And now you’re makin’ eyes at Bob. It’s disturbin’.’

Glancing across the main thoroughfare at the welder’s shop, where the said proprietor is cutting up wooden planks on the porch, Joel grumbles sarcastically, ‘That’s right. Bob is just my type.’

At that very moment, right next to Bob's, the door of Main Street Outfitters creaks open, and Joel recognises Lucy instantly as she sneaks out on tiptoes. She skips down the stairs and wanders up the street in what appears to be another impromptu work break.

Joel’s already taken two steps towards the shop before he remembers that he’s not alone. Braking abruptly and bringing up one hand to scratch the back of his neck, he feels Tommy’s eyes on him.

He half-turns, and snaps, ‘What?’

The younger Miller brother shrugs, pursing his lips thoughtfully. ‘Why are you going to the Outfitters again? Didn’t you just get those new jeans a couple of weeks ago?’

‘Thought I’d get a new shirt for your stupid baby shower.’

‘Joel -’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ He throws his hands up in capitulation. ‘Baby showers are not stupid. Especially in the middle of an apocalypse.’

Taking another two steps forward, a thought stops him dead in his tracks again. He can practically feel Tommy smiling smugly at his back.

For fuck’s sake.

He doesn’t turn around this time, jamming his hands into his pockets and asks, ‘Can I bring someone? To the party?’

‘We know Ellie’s comin’.’

Whipping around, he growls, ‘Tommy -’

He laughs. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. Joel Miller makin’ friends in town? Maria’s right - you’re fittin’ right in, big brother.’

Rolling his eyes, Joel flips him off and stomps his way across the street.

Tommy calls out at his retreating back. ‘Say hello to Pin and tell her we’d love to have her come over on Sunday!’

When he steps inside, the shop is as empty as it was a fortnight ago. Joel shuts the door firmly, making sure the bell jingles, so his entry doesn’t go unnoticed.

Your voice, though muffled, comes promptly. ‘Lucy! Is that you?’

He heads towards the doorway that leads to the workshop. ‘It’s Joel, actually.’

‘Oh, shit!’

His eyebrows reach for his hairline - you don’t seem to be the type to curse. Concerned, he asks, ‘You alright back there?’

There’s a touch of panic in your reply, ‘Don’t come back here. Did Lucy sneak out again?’

On your instruction, Joel hesitates in the middle of the room, talking to air. ‘Yeah, saw her leave a couple of minutes ago.’

‘Goddamnit, Lucy!’

He shuffles his feet awkwardly. ‘Uh, you sure you’re ok? Should I come back later?’

There’s a resigned sigh, then a pause. ‘Promise you won’t laugh.’

One end of his lips tugs upwards in a smile. ‘Why would I?’

‘Promise.’

At your insistence, he humours you, ‘Alright, I promise, sweetheart.’

‘Come on back.’

When he steps into the workshop, he doesn’t spot you immediately. The space is seemingly empty, everything standing still and in order. He sweeps his eyes across the room, starting with the shelving unit and the desk along the near wall, then trailing over the large timber work table in the middle, where a stack of folded shirts stands neatly.

His throat isn’t the only thing that tightens when he glances at the rug under the skylight -

‘Joel?’

Your voice draws his attention to the far corner of the room, where a sewing station is tucked into a little alcove.

Joel doesn’t know much about sewing machines, but he can recognise a vintage Singer anywhere even without the name blazoned across its elegant body. His grandmother had one in her drawing room by a sunny bay window, and he used to watch her work on it when he visited every other weekend. For a disorienting second, he can almost smell homemade cinnamon rolls and black tea.

Little did he know that things were about to get a lot more disorienting than a pleasant childhood memory.

As he steps around the work table, the rest of the sewing station comes into view, fronted by a big window, the light streaming through the glass glancing off the black sewing machine on top of a classic treadle cabinet. What looks like a half-finished dress lies on the wooden work surface, which stands on quintessential wrought metal legs, and between them - his throat constricts with a slow swallow when he realises what - or rather, who - he’s looking at.

The words barely come out, as if his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth, as he makes his presence known. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’

To be fair, you’re not making things easy by any means. All he can see is your backside hovering in mid-air, the rest of you out of sight under the desk. It has built-in cabinets on each end, the right side of it backed up against the far wall, and a chair is pushed to the side.

Joel stops two measured paces away, staring down at the curve of your ass and the way your top rides up, baring the small of your back. His eyes linger on the soft skin between the shirt’s hem and the waistband of your very tight jeans.

Jesus Christ. Do you always have to be on your fucking knees in this workshop?

Your small voice jolts him from his daze. ‘Well, at least you’re not laughing.’

He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew how laughing is the furthest thing on his mind right now. ‘What happened?’

‘A spool rolled off and I went down to get it, but I fell on the treadle accidentally - I think my shirt is snagged in the band wheel. I can’t move at all, and this Singer is an antique - I can't risk breaking it.’

Unfamiliar with what you’re talking about, he probes, ‘And where’s the band wheel?’

‘Under the table, on my right.’

You wriggle your hips, perhaps to help him locate where you’re stuck, unaware that you’re not helping. At all. 

He swallows thickly and implores you, ‘Stay still, sweetheart. I’ll take a look.’

It’s been two whole weeks since Joel Miller came into the shop. You’ve caught glimpses of him in between - Jackson is tiny, after all. He catches your eye as he ambles down the high street with Ellie, his gruff Southern accent carrying even in the mid-afternoon bustle, too preoccupied arguing with the teenager to notice you on the other side of the road. He’s in the cafeteria a couple of times when you arrive for a late dinner, nodding at you from a few tables over, while you work up the nerve to smile back.

Every time, he’s wearing the jeans you handpicked for him, which makes your chest swell and constrict at the same time with something like - pride.

You picked out the pair for him. You assured him that he looks good. And by the way he’s wearing his confidence on his sleeve, he’s certainly taken your words to heart. 

Whenever you see other women eyeing him as he struts about town - which is entirely too often - it awakens an ugly possessiveness in you, one that twists your insides into grotesque balloon animals.

Fourteen damn days. Even in the privacy of your workshop, you can’t escape that man. The simple touch of denim provokes a visceral reaction from you, heat chases beneath your skin every time you pick up the tailor’s scissors. It doesn’t help that most of your daily tasks are not exactly cerebral, which gives this man all the more leeway to lay claim to your subconscious.

If you believed in magic, you would've thought you summoned him with the sheer energy you’ve spent thinking about him. But what kind of witchcraft conjured him up at the precise moment you get trapped like the bumbling idiot that you are?

One minute you’re reaching for the stupid thread, the next thing you know, you’re stuck, unable to move without the mechanisms of the antique Singer groaning ominously at your attempts to free yourself.

But maybe, it’s still better than Lucy finding you. She’d take a hammer to the sewing machine to get you out, no question - patience is not her strong suit - and she’d be laughing at you for days.

You hear the floorboards give behind you as Joel moves into the space, which isn’t much - when you’re sat down at the treadle cabinet, the wall is barely two steps behind.

The wooden table creaks above you as he braces one hand on the surface, and you startle at what sounds like the vicious crack of a vertebra.

‘Um - you okay?’

Joel grunts. ‘I’ll live.’

So you wait, thinking absent-mindedly how your elbows are starting to get numb. There’s a scruff of boots and what sounds like a brief struggle, before Joel sighs. ‘Back’s too stiff ‘mfraid. Gotta get on the floor to see underneath.’

Before you can squeak out a reply, there’s a boney click of what you presume is his knees as he crouches down, and an unexpected brush of denim on your left ankle surprises you. Forgetting where you are, you jump in reflex, hitting the underside of the table so hard that you screech in pain.

‘Shit!’ Joel cusses behind you, one warm hand landing on the side of your hip to steady you. ‘You ok?’

Up until this point, you’ve been too consumed with embarrassment by your predicament to even think about the position Joel found you in. But once the warm imprint of his palm registers through the denim, it hits you like one of those interstate trucks that you used to see out of your window.

You’re leaning on your forearms, ass in the air, and now - he’s behind you, getting onto his knees. You can’t decide if the back of your head or your pussy is throbbing harder as you stutter, ‘I’m fine, just - get me out, please.’

‘Alright, hang on, sweetheart.’

You swallow the childish urge to stamp your foot. He has no right going around dropping sweethearts all over the place.

There’s a throaty exhale as Joel lowers himself onto the floor, his knees bracketing yours to shift closer to you. You know he feels the shudder that chases down your spine when soft flannel grazes your bare back, heat spilling from his solid frame as he looms over you.

‘You say you’re stuck in the band wheel?’

Somehow, you manage to answer, ‘Yeah, to my right.’

He clears his throat. ‘I - uh - I’ll have to lean down pretty close to you to take a look, is that ok?’

You feel all the air leave your body, which is probably why your reply comes out far breathier than you intend it to. ‘Yes, Joel.’

And with those two words, Joel has a problem with his jeans. Again.

They’re too tight. Again.

There’s nothing he can do as his mouth goes dry and his cock hardens with a vengeance, his self-control slipping like sand between his fingers.

He was doing so good - well, he was more or less holding it together, as much as he could be expected to while kneeling behind you. And of course, his damn knees hurt, but so does his bottom lip which is caught in his teeth, trying to regulate his breathing when his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. 

He already has one hand on you, and goddamnit, it’s taking him all he’s got to hold back from gripping you with his other, to grasp the swell of your ass between his palms, to trace your curves up to the dip of your exposed waist, to bow his head and run his tongue along the arc of your spine -

And the jeans you’re wearing - fuck, they’re tight. He wonders idly if you wore them for him. His eyes follow the seam that runs down the cleft of your ass, the way the pockets stretch over your backside has his fingers twitching, thinking about how well you will fill his hands, and how the slow rub of denim will burn his skin.

He wants to hook his thumbs into the belt loops and pull you flush against the zipper of his jeans, where his cock is straining against - rub himself on you, grind on you, his thighs plastered to the back of yours -

‘Joel?’

Fuck.

He sways as he snaps out of his stupor, dangerously close to knocking into you, light-headed from the lack of blood to his brain. He chokes out, ‘Yeah, I got you, sweetheart.’

Get it together, you dirty bastard.

He’s careful to leave a couple of inches between his front and your ass when he bends his elbows and ducks so he can peer beneath the desk. His chest pressed flat against your lower back, he can see the bunched fabric of your shirt where it’s caught.

‘Yup, you’re right, your shirt is snagged tight in there.’

‘Can you untangle it?’

‘Think so, but I’ll need both hands.’ He pauses. ‘I’d better get on my back under you.’

You swear you’re going to black out.

‘Pin?’ he prompts when you’ve been quiet a beat too long.

‘I - um, what do you mean by going under me?’

‘If I’m on my back, I can use both my hands, like a mechanic under a car,’ he explains. ‘If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another way -’

‘No!’ you blurt out, wincing at the desperation in your tone. ‘I mean - whatever is easiest for you. You’re the one doing me a favour here.’

‘Alright,’ he says, placated by your reassurance. ‘On your hands and knees then, sweetheart.’

Your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. Oh, come on. Can he hear himself?

Scraping together your last vestiges of control, you push up on your palms to make space underneath you. You have to consciously lock your elbows - your joints suddenly feel like barely set pudding. 

‘Move as far to your right as possible so I can slide in.’

Shuffling on your hands and knees until you’re pressed up against the band wheel, you hear the brush of fabric on wood - must be his back against the floorboards as he slides in. To say it’s a squeeze is an understatement. His broad shoulders brush the front of your thighs as he inches in, and then, his face appears under yours, head between your hands.

His lips quirk. ‘Hi, sweetheart.’

Your breath hitches at his proximity, your wrists brushing the soft red flannel he’s wearing today. ‘Hi.’

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You’re this close to pouting. What does he think? There’s a telltale stickiness between your legs that you’re frantically trying to push to the back of your mind while you mmhmm noncommittally, hoping that he doesn’t smell your want in the tiny, claustrophobic space you’re now both caught in.

