#I HEAR THUNDER IM SO EXCITED | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eldrith · 1 month ago

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ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ.

ᴄʜɪᴠᴀʟʀʏ ғᴇʟʟ ᴏɴ ʜɪs sᴡᴏʀᴅ ;

words: 8.4k synopsis: jacaerys falls for a woman in aegon's garden. notes: happy halfway! we're only a few weeks from halloween & im getting excited that this story is at its midway point. i hope those who read this enjoy it. it's as always for my muses @useralba and @dipperscavern ... my co authors frong!! chapter warnings: active and willing denial on jace's part tbh. themes of corruption, spooky visions, smut; masturbation, dry humping, heavy petting, finger sucking, hint (?) of choking [v brief], sort-of under the influence activities so - dubious morals in this one [youll see]. eating as sexual imagery, sin/shameful thoughts, religious themes & symbolism, temperature play-ish?, blood & injury depictions, brief mentions of…consuming blood…lightttt manipulation[:D], angst, grief, discussion of death. & some fluff. this is so unedited series masterlist. main masterlist.

THE CHAMBERS OF MAESTER GERARDYS ARE TINGED WITH DRIED HERBS AND DAMP PARCHMENT.

It is a smell which rather permeates the air through the corridors of the castle on the more inclementing days – even when he was younger, Jacaerys found himself passing by the smell of feverfew and steamed stinging nettle on his way to lessons in the bowels of the stone drum.

Thick tears of rain slide down a weathered pane. Jacaerys reclines in a small chair; In front of him, a poultice is mixed by steady hands.

His head pulses with a familiar ache; the one which has plagued him for days, rendered him rather restless and jumpy on the best of days, irascible and brusque on the others. There is a slow roll of thunder outside; it rattles the weakened pane beside him – faintly, he can nearly hear the call of some childish laughter warbled in the storm outside.

There are no children left on the island now that his brothers are gone with Rhaena; with them, it seems, has gone the sun. The days have been plunged into dreary rolls of high clouds and low sheets barreling down with coughs of spitting sleet; The nights remain the only time the air is relatively clear of that wetting dark, and yet still clouds slink under silvery slivers of waxing moon.

Agitated, Jace watches Maester Gerardys pour some oiled ointment, warming it between his palms; straightening his spine to a more respectable position, Jacaerys tilts his jaw for the man to begin to massage the ointment into his temples.

A sigh of relief. “It’s only getting worse,” He murmurs, eyes fluttering shut at the sharp scent of peppermint. “-The head aches, the knots in my stomach.”

Maester gerardys hums as he pulls away, returning to the poultice as he glances attentively at the prince – though he says nothing, and Jacaerys is prompted to fill the silence once more.

“I suppose getting air has helped… Aegon’s Garden is not nearly as taxing to the senses as flying on dragonback these days.” He observes absently, watching another onslaught of rain slam against the window, “… and your oils, of course - though, they’re quite strong in the bath. I find the blooms to be rather pleasant now. I don’t know if you recall, Maester, but I was quite sensitive to plants when I was a babe.”

Below on the grounds, a flicker of blue through hedges of green; Jacaerys jumps only slightly, blinking – and the figure is gone. He must be going mad.

Though in a moment of odd silence, the grind of the mortar has stopped.

Gerardys’ eyes flick up to his own, leaking with a flicker of wariness. “Yes, the…garden.” He repeats slowly, straightening his back. “My Prince, I’ve… noticed you’ve been spending quite some time there recently.”

Jacaerys, not used to such suspicion from the man, bristles immediately. Some desire, perhaps, to protect the sanctity of the garden - to protect you.

“And?” He wonders stiffly.

Maester Gerardys sets the mortar to the table, voice cautious. “It is not my place to pry, but… we must be wary not to… become distracted in such times. The dragonseeds arrive late on the morrow, and the efforts of war demand the entire island’s attention.”

Offense bristles through Jacaerys’ chest as he levels a sharp gaze at the man before him. Without hesitation, he rises from his previous seat, patience more than frayed. “Do you think me not focused?”

At the following silence, his voice tightens. “I am not a boy, Gerardys. I know what is at stake - better even than you. And it will do you well to remember who it will be to lead the charge when the time comes.”

Gerardys does not flinch at the sharpness of Jacaerys’ tone, but nods briefly. “Of course, my Prince. My apologies.” Jacaerys moves to make his exit, though Maester Gerardys’ voice stops him once more., “Though… It is my duty to keep you in good health. You’ve mentioned before a girl, in the garden - pardon me, but there has not-”

“Enough!” Jacaers snaps, pushing off the table. His temper has flared - though tipped over the cliff by his words, it is not Maester Gerardys who aggravates him so; rather, a heavy impending doom has settled upon his stomach at the damning reminder of the dragonseeds which crawl their way from whatever villages or flea’s bottom they come from now to chance a life of riding a dragon. Of some inkling that, in some way, Gerardys’ words are right; and Jacaerys lashes, a cornered hound.