You can only assume that he’s none the wiser, since the next thing that comes of his mouth is - 

‘Climb on top of me so I can slide in closer to the band wheel.’

Someone might as well say your last rites. This is the end.

You’re taken aback when your limbs start to move on autopilot, because your faculties have well and truly abandoned ship. One trembling leg attempts to swing itself over the solid breadth of his body, but it wobbles like jelly, and your knee ends up connecting firmly with his stomach instead of landing clear on his other side.

At his grunted oomph, you panic and bang your head on the underside of the table again, which sends your whole weight sprawling onto his front with a yelp.

Joel cradles the back of your scalp with one hand. ‘Shit, you ok, sweetheart?’

The seams of your lashes sting, your head smarting with the impact, and you blink drily as your gaze focuses on Joel under you. He’s so close that you can see flecks of gold in his brown eyes, his breath hitting your face in warm puffs. Your glance at his lips, and with that one little motion, all goes quiet.

He watches you back, neither of you breathing, and in the stillness you realise that you’re fully straddling him, your palms pressing into the hard floor on either side of his ears. Your tits are crushed up against his ribs, his soft tummy warmly cushioned under you. Lower still, where your hips are nestled into the spread of his thick thighs, something stiff and long and insistent presses into you -

Your jaw goes slack when it dawns on you. 

Oh god.

He’s hard.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Joel breaks the silence, a pained frown on his brow as he shakes his head. ‘This is embarrassin’. Couldn’t fuckin’ help it, seein’ you in those jeans -’

Tongue-tied, you can only stare at him, wishing you were brave enough to say something. Tell him that you pulled extra shifts to buy this particular pair of jeans, knowing that they flatter your figure. That you’ve worn them almost every day these two weeks, hoping that he’d swing by again. 

But you can’t. 

So you pray that he can see what you can’t say by the way you’re looking at him, by the way your heart races wildly in your ribcage against his chest.

His voice cracks. ‘I understand if you want me to go -’

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and cut in, ‘Don’t.’

His warm eyes widen, something like hopefulness in the way he looks up at you. ‘You don’t want me to go?’

You press your body closer into his, filling in the gaps. ‘No. Please don’t, Joel.’

He leans forward, so close that you can feel the phantom burn of his silvered beard, his palms finding the meat of your legs, blunt nails biting into the denim.

He really should be ashamed of himself, at the way his cock pulses unabashedly, nudged right between your thighs as you stare down at him, lips parted. He’s hard enough that he worries if there’s a wet spot of precum on the front of his jeans - he can feel himself leaking through his boxers. 

The wicked tip of your tongue traces a wet trail on your bottom lip, and he almost chokes on a half-buried groan deep in his chest. He knows that you don’t even know you’re doing it - and in turn, what that does to him.

It would be easy to close the two-inch gap between you. To kiss you, taste you, lick into your sweet mouth. All he needs to do is to cup the back of your head and pull you down, or crane his neck and press his lips to yours -

And Joel is someone who always follows the path of least resistance. 

But - he wants to do right by you. He knows you deserve more than a quick fumble under a table.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Joel steels himself and brushes a chaste thumb over your cheekbone. ‘Let’s get you out of here, and then we can talk, ok?’

It’s almost perverse the way his chest warms at the flicker of disappointment in your eyes as you give a reluctant nod, ‘Ok. Please be careful, the Singer’s really delicate.’

It’s hard to focus - his attention keeps drifting to how snugly you fit into his chest, between his arms, and it’s not a stretch to imagine a soft mattress underneath his back. It's funny how quickly his body has adjusted to creature comforts after months of sleeping on the cold winter ground.

Joel’s mindful that an antique sewing machine will be a pain in the ass to repair without the requisite parts, so he moves carefully, gently coaxing the band wheel back and forth to see how he can extract you. It doesn’t take long to loosen the grip of the metal teeth on your shirt, but he has to reach up and untangle the threads snagged into the mechanisms one by one.

He muses idly that this is not his method. These hands of his, with crooked knuckles that never healed right, where many a dagger, knife, gun, rifle have found a home - they break things, people.

When was the last time someone asked gentleness of him? 

He wants to scoff. That’s not what he’s good for.

Despite himself, his throat rumbles with a hum of satisfaction when the band wheel finally lets go of your shirt, the Singer whirring to life as it spins freely. He gives you a lopsided smile. ‘There you go, sweetheart.’

You smile, but don’t seem to be in a hurry to move, which pleases him. He likes looking at you from this angle, relishing in your weight on him. He takes his time running his eyes over your face, his palms coming to rest on your knees.

You duck your head prettily. ‘Thank you, Joel.'

He gives you a playful shrug. ‘Well, I owed you one for these jeans.’

You roll your eyes in good humour. ‘Actually, I told you specifically that you didn’t.’

Joel basks in the lighthearted turn in the conversation, egging you on, ‘Well, in that case, you owe me one for this instead.’

‘That’s hardly fair -’ you chide him, punching him in the shoulder in a half-hearted rebuke.

Taking the opportunity, he grabs you by the wrist, the contact prompting a bodily shudder from you that he doesn’t miss. He smirks, ‘M’fraid I don’t play fair, sweetheart.’

You glare at him in mock sternness, bold enough to demand, ‘Fine - what do you want then, Joel Miller?’

For a split second, he hesitates, woefully out of practice at whatever it is that he’s about to do. Swallowing his self-doubt, he asks, ‘Tommy and Maria are throwing a baby shower on Sunday at their house - do you want to come?’

Your shoulders stiffen. Now, that you were not expecting. Your social anxiety bubbles between your ribs and looms over you like a spector. You sputter, ‘Um, I -’

You start when his fingers draw soothing circles on the top of your knees, as if seeing straight through the source of your apprehension. He reassures you, ‘Lucy is welcome to join too. The more the merrier.’

Your eyes soften. ‘Ok. I’d love to.’

The endearing way the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles has you swaying towards him, his nose just brushing the side of yours - when the doorbell rings, cutting through the loaded silence. 

In your haste to sit up, you knock your head against the table for a third time. 

‘Ow!’ you cry. Even Joel flinches at the hard hit.

Lucy calls out, sounding dangerously close. ‘Pin? You ok, hon?’

‘Shit!’ You start scrambling backwards, bent over awkwardly, convinced that you’re one more blow away from a concussion. You’ve barely scrambled onto your feet when Lucy steps into the workshop, the world tilting on its axis for a moment as blood rushes to your brain. 

She watches in amusement as Joel drags himself from under the sewing station, head cocked to one side. ‘Hi again, stranger. You really like our shop, don’t you?’

His shirt is rumpled from where you sat on him, bits of his curls sticking up. He rubs the back of his neck, as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘I just swung by to, uh, invite you and Pin to the baby shower. Tommy and Maria’s. This Sunday.’

Lucy crosses her arms, arching an eyebrow. ‘And it’s a tradition where you’re from to talk about weekend plans under a table?’

You narrow your eyes at her. ‘Luce -’

She winks. ‘You know what? I don’t need to know the gory details - but I’m in. See you Sunday, Miller!’

Joel huffs a chuckle as Lucy disappears into the front of the shop, leaving you two alone. You smile, suddenly shy for no reason, twining your fingers to stop from fidgeting. ‘Thanks again, Joel.’

He shrugs it off, a touch of boldness in the way he stands, hands in pockets, hips cocked. ‘Pleasure was all mine, sweetheart.’

Instead of heading in the direction of the door, he takes two long strides towards you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, ‘Wear those jeans for me again on Sunday?’

Stunned, you gape at him as he turns with a crooked grin and walks off, dispatching a two-fingered salute at Lucy as he goes. Pausing by the threshold, Joel gives you one last wink that has your breath stuttering - but you only allow yourself to sag against the wall when the door closes behind him, your knees giving.

Lucy wastes no time skipping back into the workshop, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. ‘Alright, time to raid the party clothes rack, girl!’

You laugh - Sunday can’t come fast enough.

Notes: I had the best time writing this chapter - it was fun to flip the tables on Pin, not that Joel comes out completely unscathed!

I definitely have ✨ideas✨ for these two, but I'm enjoying keeping things loose, so I have no plans to turn this into a full-blown series just yet. I hope you enjoyed this instalment, comments/reblogs/asks are so so appreciated as always ❤️

[girlrotterr]

Trails of Sweetness.

farm!ellie x fem!reader Summary: ellie's a worker at your family's peach farm. a/n: another fic for you angels!! tysm for the support on my last fic!!

───────°❀°───────

You awoke at 8:00, stretching tiredly in bed before drawing back the curtains. The early morning sun filled your room with a warm glow, inviting the essence of summer. The peach trees stood tall and elegant, their leaves dancing in the summer breeze. Opening the window, the fresh air surrounded you, the sun illuminating the meadow. A view of vibrant oranges and reds painted the sky.

The field surrounding the farm with life—blooming flowers, buzzing bees, and the cheerful chirping of birds. The morning wind, so gentle on your skin. 

With a final glimpse out the window, you began your routine.

The sink's tap gushed water as you brushed your teeth, taking a moment to run a brush through your hair, gently working out the knots from last night's rest. Finally, completing your routine by making your bed, the soft cotton sheets and pillowcases soothed beneath your fingertips.

Now, in your usual peach-picking outfit—denim overalls paired with a delicate lace tank top, hair tied back with a red ribbon—you slipped into your rusty dark brown boots. 

Breakfast can wait; I need to head out there!

You headed downstairs with your basket in hand, swung open the front door, and…

There it was – the breathtaking meadow. The view never failed to amaze you. With a skip in your step, you headed towards the peach trees, eager to begin the day's harvest.

You began approaching the first tree heavy with peaches, the rosy, plump fruits dangling like ornaments, ready to be picked.

“Hello sweeties!" you exclaimed excitedly, reaching to pick them.

Snatch!

Suddenly, the peach was ripped off by an arm behind you.

"What—" You quickly turned around, wanting to know who had robbed your peach.

andd..of fucking course.

"It's ripe," Ellie said, bouncing the peach in her hand.

"No, really?" you said sarcastically, looking at her with pure annoyance.

Ellie smirked at you before taking a bite out of the peach. Her teeth sank into the juicy fruit, a burst of sweetness exploding in her mouth. Peach juices squelched and dribbled down her chin, glistening in the sunlight like liquid gold. A run of juice trailed down her fingers, leaving a sticky residue. The pure sweetness coated her lips.

"Yeah, definitely ripe," she said, wiping her mouth while looking at you. 

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to feed into Ellie's remarks. "What are you even doing out here?"

"I figured you needed a taste tester," Ellie said while smiling cheekily, the peach in her hand glistening.

Ellie had become part of the farm last summer, when your family needed extra hands. She effortlessly adapted, and it irked you how perfect she was. Harvesting a week's worth of peaches in just three days.

Since she joined, you found yourself distracted. The fields and peach trees, once the entire focus of your attention, now had competition with the disruption that was Ellie.

Her demeanor and mischievous smiles...

god..you couldn’t resist it. 

A part of you craved that distraction.

"I can decide that on my own," you said, taking the peach from Ellie's hand.

Squelch!

The sound of teeth sinking into a ripe peach.

Biting into the area she had bitten, the sweet juices burst into your mouth, flowing down your chin and onto your collarbones. The warmth of the sun beamed down onto you, the sticky sweetness running down onto your chest, almost staining your tank top.

"Fuck… you're messier than me," Ellie said, her eyes fixed on the trails of juices along your skin. They slid down perfectly.

Ellie reached her hand out, gathering the sticky sweetness alongside her fingertips. She slid her fingers along your skin, tracing your chin and collarbones. The warmth of her touch left a new trail, a trail of heat. Slowly she brought her fingers to her lips, a mischievous look in her eyes. 

Her tongue darted out, delicately licking the peach juices off her fingers. She was doing this on purpose, she wanted to tease you.

"Mmm..." A smirk played on Ellie's lips as she licked her fingers clean.

You looked at Ellie in embarrassment, completely flushed.

"You're a real sicko," you said, grabbing Ellie's hand and placing the bitten peach into her hands once again.

Ellie smirked. "aw, don't be mean." She looked at you, a stare so irresistible. “I helped you clean up.”

“hm…you missed a spot,” you said, gathering the trail of peach juices along your chest. Bringing your finger to Ellie's lip, rubbing the peach juices along them. Her lips were now covered in a glossy sweetness

Ellie's eyes widened, your sudden touch sending shivers down her spine. Your fingers moved achingly slow as they traced her soft pink lips, the warmth of your touch leaving her entranced. Fuck, she thought to herself, her gaze fixed on you. A part of her had imagined this scenario before, but instead of peach juices, it was your own juices spread across her lips.

“You're terrible at helping,” you said cheekily, turning your back away from her. Beginning to pick peaches, your original focus. 

Your sudden remark made Ellie snap out of her trance. She bit her lip, fucking needing you; craving to have you bury your cunt against her face, squeezing your thighs against her head, suffocating her in ecstasy. Ellie gave you a soft chuckle, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

She turned around, walking away, feeling the peach in her hand—the softness of it and the sweetness running down her wrists. The texture of the peach was warm against her skin, the sticky juices tracing down her fingers.

She began walking a little quicker now, her steps becoming heavier, her grip tightening on the peach. The fruit was wet and warm against her palm. The juices, still fresh and sweet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck... Ellie's mind raced as she practically sprinted towards the tool shed—urgency in her steps. With a swift motion, she banged the door open, slamming it closed behind her, leaning against the wooden wall. In desperation, she unbuckled her belt, swiftly loosening it. Shoving her hand down her boxers, feeling her wet cunt along her warm fingertips.

“Fuckk.., you made me soo fucking wet…” she mumbled to herself, slowly gliding her fingers against her slit. Her wetness coated her fingers while gripping the peach firmly, it squelching in her hands.

She brought the peach up to her mouth, sticking her tongue out to lick the area where you had bitten. Circling her puffy clit, huffs escaped her lips, moaning heavily against it. The sweetness of the peach's juices coated her tongue as she ran it up and down the fruit, pretending it was your sweet cunt.

“Nghhh..wanna eat..it..soo bad..” Her hips began bucking against her fingers, her pace quickening. She threw her head back, hitting the shed’s wooden wall with a harsh thud. “Mmm! Fuckkk!…” 

Ellie's fingers pressed into the peach’s soft flesh, the once smooth surface becoming tainted with bruises and tears. With each squeeze, the peach's delicate skin burst, releasing sticky juices that dripped down Ellie's hand and onto the shed floor. The peach, once a symbol of sweetness, now lay in Ellie's hand as something grotesque. 

“You’re- ngh.. a fucking tease..” Ellie shut her eyes closed, simply picturing your pretty pussy against her mouth. “t-touching my fucking..lips–”

Click!

A rush of panic ran through Ellie as she heard the doorknob turn. "Shit." Her heart pounded in her chest, and with a sudden urgency, she tried to fix her clothes. But the door was already halfway open by the time she reached for her belt.

You walked into the shed, focused on finding a stool for reaching higher peaches. However, your attention completely shifted as you laid eyes on Ellie. She stood before you, her auburn hair disheveled and clinging to her flushed face. Her right arm and mouth glistened with peach juices. Her belt hung loosened, revealing her boxers. Both your widened eyes met. 

Ellie's mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. She was fucking caught.

The tension in the air was thick, silence filled the shed, the only sound being Ellie's shaky breathing.

You slowly closed the shed door, leaning against the shed door, a playful grin forming on your lips. “holy..shit.” 

Ellie stood frozen, her wide eyes remained fixed on you, not a muscle in her body moving.

“Ellie, what-” 

"I was just— I was looking for—...fuck." Ellie muttered, frustration in her voice. She threw her head back against the wooden wall, closing her eyes and scrunching her nose in defeat. She couldn’t get out of this.

You stepped closer to Ellie, taking in the view. Her veiny hand tightly gripping the disfigured peach, her happy trail completely exposed, her freckled face completely flushed. She’s a complete mess.  

"You really are a fucking sicko," you said with a teasing grin. 

Ellie shook her head, still avoiding eye contact. "If you hadn't walked in—"

You interrupted her, grabbing her wrist and pushing the peach close to her face. "You would've fucked this."

Ellie scoffed, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm not that fucking gross."

With a grin, you pushed the peach even closer to her mouth, the juices now trailing down your hand. "You're gross enough to cum to it,” you teased.

Annoyance grew in Ellie's eyes as she finally looked at you. A mixture of irritation and frustration in her expression. Irritated that you had walked in, annoyed that you now held this over her. Frustrated that you had witnessed her this deranged.

You let go of her wrist, wiping your wet hand along her white tank top, slightly dampening it. Your palm slowly brushing against her nipples, causing Ellie to flinch slightly. Looking down at Ellie's other hand, you notice her slightly pruned index finger. You bite your bottom lip, trying not to laugh at her eagerness.

“I’ll let you get back to it.” You say tauntingly, giving Ellie a smirk before turning away to open the shed door. Suddenly, feeling a tight grip on your hip, the force swaying you to turn around. 

Ellie's hand tightened its grip on your hip bone, pulling you intensely close to her body. Her loosened belt now grazed your lower stomach, the coolness of it sent shivers down your spine.

"Don't fucking say anything to anyone," she threatened, her husky voice against your lips. Your eyes met Ellie's, her gaze piercing through you. 

fuckk..

Her gaze only fueled you to taunt her further. The way her stare pierced into yours with intensity sent a thrill down your body, knowing that your actions were affecting her in ways she couldn't hide.

"Scared that people will know how pathetic you are?" you teased, earning a forceful pull from Ellie, your body bumping against hers. Now, your lips were mere centimeters away, her intense stare locking onto yours.

"I'm serious...please," she pleaded, her grip loosening as desperation filled her eyes. She was completely vulnerable, her dominance crumbling before your eyes.

“hm...” your voice was low as you slid your hands along Ellie's body. Tracing the curve of her abdomen up to her neck, Her skin felt incredibly hot under your touch. 

"I could always tell a different story…” you suggested, looking up at Ellie. Bringing your lips closer to Ellie's ear, you lightly brushed against her skin. The intense heat between your bodies filled the shed, leaving no room for anything else. 

“If we make one.” 

[lure-of-writing]

Little sister: Knock before you enter

Summary: Maybe Rhys should knock before he enters

Word count: 1.6k

Rhysand had many titles and jobs he was required to upkeep and fulfill. The most daunting title of all; your brother. And as your older brother it was his job to keep you happy and safe but how is he supposed to do that while being high lord, tending to his court, being a new father and a good mate. It was safe to say that he had been falling behind in that area of his life and by no means were you upset with him. Truthfully if Rhysand was willing to admit it to himself you were probably happy to not have him breathing down your neck every two seconds but as your older brother he couldn’t let his lack of time keep him from checking in on you. 

Flying to the house of wind he greets Cassian and Nesta in the kitchen having breakfast after what he could only assume was a long training session. Of one kind or another. “Good morning, have you seen my sister by chance?” He stopped to grab a piece of fruit that sat in the basket on the counter. Nesta shook her head in a no motion while bringing her cup to her lips to take a sip. “She wasn’t at training this morning.”  his general responded. It wasn’t unusual for you to skip training every now and then but since befriending Cassian's mate you made it more of a point to be consistent in your routine. Something most definitely had to be off. The high lord nodded at his family members and silently made his way to your bedroom and once your door handle was within reach he pushed the door open without any thought. 

The second his eyes took in the scene before him, he really wished he would have knocked. At least to give Azriel the chance to winnow away before he caught the two of you in a compromising position. “Well good morning to you too.” Your light laughter felt like a slap in the face and your brother directed his gaze to the ceiling. Azriel said nothing as he continued tightening the lace of your corset as if this was another normal day for the three of you. It in fact was not another normal day for the three of you.

In the middle of the room stood you and Azriel. Your back facing him while he gently pulls the strings of the fabric together in hopes of tightening the fabric to be flush with your body. Neither you nor Azriel seemed fazed by this arraignment. Rhysand made a mental note to ask his shadowsinger about that later. Right now he was trying to find a reason as to why you felt comfortable wearing nothing but this corset top and underwear in front of the man he considered a brother. He would also have to ask about that later. 

Coughing Rhys found the bravery in himself to look at you again for a mere seconds before shifting his gaze to literally anything else in your room. “Azriel, why are you helping my sister get dressed?” Before his friend could answer you jumped in to answer for him “Because I can’t tie a corset by myself, obviously” for a few seconds you watched while your brother tried to find the right words but by the time he had found them you were already strutting across the room and into the closet to grab the skirt that matches the outfit. Putting it on before him and the spymaster. Effortlessly you pulled it up and around your waist while turning once again to give Azriel access to tie the strings of your skirt together and complete your outfit. “And where exactly are you going where you need an outfit like that?” nothing about your outfit was revealing but it was definitely one of your nicer outfits for sure. Once again your laughter rang out into the room filling it with undeniable warmth. “Fatherhood sure has made you quite forgetful hasn’t it?”  Rhys tried to rack his brain for any reason you would need to be dressed up and he couldn’t find any. Maybe fatherhood has made him forgetful. “I’m going to visit the summer court and try to fix our relationship with them and since you are quite forgetful today, here is your reminder that Az is coming with me.” Silently the two male lock eye contact and Rhys raises a brow in questioning. Az titled his head slightly in a questioning manner. “You really want your sister going to another court alone?” 

Sighing a hefty sigh which Rhys was sure would be the first of many today he shook his head. “Of course I don’t want her to go alone. I just don’t recall telling you to go with her.” Confused, Azriel asked “Who else would go then?” And honestly Rhysand had no idea. 

After one week which felt like forever knowing you were alone with his shadowsinger the two of you had finally returned. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust the two of you but he couldn’t help but remember you curled up a little too comfortably in the spymaster's lap during the family dinner and now he walks into your room and there is Azriel helping you get dressed while you're basically naked. Something about that made his stomach queasy. 

After you had debriefed with your brother about your week, your very exciting week at that, you had made your grand exit to your room to wash away the day of traveling you had endured while Azriel gave him his report of your experience. After explaining everything the two males once again found themselves in the same situation as a week ago. Silently observing each other waiting for someone to make the first move. “Would you like to explain why you were in my sister's room helping her get dressed last week?” Az said nothing for a minute while staring at his high lord. “Like you said I was helping her get dressed.” Rhysand couldn’t help the scoff that slipped from his lips in disbelief. “Az I’m not stupid. I know something is going on between the two of you just please be honest and tell me. First she sits in your lap which sure isn’t unusual for her but then when I go to get her up from you, you don’t let me. Then at the court of nightmares, which don’t get me wrong I am eternally grateful that you protected her but then she kisses you like her life depended on it and leads you off to gods know where and now I find you in her room quote unquote helping her get dressed while she's basically half naked. I would be lying if I said this didn’t make me mad but  I really just want you to be truthful with me.” 

Azriel knew just how bad it seemed to anyone but the two of you but listening to Rhys list off all the stuff he had seen you two do, did seem a little suspicious. But truthfully he could say that nothing was going on between the two of you. Sure you liked to push the boundaries of friends to lovers quite often but it was always with Azriels concent and permission and nothing more ever happened then what Rhys had witnessed. Azriel respected Rhysand in more ways than one and part of that meant never crossing the in your relationship into something more as much as Azriel really wished he could. Some part of Azriel knew that you were meant for him but he knew his high lords stance on either him or Cassian dating his little sister. And it was never an option because Rhysand would never allow it to be one. 

“Rhys, I respect you which means I also respect you that don’t want me to date your little sister. I would never do anything to cross that line and I honestly try not to but you know you sister. She likes to get under your skin and since Cassian can’t help her achieve that goal anymore she comes to me. If it truly bothers you that much I will talk to her and put it to a stop. As for last week, after training I was the first one back down into the house and she simply asked for my help. At first I denied but once she brought the corset out to show me how complicated it was I agreed to help her, nothing more was going on I promise.”

After a long and much needed talk with Azriel, Rhysand had finally made it back to his bedroom and his wonderful mate. Once the couple had caught each other up on their day things started to escalate and before he knew it he was starting to undress Feyre. Suddenly the bedroom door slammed open and there you were standing in the entrance of his room staring at him expectantly. After a very lengthy pause of the three of you glancing at and forth at each other you finally speak. “Rhys what are you doing? Feyre is a grown woman she can undress herself. She doesn’t need your help.” with an exhausted sigh you watch as your brother rubs his weary face. He knew exactly what this was about. “Maybe next time you'll knock before entering.” Feyre watched as you turned around and left as if you had not just barged into their room. Without saying anything to her mate she raises an eyebrow in question as if to say “What was that about?” Sighing once more Rhysand just shakes his head before face planting into their bed. Exiting his house you make your way to where Azriel was waiting to fly the two of you back to the house of wind “Maybe next time he’ll actually knock.” The gentle laugh of the shadowsinger caressed your heart as he scooped you into his arms and took off to the sky. That was not before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

Taglist: @kemillyfreitas @gorlillaglue25 @willowpains

[astralnymphh]

𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬.

summary: you and ellie have been living on this farm for at least a year now, tucked in the towering mountains of wyoming and just a quaint trek from jackson. just you and her. you, her, the sun, and the moon. what could today entail? what makes this midsummer's day so special?

reader discretion advised: nsfw, mdni, proposal, picnic, somewhat proofread, sexual jokes, takes place before santa barbara, sucking on fingers(almost choking on them), fingering (receiving), almost-oral (receiving), dirty talk, doing the deed in nature. footnotes: word count (4.2k), masterlist, palestine masterpost, read this, written circa 2023. (hence the writing style change)

it's another day on the farm, yet like no other. it's harvest season, and your crops have got you cut out of your day and preoccupied. plucking fruit and tugging vegetables from the lavish soil in your garden with a certain ellie onlooking from your dusty oak porch. she's observing you in your most natural nature, tending to your art, the garden, and supplying you with a bountiful reaping of food for the inbound month.

there lay a tract of terrain beyond your fences, this beautiful pasture gilded in a magnificent solar ray every afternoon, and ellie's got an itching to bring you there today. with your knees sewn in the dirt surrounding a planter bed, wicker basket beside you and snapping blueberries off their stems, it's got you in a pretty tranquil state that doesn't include the awareness of ellie watching. so when dual warm hands plant on your biceps, it jolts you by instinct.

"how's the harvest babe?" ellie's silhouette looms over you and the berry bush, eyeing the pile of blueberries cradled in the basket, "looks good, when will you be done though, d'you think?" a smirk adorns her lips.

"umm.." your fingers pinch a lone berry, "I haven't gotten to the vegetables yet.." you remind her and yourself, rolling the navy berry between your fingertips.

ellie crouches behind you, "do you haaave to harvest everything now?" she whines, wrapping her lithe arms around your shoulders akin to a sloth and rocking you along with her see-saw motion.

"yes els, if you want food." a quaint giggle erupts from your chest. 

"but we have food, babe. our pantry is full of it." ellie attempts to coax you, voice pitching at the brink of her sentence. her lips brush the hairs on your nape and leave damp marks of adoration.

"did you come out here just to distract me?" your mouth creeps into a sheepish smirk, extending your hand out to pluck the last cluster of berries.

"you can tell me to stop." her pecks don't falter, dotting the length of your placid shoulders, "should I stop?" the question phases through you like a tantalizing breeze.

a melody thrums from your hum, eyes drifting closed in the blissfulness that is her velvety lips, puckering against your jawline and tickling your skin slightly with her hair. 

"els! that tickles.." you shrug your shoulder against your ear, nudging ellie's face off.

"so.. stop?" she reiterates and streams her steady palms down upon your hips.

you plant two cupped hands over her legs that now settle on both sides of you, whirling slowly to face her and furrowing your brows, "you're a menace. what happened to your little art project you started this morning?" 

"well, I saw my wife working outside and just had to join." she draws out an emphasis.

"wife? wife? we aren't married."

"not like we can have a wedding, so I just declare it." her lips resume to your neck, chafing that earthy auburn hair against your cheek.

"you didn't even propose or anything." 

"'chn ch-nge th-t." ellie's speech muffles in your collar, tender grips hugging the crests of your hips.

you don't catch her inaudible words, "huh?" you question, grasping the woven handle of your basket and returning it to your line of sight beside ellie's splayed leg.

"nothin'." her raspy voice clarifies as her head peeks up, melting foreheads and poking nose tips together.

you connect constellations dotting her cinnamon freckles with your eyes, trickling down and charting her coral lips. a smile tints yours, whispering, "what'd you wanna do today?"

"hmm?" her visage turns bumbled, "I never mentioned any-"

"you always bother me when y'want to do something.." you interrupt her, earning a hung-open-jaw look from her as she withdraws from your space.

she heaves, yet a cheeky nasal-lined smile summons on her midface, "you.. know that clearing in the woods, back there?" she juts her head in a vague direction, thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

you glimpse at the distant fence ellie points her head to and nod in understanding.

her hand lands on her thigh, "why don't we have a picnic there?" she offers, prodding your elbow with her raised knee.

"you trynna woo me, els?" you tease, easing your hand on her swaying knee.

"baabbee.." she whines, pleading for an answer that sounds a lot like 'yes'.

her whining casts a reminisce to this morning, you clawing your way out of bed, sorry, out of her locked embrace as you tried to prepare for the day. her tousled auburn hair buried in your chest, fingers drawing shapes on your back, pressing her bare torso against your side and begging for you to stay in bed.

"baabbbee.." her soft wail echoed.

"ellie, I gotta get up." her ardent skin was caressing yours and legs intertwined in a knot.

"nuh-uh, no you're not." ellie snorted and further tightened her bear hug to your demise.

"baby, we needa get out of bed, it's harvest day." you coaxed with a cherished kiss to her crown, weaseled only an inch from her before you got lulled back in.

her lengthy limbs, damn those things, can trap you well and remain unmoving. she only wore her nude toned underwear to bed last night, and you a lace panty. not a moment of your memory is blurred, in fact, what took place last night was well etched in your brain. ellie reeks of sex and so do you, she has traces of jasper red scratches on her back to prove it.

"need you babe.." she reaches for your furled hand, sowing soft and needy kisses on your knuckles.

you sighed and just gave up, curled your body with her and combed solace rows into her jumbled mullet.

"so, what do you say?" her voice in reality reels you in, breaking your chain of rememberance.

you take a gander at her features momentarily before deciding, "yes- sure, picnic sounds good." without hesitation.

"good, cause I'm fuckin' famished." ellie's face slants towards yours, her devious fingers slithering beside her, snatching up a blueberry and popping it in her mouth.

you spot this in your peripherals, "ey! don't eat my berries!" you chuckled.

"your berries? there's only one- two berries of yours that I know of, I'm actually quite acquainted-"

you lightly smack the silly smirk off her lips, fraudly disgusted by her immaturity, "you're so inappropriate!"

"not like anyone's gonna hear.." she ovalizes her lips and gusts the linear bang from her cheek.

"you're weird." you roll your eyes prior to standing up with the scratchy basket handle tucked in your elbow.

ellie follows suit, her hand wrapping and clutching yours loosely, "c'mon, I'll help you make the food." her stature stands a few inches above you, wriggling her bottom lip to the side in a crooked peculiar smile that invites those signature dimples to play.

you shun your pupils to the back of your head, giving her the once-over before pacing through the backdoor with her all giddy in hand.

the iridescent glade comes into view as you're strolling towards it, ellie adjacent to you equipped with a basket in hand and worn out bookbag on her back. you haven't ventured into the woods much after moving here, but with no signs of infected in months you simply deem it safe. she hasn't taken you out like this anyways, not for a while. the last time was her birthday, since it only occurs on special occasions, so why today?

ellie fashions a proud smile shrouded by you being slightly ahead of her, definitely holding hands but you're too thrilled to explore this parcel of forest to take notice. she wore joel's buckskin leather jacket over a plaid shirt, usual jeans with slits in them and sturdy brown boots.

"hurry up babe! I can see it already.." you exclaim with a bounce to your step, swinging her arm around to usher her feet swifter.

a laugh enchants her, "i'm right behind you.. the spots' not goin' anywhere." she assures you calmly trailing a chuckle, but inside, her heart is blooming with beats and sending shrills of tension through her nerves. her mind was up to something.

"it's right there!" you steam off a squeal of elation just seeing the open pasture. the grass is of a radiant jade shade, smothered in a divine ray of sun casting down on it, it looks like it came straight from elysian fields itself. you tear from ellie's hold and dash towards the glade with eagerness.

"babe!" ellie shouts but not without a following chuckle, adoring the pure felicity you expressed brought by this mere sight of nature. she trots after you with a bit of struggle from all the baggage she carried.

you halt just as you reach the center of the glade, staring at the trees surrounding and the canopy provided by their outstretching branches creating crown shyness, all with a bright beam spread across your lips.

ellie catches up with you and sets the basket on the ground, observing the space in detail, "y'want it right here?" she peels the bookbag from her shoulders and tosses it to the grass.

"mhm.." you pump your head in agreement and swivel away from her, admiring the spires of bark and fauna that look like they came from a painting.

she unzips the bag in one swoosh, yanking out a slightly frayed, faded and old beige cotton blanket with little embroidered florals along the hem. ellie dusts it off and thrashes out all the crinkles, laying it flat against the earth and smoothing out all the ripples.

you tilt your head over to witness her squatting down, pulling various objects from the bag and hesitating before she places them down. she appeared to be deep in thought, decorating the empty canvas of a blanket like it was important to her.

ellie's forehead tauts, an arrangement of fine china at her feet, "does this plate look better here.. or here?" her voice chromatically turns gravelly.

"it looks good anywhere.."

"yeah- but I want it to look perfect for you." 

"..." you stare with an amused grin.

"hmm, what's so funny?" she coos and hones her focus on you while carefully tossing the plate to one corner of the blanket.

"just you.. you're goofy." you comment with a dim-witted smile.

her gaze narrows and bares her teeth in a matching dumb smirk, tutting her head, "you wanna see goofy?" she challenges you and crawls closer.

"no, I wanna see a set-up picnic. don't get distracted." you tease and parry her with a nudge from your foot resting on her collarbone.

"tch, okay- okay." she leans back on her heel, hastily creating the idyllic picnic with your help. 

soon, you're cuddling between some small pillows, bowl of dark rosewood cherries to your right and a knitted blanket draped over your bodies. 

ellie lies beneath you, her legs cradling yours and advancing her fingers to the bowl of delectable cherries. she picks one up and hovers it above your lips, beckoning you to bite it. 

"what d'you mean we can't get more sheep?" she wheezes a whimsical laugh, chest jittering underneath your back.

"we already have a dozen, babe." you sink your teeth into the cherry and yank it from the stem, juices oozing over the hill of your chin.

"i have more names for them in mind!"

"you can't even get the names of our current sheep right." 

she flicks the leftover stem into the patch of grass, "uh- yes I can!" she scoffs and jossles her woody auburn locks up a bit.

"sure babe." you goggle.

you allow the conversation to diminish in peaceful serenity, before raising the interrogation, "why'd you bring me here today?" you shuffle atop her, jabbing her palm to keep feeding you. you're spoiled.

ellie snickers and leverages her hand towards the bowl once again, dangling a cherry from between her fingertips. her throat gritts harshly as she clears it, "i.. have something to show you.." her tone lingers on the vowels.

"oh?" a hint of subtle enthusiasm curls in your voice, "got me a present?"

"you'll see, just- get up." she heaves you upwards and hops onto her feet alongside you.

you clasp hands behind your back, a bit of a bumbled facade shadowing your expression when she just stands still like a statue. "umm.. is it not a present?"

"turn around." her lips curve into a mischievous glint across those pretty rosy lips.

"what the fuck are you gonna pull-"

"turn around!" ellie's grin broadens as she gestures to you to spin 'round on your heel, eliciting a dorky giggle from you.

you cave in and twirl on the tip of your shoe, mindlessly gazing heavenward to the scattered wisping clouds.

"you remember the day we started dating?" her voice flows past you, seeming to erupt from a lower stance like she was crouched.

"uh, vaguely." 

this bestows a throaty chuckle from ellie, "and you remember what I gave you when I.. confessed?" 

"yeah, you gave me bent daisies that you tore from the poor ground." you bash her, one brow inclining up your head.

"i'm not a botanist." she nicks the rear of your ankle, shambling against the fabric-veiled grass.

a tingle sprints up your leg at this contact, making you shy away from it slightly. a specter of stillness corrodes the air, so you perk, "can I turn now?"

"yes." ellie's speech trembles yet is laced with certainty, planting a seed of curiosity in your noggin.

you teeter over slowly like a creaking wheel, pupils hastening down to materialize ellie in your mind, propped by a knee, the other raised, pinching a tiny flock of daisies with their honey pistils staring back at you. her face bruising of an apple hue to her skin behind those sun specks, her verdant rings peering from those lashes and a brazen half-moon to her strawberry lips. they part as the realization begins to plague you,

"will you be my wife?"

your body goes hollow and nerves wrack up in shock, an elusive beam of emotions vibrate in your heart and collide your shaken knees to the blanket. a hand quivers against your mouth, the words stolen from you. the love just boils over.

"els- i.. i.." the boulder in your throat clogs, managing to swallow it up and brim you with warm tears, "yes.. yes!"

she practically springs up and coalesces with you, arms wrapped around you and elevating you off the ground with blazing elation. you feel her wide smile plastered against your lips as they make merry, smoothing out to drag her lips over yours in a fervid kiss.

she parts, "no ring but.. we don't need that, right?" 

"mhm, don't need it.." you sever your weight from your feet to her, sticking close, "I love you.. so much." 

"love' you too baby.." she hankers down and sits criss-cross in front of you, easing you into her splayed lap. "now i can call you my wife."

"should we have our own little wedding? just us, like, as if it's some ritual or.. stating our vows or.. handfasting and declaring our love before empty seats.." you ramble nonsensically, assuming it just whooshes right over ellie's head.

"we have our picnic here," she opens her arms to signify the space around you, "we can tie that all up here, including the honeymoon!"

"hmm, 'weird that you mention the honeymoon. I think you said that so it happens now."

"no! I'm just.. throwing stuff to see what sticks.." she diffuses a dumb visage, knitting her brows together.

"i think you wanna get a fuck on in the forest." you leer in your suspicions and creep over her body till' she meets back to ground.

"and if you guess right? would you?" her demeanor shifts to boot a seductive one.

ellie still had some drive in her, even to last night's depictions. the way her lean vein lined arms are still pumping with detectable lust, yearning for your body in ways that should be bound to the bedroom only, but she doesn't give a fuck. she needs to fuck. a fucking given to her. 

"fuck yes I will." you grind your pelvis longingly on her thigh, kneading your confined bud in one long swipe, a good start-up.

not an inhale later and ellie already has her jacket reeled off by the sleeves, a series of stripping set in motion when her shirt's buttons get popped one by one.

you follow through with one sweep of your top over your crown, tethering the bare skin surrounding your bra to the midsummer breeze, giving you a hare of raised bumps that are quickly cured by ellie's ardent skin adjoining yours. 

her lips suture themselves to your plender gap, lapping at the groove of your collarbone delicately while her keen hands roam your legs, squeezing the soft plush padding of your inner and outer thigh with her fingers.

"I'm gonna make you feel.. s'fuckin' good.." she whispers in hushed mists of heat, sanguineous nibbles forging up your chin and gluing your lips together in a lustful frenzy.

"I need you ellie.. now.." you intone against her captivating lips and take hold of her wrist, guiding it to cusp your bra-clad breast.

"so bold of you.." she rewards a praise, tucking her nimble fingers behind the clasp of your bra and pinching it free. her hands tug the straps from your arms and whisk them away to some unknown plot of grass. 

the course of wind grazes past your nipples, making you shiver. you watch her pupils dilate at the sight of your two perky buds reacting to the breeze.

"mm- fuck.. love these." ellie's mouth latches to one of your breasts, suckling the nipple lavishly with a damp suction and playing the other one like a flip-switch lightly with her thumb.

the barely-there feeling of her thumb summons a flurry of carnal want in your core, preluding to your now lubricious panties sopping for physical attention. this seeps through and forms a miniscule spotting on your inseam.

the hand that still had a gripe on your thigh fleets to your crotch, distinguishing this faint blot of wetness, welcoming a proud smirk to dent her midface, "fuckin' wet already.." her voice rasps hauntingly, "gonna get my fingers all pruney.." 

you chafe in desire against her stationary digits, making her snatch them away and repel your pelvis with a push.

"nuh-uh, pants off first."

her face displaces from your hanging breasts, creasing the blanket back up and crunching the grass to gaze back at you. she peruses your zipper and deftly unfastens it to pull your pants down with a might. once they're off, her hands zip into the underside of your knees, flipping you over and mountaineering over you with an undeniable hunger in her manner.

"ellie!" an entranced giggle beams from your throttle, low-key turned on by the daring action.

"god, really soaked these huh?" her voice flows in a higher pitch, referring to your ocean-drowned underwear.

"yeah.. you did that.." 

"mhmmm~” she vocalizes behind shut lips, “don't think I even need to remove 'em to taste you.." 

you witness her descending into the depths between your legs, biting down her cushiony lips and nearly salivating at the front-row seat view to your sobbing cunt. her own arousal starts to stain her own panties and even little riffs of repressed whimpers vibrate from her lips. she graces you with one pour-over before smashing her mouth against your clothed slit, puffing a humid cloud over your entrance and licking up the seeped puddle of slick.

you jerk in sudden sensation, "babe! oh~ fuck!"

"yup, tastes so fucking good." she's like a beast to your crotch, slathering the soiled fabric with even more wetness likes she's fucking starving. her forehead is taut and eyebrows flit in concentration, you can already hear the eulogy ringing for your soon destroyed pussy.

your fingers nest in her hair, massaging and stamping into her scalp at the pure feeling of her tongue, you need her in indescribable ways, "need your fingers ellie.. need u're.. need.." you chant in fleeing breaths.

she grumbles in swelling arousal and unlatches from your puffy slit, brazen giggle chilling her throat at the sight of your avidness.

she huffs, "kay, gonna take these off.." ellie anticipates the moment she gets to stuff your pretty pussy to the brim, drowsy eyes never drifting from the lace concave between the valley of your lips. she slews those panties off instantly and brings them down to your ankles, making sure they'd never be found among the meadow around you.

you spread your legs for her sights to soak in, burgeoning a redness to her face like time and time again, a satisfied grin tugging the corners of her lips.

she sticks two ready fingers in her mouth, moistened them up, "gonna make you see stars, hmm babygirl?" 

you gnaw your lips inwards at her affirmation, eyeing the route her hand takes from mouth to lower regions, forking your slit open and running them clit to hole, hole to clit, repetitively. this coats her digits in a glistening film of your arousal, visibly pleasing her.

"mm- that fucking sound.." the parting of your drenched folds entices her ears like a melody, "hear that baby?" ellie's voice chimes in a honeyed whisper.

"yes.. yes.." your essence shudders in her thrall, vulnerability afflicted by your neediness.

ellie beholds your figure in one final glance before aiming on your center and jamming duo digits in your aching pussy that vacuums her up with the help of your dripping nectar overflowing at the base of her knuckles. you wallow in the gratifying gauge she has brought you to, a fluxing whine tinting your tongue.

"good girl.. taking my fingers in so nicely.."

you contract around her, letting her know how much those words truly thrill you and she rebounds by thrusting her fingers in and out of you at a sluggish pace.

your jaw quivers open in the whirling ecstasy that begins to dribble into your void brain strictly honed on the pumping motion of her willowy fingers.

"hmm.." a visualization prompt in her noggin convinces a plan to unravel by her hand snailing to your mouth, luring it ajar, "open babe." 

you obey with moving lips, flattening the plateau of your tongue beneath her fingers.

"like this don't you? mm- fuck." ellie grunts seeing you engulf her paired index and middle in your warm mouth without a gloom of delay splitting your will. her other fingers meddle with the crux of your delight, sloshing with every insert of her lengthy fingers piping you.

"oh my heaven on eart- auck.." a spastic cough tickles your throat around her digits.

"just suck baby.. just suck." 

you resolve your words and pucker your lips down, swirling your tongue around her still fingers. muffled vibrations of moans string out around them, rattling your teeth.

each flick of her skilled wrist occurs in short breaks, meanwhile pumps hasten inside of you, thumb unfurling to patten down your clit in rigid circles. she coos, "gonna cum on my fingers?" in reply to your writhing contentment.

"fast- fhster.." you shear your chords forcing a plead on fingers narrowly itching the back of your gullet.

"awhh, u're such a mess." her hand forceps your jaw, locking her fingers wedged between your front teeth.

"guh- mmmm!" your body shrivels in unfathomable bliss and an inbound phantom orgasm overwhelming your senses.

ellie starts snapping her hand at an aggressive velocity that slaps against your swollen folds with wet smacks striding the open air, scrunching her nose up at the sheer speed she’s going.

"cum baby- cum.." 

"I- ahh.."

"soak my fuckin' fingers, soak them in that pretty fucking pussy." she encourages in husky mewls, finger pads jostling your g-spot in a rhythm that drugs your mind with numbness, repeating, "cum for ellie.. cum for me.." 

you swear your walls convulse prior to tightening up like a wringed towel and releasing a stinging orgasm upon you, growling on her fingers still present on your tongue.

"ghnnnn.. fck!" you curl up in pleasure and screw your eyes shut. this orgasm hits you like a bullet train and it shows in practice, clawing and digging your mark on ellie's available wrist with clamoring wails from the sanctum of your chest.

"yeah? so fucking hot.." she notes to herself in a low navelly tone, slipping her sticky fingers out trickling in your juices.

you chase your breath stranded in another galaxy, "can't feel my.. legs.. fuck, ellie, where'd you come from?" you quip in emphasis, face still beating red like a volcano.

"from boston, precisely." she sneaks in a dorky response.

"shut up.." you knock on her head with your foot, gasping when she grabs it and plants it on her shoulder.

she bucks her hips into your ass, squeezing her torso between the basin of your legs, levitating overhead. there's a solace moment of a love-staring-contest casting those green circlets infused with devotion and appreciation. staring back up into those eyes assures you, she's home, she's heaven and she's never leaving you. although, ellie, like the freak she is, breaks the innocent moment, "think this'll continue in the bedroom?." she peppers a solemn kiss to your forehead hazed in underlying intention.

"probably, knowing you."

"knowing me what?"

"you know." 

"I don't."

"ellie!"

"we'll find out, hmm?"

[randxmthxughts]

Child of Our Own - Tsu'tey x Omatikaya!Reader

summary: seeing his friends already awaiting their firstborns, tsu'tey begins to yearn for a baby of his own, but he is too shy to tell you about it

warnings: none really, soft and shy tsu'tey, hints at pregnancy, mentions of intercourse

wc: less than 1k

a/n: i'm officially in my tsu'tey worship era (this is your fault btw, @avatarbyamara) ik damn well that man only puts up his tough act in front of the others, but he would actually be a big softie with his mate

masterlist

“I’m assuming the mission went well?” you smile, feeling Tsu’tey place another soft kiss on your temple.

His chest presses into your back, hands resting gently on your waist, while you’re occupied with peeling the fruits he likes. He was gone for only a few hours but was acting so needy, you start to wonder if anything happened. 

“Tsu’tey,” you nudge him for an answer, but he only hums in response, now planting small kisses across your cheek and jaw.

“‘Was good,” he mutters, not wanting to bore you with the details.

“Were you safe?” you try to turn around to examine him, but Tsu’tey grunts, holding you in place.

“Just missed you.”

You guess that there’s something weighing on his mind, but you don’t push him. Tsu’tey often has moments, when all he wants to do is to hold you in his arms and listen to your soothing breathing. Eventually, he’ll give you a few hints about it anyway. So, you just pat his arm lightly and return to the task at hand. 

Tsu'tey stands with you in silence for a while longer before finally speaking up.

“Neytiri is showing.”

“I know,” you nod, “It suits her.”

As you struggle to reach for another fruit from the basket, Tsu’tey huffs in annoyance and loosens his grip on you. He takes a step back, hating the distance between your bodies, but decides to allow you to finish your work in peace. You can feel his eyes fixed on you, observing every move you make. 

“You’re very quiet today,” you turn around to face him, abandoning your task.

Tsu’tey only shakes his head, disagreeing to voice his concern. You rest your hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him down, until he gives in and kneels on the ground. You crouch down next to him, resting your hand on his thigh. 

“Talk to me, tìyawn,” you murmur.

Tsu’tey gazes at your hand in silence. But when you lean in to kiss his cheek, he turns his head, catching your lips with his instead. It’s not long before he snakes his arms around your middle again and pulls your body onto his. You giggle, as he sits you down in his lap, enjoying the closeness between you two.

“Right now?” you quirk your eyebrow at him, knowing exactly where he is leading with this.

Tsu'tey's lips find their way to your neck, and you let out a soft sigh as his warm breath tickles your skin. You tilt your head to the side, giving him better access, and he trails a few more kisses before nuzzling his face into your neck.

“‘Aani said that Ti'ung is with a child too,” he whispers, catching your attention.

The two of you have mated before Eywa almost a year ago but Tsu'tey never pressured you into becoming a mother so soon. Just for a while, all he wanted was to have you all to himself. To enjoy restless nights with you without a worry of hurting you or having to share you with anybody else. The first few times you mated, you watched him struggle, as he was holding off the unbearable pleasure, before pulling his member out of you and releasing into his hand instead. Presumably, it became a thing he did every time, and you’ve grown so used to it, that you never once paid a second thought to it.

He was always so respectful and gentle with you, loving every bit of your body, every sound that would escape your lips. And despite his readiness to move into the next stage of your lives, Tsu'tey never allowed himself to impregnate you without earning your permission first. But what he failed to realize is that while you were trembling underneath him, reaching your orgasm, you were never able to think, let alone speak about wanting him to release inside of you. 

“What are you hinting at, Tsu’tey?” you pull slightly back to look into his eyes.

“That it might be nice if, growing up, our child is surrounded by a few good kids,” he answers.

“Well, I’m sure Neytiri’s and Jake’s child is going to be just as good as they are,” you nod, agreeing, “And Aani’s and Ti'ung’s too.”

Tsu’tey hums, grateful that you finish his thoughts for him. That you know him so well, see him through and through. Being a man of a few words, he would often get irritated when others failed to understand his thoughts. But with you, it's different. All he cares about is that you see him for who he is, no one else.

“We need to catch up then, huh?” you grin.

Tsu’tey feels his chest swell with love by the way you look at him. So excited, so desperate to create a life with him. He pulls you in for a kiss, pouring all of his gratitude into it, as his hands reach for the ties of your loincloth. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate his desire, and soon the two of you become lost in each other.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

headcanons of tsu'tey reacting to his mate's pregnancy

[iuvmi]

STRAWBERRIES

Pairings: Percy Jackson x fem! Demeter reader Percy Jackson x fem! Demeter reader

Warnings: small injuries and shy percy (??)

Summary: where the daughter of Demeter teaches Percy how to properly harvest strawberries

Word count: 864

A/n: requests are finally openn !!

WARM AND BRIGHT HUES fill the camp as the sun's golden rays emerge from behind the horizon at the crack of dawn. You rubbed your eyes as the sun’s light caressed your face with a gentle touch, illuminating your features. Checking the clock beside you, realizing that nothing was there, just a dull table lamp with decorated leaves. You groaned at the thought of missing your home. You continued to stare at the lamp as if it was mocking you. Pushing the blanket away from you, you saw that your half siblings were still asleep. You spent minutes getting ready as you changed into your orange shirt and jeans. With each step you take, the sunlight plays across your skin, casting delicate shadows that seem to dance in harmony with your movements. The windy morning breezed to your cheeks. 

There were some Apollo kids playing around in the camp, some of them practicing archery. You made your way to the camp's vast garden carrying a basket; rows of colorful flowers and lush plants welcomed you with a chorus of hues and scents.

As you got closer to the patch, you were excited to see plump red berries poking out from behind the leaves, but there seemed to be another person there as well. The moment you saw Percy Jackson standing at the garden's edge, your heart skipped a beat. With a pleasant smile on his lips, his sea-green eyes glistened with curiosity as he examined the strawberries.

"Hey," you called out, your voice carrying across the garden. "Don't just stare at those berries, at least help me?”

Percy's eyes widened, was he really staring at those fruits for too long? He grabbed one of the baskets and approached you. You started explaining to Percy how to properly gather the delicate berries as they walked around the strawberry rows. You demonstrated how to carefully grab the base of each strawberry and twist it off the stem, being cautious not to harm the plant.

“Alright, Percy, so when you're harvesting strawberries and other fruits, it's important to be gentle,” Percy listened attentively, his brow furrowing in concentration as he mimicked your movements. 

Percy smiled right at you. “Got it. Gentle. Like handling a Celestial Bronze Sword.” 

You respond with a giggle as you order Percy to pick strawberries. He obeyed your orders with great enthusiasm. Their laughter blended with the gentle chirping of birds above as they carefully selected the ripest fruit.

Percy thought he was holding ripe fruit as his fingers brushed against a particularly juicy strawberry. He slashed the berry from its stem quickly, only to discover, startled, that it was a mock strawberry with jagged thorns all around it. 

A faint trickle of blood welled up from a cut on Percy's finger where he had brushed against the thorns, and he took a sharp inhale.  

When you noticed the injuries, your eyes widened with concern, and you felt your heart skip a beat seeing how hurt Percy looked. “Shit, you okay?” 

He focused on the finger that was bleeding. “Yeah, it's just a little scratch,” 

“Let me see it,” You reached out for his finger. He backed away and shook his head. 

“It's really not that bad,” Percy hesitates, hiding his fingers that accidentally touched the fake strawberry thorns. 

Sighing, you approached him slowly. “It's better for me to heal it than you going to the Infirmary,”

With a wince, Percy extended his palm, the bright red of the strawberries standing out starkly against the blood staining his flesh. Examining the wound, you took his hand softly in yours, your touch calming and gentle.

"It's not too deep," you comforted him in a gentle manner. "But we should clean it up and put a bandage on it just to be safe."

You guided Percy to a bench nearby and, using delicate hands, dug through your pockets to find a bandage. Their eyes locked for a moment as she carefully cleansed and dressed Percy's finger, their warmth connecting them beyond the act of wound care.

Awkward silence fills the atmosphere as Percy's eyes are looking down. “I didn't know strawberries had thorns,” 

“It's fine, Percy. You're not burdening me,” you replied with a soft voice. 

Percy's cheeks flushed with a warm hue, a rosy tint spreading across his face like the first blush of dawn. His eyes darted away, unable to meet your gaze as embarrassment tinged his expression. “How — how'd you know that?”

“I just know. And you shouldn't be sorry, one of my half siblings mistook the Potentilla Indica for a true strawberry.” You let go of his hands and gaze upon the strawberry patch. Then, you heard one of your friends whistling at you. 

It was Silena Beauregard, child of Aphrodite. “[name], will you stop spending time with your boyfriend and help me out?” 

Now it was your turn to be embarrassed, you shook your head and got up. Picking up the baskets you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran towards your friend. You looked behind you as you saw him still sitting at the bench unable to move while smiling to himself.

©IUVMI :: please do not steal / translate / paraphrase my work. reblogging and liking my post helps &lt;3

[timewillpasssoon]

reader and joost being on a picnic just eating fruit, fluff and reader being a master of making flowers crowns? :))

LOW NOISE

pairing . Joost Klein x gn!reader

content . reader can be seen as male or female aswell, just fluff and short

summary . reader and joost decide to go on a picnic before he leaves to canada.

word count 329 words, 1,8k characters

author's note . THIS IS A QUICK ONE WHILE IM WORKING ON OTHER STUFFF

Underneath the shade of a sprawling oak tree, Joost Klein and you sat on a cozy blanket, surrounded by the vibrant sky of a summer afternoon. A basket carrying fruit inside, the scent of ripe strawberries and juicy watermelon wafting through the air.

The two decided that it would be great to have a picnic date. Mainly because Joost was traveling to Canada and today was the last day before he had to go.

Joost grinned as he reached for a slice of mango, his laughter mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the distance. You nimbled on some fresh sour grapes from the little vine, popping them into their mouth with a satisfied hum.

"This is perfect," Joost remarked, taking in the serene. "I'm glad we decided to have a picnic today." You nodded, a soft smile gracing their lips as they reached for a peach. "Me too. It's nice to just relax and enjoy the moment."

As he savored the sweetness of the fruit, your gaze drifted to a patch of wildflowers nearby. With a playful twinkle in your eyes, you reached for a few blossomed flowers, carefully weaving them together into a delicate crown. You did this by making a vertical hole in the long stem, proceeding to stick in another flower inside said hole.

"Check this out," they said, placing the flower crown atop Joost's head with grace.Joost chuckled, adjusting the crown, "Am I a king now?"

You laughed, their eyes amurged with amusement. "Of course, your majesty.” You playfully bow, which was quite awkward to do since you were sitting down.

Together, they shared a moment of lighthearted laugh, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow over their picnic beneath the oak tree. “I'll miss you. You've been so busy lately,” You stop your sentence, “But I'm so, so proud of you.” You placed your hand on his cheek, wiping your thumb left and right. Joost stares at your eyes,

“I love you.”

QUICKLY WROTE THIS SORRY FIR NOT UPLOADING, i am working on let me think, all i have to say is that i am separating part 2 into 2 parts !!

[vivalabunbun]

A Long Time Coming

Summary: Going back to the place that started it all as a pair different than before.

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut, NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Fluff, humor, slight angst, slight dubcon, exhibitionism? kinda? porn with plot, slight yandere alhaitham, mentions of marriage, marriage pressures, pushy family.

Authors Note: This is a small continuation of this basically you take alhaitham back to your parents’ house. I wrote this in a rush to finish it in time for his birthday. Enjoy

Officially becoming a couple with Alhaitham was as if your world had been flipped upside down, yet not a piece of furniture had been knocked over in the event. That is to say, everything and nothing has changed. Your apartment still housed one, the same workplace banters, the same comfortable silence. Yet, on weekends in your bed lays another body. Under the covers, curious hands roam, and in the air lingered the scent of passion. 

However, once the work week started, the two bodies untwine, becoming you and Alhaitham. No one at the office suspected the fresh development between the two of you, not even your new drinking colleagues. Although, Kaveh has noted to you:

“That guy has been walking around much smugger than usual. Like he just completed all the trials of life. Do you think he got a pay increase again?”

The morning after that fateful night while across the kitchen table, there was a firm handshake agreeing to the boundaries of your budding union. Particularly, that under no circumstances shall a certain blond be the first to discover the true nature of this relationship. Once Kaveh knows, then all of Sumeru and Teyvat will know too. Plus, the absolute hysterics he’ll devolve into when he’s the last to know that the two of you were an item will be the show of a lifetime. Great minds think alike after all. 

Right now you and Alhaitham were in his rented car on the way to the first big challenge of your relationship: Meeting your parents. Well, that is a bit misleading, your parents already know Alhaitham, they practically were his secondary guardians, often looking after him when his grandmother was busy. Their eyes watched the pair of you grow up as their wrinkles grew. 

But things have changed, Alhaitham is no longer just the neighbor's grandson and your childhood friend. He was now going to be introduced as the man you are dating. That fact made you jittery the whole drive, nerves bouncing off the corners of your skull, as you held the basket of fruits Alhaitham had bought as a gift to them. 

“The fruits will get bruised if you keep tossing the basket with your legs.” He remarked, never taking his eyes off the road. 

“I can’t help it. I’m nervous, Haitham. I don’t know how you’re so calm.” You consciously made the effort to still your leg.

You glanced over at him, taking a moment to admire his side profile, his face and demeanor stoic as ever. Alhaitham, who usually spent the weekends in his comfortable t-shirts and sweatpants, made the effort to wear a crisp black button-down and tailored slacks. You also observed the extra effort he had put into his hair today. 

“Simple. I am a familiar face to your parents, and they often commend me for my accomplishments, not to mention my physique.” Large hands firmly grasped the steering wheel as he made the turn down the well-known road.

“Oh? Then why are you all dressed up mmm?” You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It will serve me well to maintain a good impression.” He swiftly rebutted.

You let out an exasperated sigh while shutting your eyes. If you had a sliver of the self-confidence your former childhood friend had, you’d conquer the corporate world. You faced the road again, basket shifting in your lap as you sank lower into the plush leather seat. 

“Remember what I said back in the apartment, absolutely no PDA in front of them. You already know how they are.” 

“I am aware.” 

His polished car pulled into the driveway of your parent's house, the trees in the front lawn casting a nice shade from the blazing light of the sun. He shifted the stick into park. The gentle rumble of the engine ceased the moment he pulled out the keys. Alhaitham swiftly unbuckled, opened, and exited his car. A resounding thump felt as the driver-side door closed. All the while you fumble with your seatbelt, the oversized basket impeding your dexterity. Then finally the click that signaled freedom just as the passenger-side door unlatched. 

“I’ve carried this for long enough. It’s your turn.” You gestured towards the fruit-filled hassle on your lap.  

“Alright.” He effortlessly took the basket from your lap with one arm, and the other outreached towards you patiently.  

You held back your teasing remark as you accepted his invitation, gently placing your hand in his awaiting palm as he helped you out of your seat. Your heart couldn’t help but flutter at his actions, hoping to control the growing smile on your face when you turned away to close the car door. Your hands swayed together up the pathway to the front door, steps matching. 

Your nerves growing as the distance decreased until you were right in front of the lacquered wood. You hastily pulled your hand out of his tender hold, palms getting a bit sweaty. 

“Again, no touching in their presence.” You warned once more. 

Swiftly you pressed the doorbell, its cheerful chime drowning out any possible response from Alhaitham. From behind the door, you could hear the soft thumps of your mother’s feet against the wooden flooring as she strode up. When you hear the clicks of your mom unlatching the door, you took a side step away from Alhaitham, putting a bit more space between your bodies. 

The door flies open. 

“Oh! Dear! Our daughter has arrived! With a handsome guest!” Your mom called back towards your dad. 

“Is it Alhaitham, honey?” Your father’s voice rang from deeper in the house.

It’s been less than a minute and you already want to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Your face begged to be shielded away from your lover’s prying eyes, despite his stoic face he was definitely enjoying this. Just how many times has your mother praised the sculpted perfection that was his face? 

‘It’s just for a few hours, you can power through this. You will survive.’ You repeated this silent mantra in your head. 

Four cups of tea were placed on the living room table, freshly cut fruits taking their place in the center. Your parents both sitting on the opposite sofa from you and Alhaitham. Your lover seated himself comfortably directly in front of your father while you sat at the far opposite end, even placing a throw pillow between you and him as if to create a barrier. 

Your mother was chatting nonstop, questioning Alhaitham about every topic she could.

“How has work been, lil Haitham?”

“The usual.”

“Oh my! Have you grown even taller?”

“My last health check-up did not indicate such a thing.” Despite loathing small talk, he answered overall politely in his monotone voice.

“Then… Have you finally found someone special? A lover?” Your mother pressed, eyes twinkling.

During the last question, you were taking a sip of your tea, only to choke when you processed what your mom had just asked. 

“Ah, not on the carpet child! It’s brand new!” Your mother chided. 

“... You have something to say, little one?” Your dad asked as he handed you a napkin, one brow raised. 

Ah, there’s no use in delaying the truth any longer. After all, telling them was the whole purpose of the two-hour drive, with Alhaitham even going through the trouble of renting a car. As if preparing to rip off a band-aid you counted down in your head, prepping your eardrums. 

3-2-1

“Alhaitham and I are seeing each other.” You quickly revealed. 

Instantly the air was filled with the harmonized gasp of your parents, their hands clutching onto one another and their mouths agape. Their owl-like eyes shiftng between your now red-stained face and your lover’s neutral expression. Expressions morphing from utter shock to disbelief, then finally melting into joy.

“Oh! Dear! The gods have answered our prayers!”

“I know, honey. My faith has been renewed.” 

They were right. Somewhere up above, there must be a god amused by your suffering. You wanted nothing more than for the couch to swallow you as your cheeks burned. May if you were to be sucked into some subspace, you can avoid the absolute tidal wave of questions from your mother’s mouth. 

“For how long?”

“Ah… for about two months now.” 

“How did this happen?” 

“L-long story…” 

“Have you moved in together?”

“Not yet, mom.”

“What date is the wedding? Planned names for the kids? You should name one after-”

“We are planning to take things slowly-”

“Slowly?!” Your mother’s voice peaked. 

Your mom and Kaveh should compete to see who can shatter your eardrums first with their shrills. Your gut churned as you knew what was about to come next.

“You’ve known each other for over sixteen years already, is that not slow enough??”

“I-it’s not the same-”

“Most people your age get married after knowing someone for only a fraction of that time!” 

“U-um-”

“Oh, why is my daughter so indecisive? Do you know just how many people would kill for your place? Poor lil Haitham’s youth is being wasted.” Your mother cradled her face in her hand, disappointment evident. 

A chill overtook your body. The frosty hands of insecurity ran along the back of your neck, preventing you from choking out a response. Not that you had a good answer anyway. 

In fact, you did not have an answer for why you wanted this relationship to move slowly. Were you just scared? Indecisive like your mother just described? More troubling was that Alhaitham also heard your mother’s outburst. From experience, you knew Alhaitham loathed nothing more than things that wasted his time. He is human, his patience is finite.

The atmosphere was tense, despite the beautiful blue sky of Sumeru outside, the room seemed dark and dreary. The cups of tea now growing cold. Deciding to step in from the sidelines, Alhaitham deemed it inappropriate for the conversation to end like this.

“Currently, the geo-political atmosphere has been tense with raising concerns over Snezhnaya. As a result, the economy in Sumeru has been going through a bit of stagflation, not to mention the rapidly inflating prices of houses. As you know, ma’am, I am currently renting out my home to a colleague to cover a portion of the mortgage payment.” He took a sip of tea. 

 “This is all to say that now is just not the right time.” He finishes, placing the cup back onto the wooden table.

“He’s right, honey.” Your father finally contributed to the conversation. 

“Alhaitham and our little one are still young, and the world is turbulent. We shouldn’t be putting more pressure on their shoulders, honey.” Your father reached over to soothe your mother's arms. 

“Once the state of the world settles down, please let me ask for your daughter’s hand.” Alhaitham asked while looking sincerely into their eyes, a sign of his respect for them. 

The gesture brought a surge of heartwarming pride through your parents. As your mother soon changed gears into singing praises of her prospective future son-in-law, the atmosphere in the room light like the sun outside once more. You looked over at Alhaitham, a thankful and knowing smile gracing your lips as you tuned out your mother. 

Many people assume that academically gifted geniuses, such as Alhaitham, lack social and emotional awareness. But the existence of the ashen-haired man beside you shatters that preconceived misconception.

 Alhaitham knew how to take control of the situation, he knew how to dispel tension, and how to mediate a difficult conversation. Perhaps he had learned it from his constant observation of strangers, or maybe from the philosophy novels he had browsed. 

Your hand began inching towards him along the sofa, heart longing to feel his warmth through your skin, to intertwine your fingers. He shifted his body, increasing the space separating you. 

Your hand halted, retreating back to your side shameful like a sinner. You didn’t feel like you had the right to be upset, after all, it was you who told him how distastefully your parents would react to physical displays of affection. 

It may be that the opportunity for tender intimacy between you and him came so sparsely. Only two days out of seven could you act on your affections for one another. Yet, here you were deprived of it in the house you and he shared many memories in. It left you with a bitter sting in the heart.  

The bored gods seem to not be able to get enough of the drama playing out in front of them. Because as if scripted, the moment you and Alhaitham tried to bid your goodbyes, your parents began to pester for the pair of you to stay for dinner. 

“Little one, your mother and I put so much effort into renovating the place. Don’t you want to see?” Your father's lips frowned.

“I also got up extra early to get the freshest ingredients for supper. Do you not miss our cooking?” Your mom guilt-tripped. 

“Well, you see Haitham needs to return the car soon-”

“No, I don’t. I made sure to pay for two days' worth of rental, enough to cover a weekend. Also, it is almost my usual dinner time.” His curt voice answered from behind you. 

Your face snapped back towards him, the look of utter betrayal plastered all over your features. Outnumbered three to one now, you had no choice but to cave as your shoulders dropped. The gods must be laughing at your suffering, wanting the comedy to continue. 

“We’ll go rest a bit in my room…” You quietly uttered. 

“That’s wonderful! Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes! Your room has been left untouched.” Your mom chimed, smile beaming. 

“Yes, yes. We’ll go there now…” You listlessly began the journey up the stairs, Alhaitham right behind. 

“Little one.” Your dad called out from the bottom of the steps. 

“Yes?”

“The door is to remain open at all times.” He reminded. 

“Dad, we’re not kids-”

“House rules.” Your father crossed his arms, stern eyes glancing over Alhaitham and you. 

You dropped your head, feeling as if you had reverted back to your teenage years again. Today was really testing your resolve isn’t it? 

“Fine.” You huffed, continuing your way up the shiny new stairs. 

--

The moment you reached your room, you softly pounded a fist into Alhaitham’s stupidly firm chest. 

“Traitor.” You huffed out. 

“I can’t help it, your parents’ cooking is too good of an offer to pass up.” He said as if stating the obvious. 

“They’re gonna continue with the small talk you know.” You poked. 

“I know, but you’ll be at the table too.” He rebutted. 

You let out an exasperated sigh. He was going to expertly redirect the conversation towards you, just like how he always did back then. You really just can’t win today. You plopped your tired body onto your old bed, the stack of pillows and plushies shifting out of their positions. 

All you’ve done today was sit and talk, yet you felt more exhausted than if you had ran up all 10 stories of your apartment building. You couldn’t wait to go home.

Alhaitham’s teal eyes trailed up your spread form, then around your childhood room. Your room was like a time capsule, with the same wooden desk in the corner, the same unnecessary amount of pillows, and the same scent that was so wholly you. Maybe it was the nostalgia of being in the room the two of you spent so much time in, same open-door rule, his mind began to run through some memories. 

All the times you would lay in your bed with shorts that barely covered your ass. 

All the times you would press your body against his as he help you with assignments at the desk. 

All the times you would run your fingers through his hair and coo ‘smart boy’ after taking your finished homework from his hands. 

All the times the scent of you would linger on his clothes as he pressed the fabric against his nose on particularly desperate nights.

His jaw clenched as murky desire began to bubble up inside of him.

Alhaitham thought after the night when you both proclaimed your feelings to each other, that creature lurking over his shoulder would subside. A miscalculation on his part. 

The boiling pot of emotions, he had been continuously lifting the lid off to relieve the pressure throughout the last two months, only continued to boil over faster. 

The creature only got hungrier, he only got greedier. It wanted to claim you as fully his from the inside out, down to every fiber of your being. Two days out of the week was not enough, it needs more.

Frankly, he thought it was unfair how your essence would taint the rationality of his mind. Isn’t it only fair that he settled the score? To give you a taste of the insanity you put him through. 

Quickly taking note of the bustling noises of your parents in the kitchen, preoccupied with the task of supper. The kitchen radio plays old pop songs from the time of your parent’s youth. These details only encouraged him to put his plan into action. 

“Hey Haitham, before we leave did you want to check on your grandma’s property?” Your eyes focused on the ceiling. 

No response was heard from your ashen-haired lover, as his slow steps closed the distance between your bodies.

“Haitham?-”

Like a falcon swooping down to grasp an unsuspecting hare into its sharp talons, his body pinned yours against the plush bed, lips sealed against yours. The pure shock of it all made you react with a gasp. Never one to miss a window of opportunity, his tongue snaked its way into your mouth. His woodsy scent invades your senses. It’s only been two months since it began, yet your body responded so perfectly, Pavlov could’ve used your reaction to test his theory instead of those dogs.* 

Your skin heated up against his, legs shifting to encase his body against yours, muscles going limp under his control. If you were this weak after a simple kiss, Alhaitham needs to take extra precautions to ensure no other person could ever see you like this. The dark glint of lust was evident in his eyes as his hand trailed under your chiffon skirt. 

He didn’t have the chance to tell you today, but your choice of a light sweater and long flowy skirt was absolutely endearing. So sweet and innocent, and under him, such easy access to be devoured. To emphasize just how vulnerable you were, his long fingers traced all the way up to outline your folds. Feeling how your cunt twitched in response to his touches over the fabric of your panties. Your mouth was desperately trying to break away, lungs burning with the desire for oxygen. 

“Ah- H-haitham?” You whispered out, startled by this uncharacteristic outburst from your lover. 

A thread of saliva connected your two lips, as your flushed face looked up at him. His face was stony as ever if it weren’t for that smirk in his eyes. It signaled that he was perfectly aware that his fingers were now pushing your panties aside. Middle finger sliding up and down your slit, purposefully bumping into a certain bundle of nerves towards the top. 

“W-wait, here? Haitham, my parents-” You stifled a moan when his finger flicked your button. 

“We’re not in their presence at the moment.” He retorted quietly, pressing sweet little kisses against your neck. 

“Still!” You harshly whispered. 

His finger pressed against your opening, and instinctively your cunt clenched, only to close onto nothing. A slickness began to develop along your slit. It’s been five long days since the last time your poor cunt was given any attention. 

“Your body sure is honest.” He tutted. 

In your feeble attempt to shift out of his grasp, your cunt only pressed more into his hands, which only served to weaken your resolve. He brought his lips closer to your ear, his deep voice sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. 

“If you really don’t want this, then push against my shoulders. Come now, make up your mind.” This said all the while he rubbed slow circles into your clit. 

You could hear the faint clattering of pots and pans coming from downstairs along with the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. You had put on such a big show in front of your lover about the rules, and yet here you were so needy after him. You hated how greedy your body had become for him, nerves kicking into overdrive and skin prickling as his hot breath brushed against it. 

You turned your head to the side, ashamed of how quickly your resolve had crumbled. 

“Good girl. Open your mouth.” He cooed, bringing two fingers up to your lips. 

Your pouty gaze met his as you granted his fingers access, they fluttered along your tongue. Gathering your spit as they did before he pulled them back out. 

“I want to test my efficiency.” He lazily observed his glistening fingers. 

Oh, the desire in the pit of your stomach leaped at his words. As his hands pulled your body towards the edge of the cramped bed. Effortlessly flipping you over so that your plush ass was now facing him, your face pressed against the sheets. 

“Try to be quiet.” He pushed the fabric of your skirt over your ass, revealing your soft mint panties. ‘So you were expecting something.’

Angling your hips up as he knelt at the side of your bed, your cunt was now fully on display for him. The greedy thing twitching with anticipation each time his cool exhales hit its hot skin. In one fluid motion, his wet tongue swiped up along your folds as his thumbs spread them apart. Quickly you bite into the sheets, praying that it would silence your voice. With practiced precision, his tongue instantly attacked your aching bud, stroking it, rolling it, and flicking it with his wet muscle. 

Your hips would’ve been bucking wildly if it weren’t for the firm hold Alhaitham had on them. Your slick was now spilling out onto his awaiting tongue mingling together with his spit as they began to drip down his chin. His tongue continued to assault your swollen bud as your teeth ground against the sheets, fighting to keep down your moans. 

All the while your parents remained blissfully unaware of the beast they’d let into their home that was currently doing unspeakable things to their daughter. 

You felt your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head as you felt that familiar white heat approaching, tension so close to snapping. It would only take 1-2-3 more flicks of his- It all stopped. A whine almost ripped through your throat at the sudden loss of his tongue as he pulled away. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood back to his full towering height. The pressure in his pants screams to be relieved. Who was he to deny himself such simple pleasures? Swiftly undoing his belt and pushing down his boxers, the raging length eager to bury its thick girth into your willing walls. 

You couldn’t help but wiggle your hips a bit, egging him on to give you what you’ve been craving more than any food. The glaze of his tip against your twitching hole was the only warning you got before his hips snapped against yours. The momentum so great it caused the sheets to slip out from your teeth, a loud moan on the cusp of escaping if it weren’t for Alhaitham’s hand swiftly grasping your mouth. 

Your walls welcomed the familiar stretch, clenching and releasing as if they were placing wet kisses along his length. He wasted no time in beginning his brutal pace against your hips, each thrust rocking both your body and the poor bed. Your brain was too preoccupied with pleasure to even worry about the creaking, drool beginning to collect in his hand. 

He already knew where all your weak spots were. And he knew exactly which angle his hips needed to be in order to hit them in the way that made your eyes go to the back of your pretty little head. So that’s what he did. As he felt your slippery walls clamp down tighter with each intentional thrust. Tears of ecstasy were rolling down his hand from your eyes, firm grasp vibrating with every blocked moan that clawed against it. 

Those dark thoughts danced along the edge of his mind again as he criticized his past self for being so foolish. If he had known you were this weak to pleasure, then he would have done this ages ago. He would have taken you against that desk in your little short shorts, making a mess of the papers. He could have made it so much more efficient. 

Alas, the past is the past with no bearing on the present. And right now he was absolutely wrecking you against your old bed. He had taken a winding path, but it still lead to the same place in the end. 

Your walls suddenly became impossibly tight as the convulsions of your orgasm shot through your body, eyes disappearing to the back of your head. Alhaitham had to bite back a moan as he felt your pulsing walls try to milk him. As much as he would have loved to spill everything inside of you, right now was not the right time. 

Perhaps in the future, you will beg over and over again for him to fill you with the essence of him. 

Quickly pulling out, his hand letting go of your hip to give his length the last few strokes to the finish line. Cumming along the curve of your ass, watching as the thick liquid stuck to your skin. Your cunt was still shaking as you slowly descend down from cloud nine. 

He felt confident enough to release your mouth from his hand. Your ears filled with the sound of your pants overlapping each other until-

“Dinner is ready!” 

Your body froze as you turned to face your lover with wide eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of his impassive face. As if he had already predicted this was going to happen at this very moment. 

Ah… The bastard timed this out, didn’t he? 

Swiftly Alhaitham took some tissues from the desk to wipe both you and himself down. Pulling your panties back into place you fussed over your skirt and hair in the mirror, trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. While Alhaitham tucked himself back into his slacks, buckling up his belt again. 

On your way down the stairs, your mother raised an eyebrow at your trembling legs as your frame followed behind your lover. 

“What happened?”

“Um, I stubbed my toe against the desk again.”

“Ah, you hopeless child.” She tsked. 

--

After the food was cleared out, plates cleaned, and lacquered table swiped down, your parents quickly suggested that the two of you stay for the night. 

This time Alhaitham firmly turned down the invitation, he must have reached his conversational limit for the month.

Waving goodbye to your parents from the passenger seat as they stood under the porch light, a great stress was finally lifted from your shoulders. You were finally released from the torment of the gods. 

Looking over at the man driving beside you, you observed how his eyes also seemed more relaxed. Hands holding the steering wheel in a loose grip as he drove just a bit above the speed limit. 

“Finally had enough?” You taunted. 

“My ears are still ringing.” 

Freshly showered and tucked under the soft covers of your own bed, finally away from the prying eyes of the world. It was only you and him now in the little world of your own called your apartment. Even with the thin walls and sometimes broken water heater, it was a safe haven neither of you would ever trade up. 

The rhythm of your matching breaths provided the room with ambiance, his hand toying around with your left ring finger. A box was currently hidden in a drawer at his home. The jewels once dawned by his grandparents, then his parents, now one day the box his grandmother had left him will have the honor to meet you. 

Meanwhile, your thoughts were consumed by the echoing of your mother’s words back in the living room. It would have been so much easier if it was just a dramatic outburst, but the semblance of truth in her words gripped your mind. If you hoped for a peaceful night of rest, then you needed answers from the source currently cradling your hand.

“Do you feel that my mom’s words from earlier are true? You… you have already given me sixteen years, yet I asked for more time… am I being greedy?” Your other hand hesitantly traced the veins that ran along the back of his hand. 

A silence fell over the two of you as if the winds of Dragonspine had just touched time and froze it. 

But his chest was still rhythmically raising and falling, your heart still drumming in your ears. With every beat passing, you feel the icy hands of doubt creep up your back, they were choking you, making you feel a sting in your eyes. 

‘I am wasting his time.’

The shifting of his large frame snapped time back into place as he tenderly pressed his forehead against yours as if to ground you from your running thoughts. Pulling away slightly for his teal eyes to hold your gaze. In a gentle whisper, his deep voice resonated in your ears.

“It doesn’t matter. For I’ve already decided that in exchange for the rest of your life, I will devote the rest of mine. So, whether it be three, five, or ten years it matters not to me. In comparison to a lifetime, those numbers are insignificant. ”

His hand continued to caress your ring finger.   

“I am a lot more patient than you think.”

In the span of your entire existence together you had always been the one with the most words, the first to break the warm silence, and the first to jest. 

Yet, in sporadic moments there are times when Alhaitham would string together words from his vast vocabulary that would leave you speechless. This was one of those moments. 

When words cannot be used then action must come in. With wet drops collecting in the corner of your eyes you pulled Alhaitham’s lips into a chaste kiss, so soft yet so full of love. Arms interweaving to bring your two bodies into one whole, warm being. 

“Although, for the sake of your ideal wedding. You might want to have it happen when my body is still fit enough to carry you down the aisle. Of course, I’ll maintain this form for the foreseeable future.” He whispered next to your ear.

“Oh hush, since when did you start cracking jokes, Haitham?” You were smiling as warmth dripped down your cheeks. 

Let your mother nag until her voice fades. Let the years slip through your fingertips. Let the economy go to absolute waste. Those future worries be damned. 

All that mattered right now, in this singular instance, was that you were in his arms and him in yours. 

--

Fin~

Author note: * this refers to classical conditioning, I’m going to be a nerd now in my writings. 

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORKS ON DIFFERENT PLATFORMS.