“You forget yourself, Maester.” He exhales sharply through his nose, “You are here to help aid my ailments. That is all you need to do."

Gerardys bows his head, “Of course.”

He is nearly to the threshold when Maester Gerardys’ voice carries - soft and unsettling as an owl’s stare in the pitch of night. “Just remember, my Prince. Sometimes, the things which ease the mind… might mislead the heart.”

Jacaerys stops before the chamber door, hand clenching into a fist at his side; a nerve has been plucked, struck, ripped - some small growing doubt in the back of his own mind, one that festers and yearns to bloom with kindling of another’s words. Worry eases through him, though there is no time for that; more pressing matters loom.

The dragonseeds arrive on the eve, it seems.

He is gone from the chambers without another word, ignoring the fading needle sting of Maester Gerardys’ odd words as they dissolve into the large bow of day.

IT IS OF LITTLE IMPORTANCE WHEN JACAERYS HAS HIS BATH DRUM MOVED.

Though it is a simple request, an innocent one - brought up while breaking fast one morning, watching with concealed fluster as three servants drag his bath drum towards the windowsill. Though it is indeed blameless and simple, he feels rather horrid for it.

It is a twist of disgust that blossoms into some equally thrilling bloom in his chest. A transfixion, to keep gaze upon the expanse of a sea beyond his scope, of all that will one day be all his own to rule. To prove, perhaps in some twisted way, that it is he who will sit on the throne when his mother has finished her long reign; that those mules with silver hair and names of sand or snow do not come to delude themselves into making a claim of their own.

To watch over the baileys below, to see the fishing villages, mere specks in the distant shoreline; to see ships smaller than fleas sail to and from, to see the rustle of wildgrass upon the pathway to the garden below.

To watch Aegon’s Garden.

It is not, he tells himself, in any off-chance that he might catch sight of those silky tresses, of that smooth and wintry skin, of your curling smile. Jacaerys simply enjoys the views of sky, sea, mountain - and if he were to catch a glimpse of your beautiful visage, whispering to the flowers and laughing as if the blooms could whisper back? Perhaps that would simply be a welcomed favor.

The water in his bath steams; oils of rosemary and peppermint mix in a rather sharp smell upon his skin, though the tendrils of steam curl into his head and ease the sharpness of his mind’s ache.

Reclining back, eyes half-lidded, Jacaerys sighs into the heat of the water.

Lithe, tense muscles ache with the tension of the day - though it is morning, he knows he must rouse soon; but in the hour ahead that he has to bathe and break fast, he will allow himself to slip away from life, into the recesses of his mind - to where only you exist.

You.

Jacaerys allows for his fingertips to brush absently along the water’s surface - so similarly to how they’d traced the curve of your neck, tangled into your hair. It’s been far too long since he visited you last - two nights past since he was tugged through the hedges once more, hiding a grin, ducking under low-hanging vines, gasping into kisses stolen by your wanting lips.

There is no such flame that perhaps has ever burned hotter than the memory of your touch; an icy one, a chilling touch that sends the cold aches of the North to shame; though it burns so hot in his mind’s eye.

You, a world apart from the suffocating smoke of war - an endearing, true girl; the way your smile tugs at the corner of your lips, some glint in your gaze that beckons him closer - deeper.

Eyelashes kiss his cheeks when he shuts his lids, and mercifully he sees it - you, head tilted in the sunlight, shadows of the garden dancing along the stretch of your soft skin, the icy breath of shade a cool respite from the despotic sun.

And that heady, rich scent that clings to your skin - the figs, the juicy skin, the pinking bud of flesh inside, your lips so divine, wrapped around them, tasting, licking, biting-

His breath hitches; without thinking - or perhaps, telling himself instead not to think - his palm slips beneath the water.

Jacaerys’ groan is quiet into the empty chamber; but his calloused palm is softened by the warmth of the water, and his mind is hazy in the visions of you, staring at him, lips wrapped around that fruit.

Its scent, the lingering taste of it upon your lips, so sweet - you, so sweet.

And he did not try a taste then, but gods how he had wanted to; how he still wants to. A taste - of that flesh, dripping with sweet juice and marbled skin of ripe fruit - and of every inch of you, each breathless hitch of a moan, every whisper of his name from your lips. Pleasure curls down the base of his spine as he allows his fist to move; broad strokes, as languid as the slithering shift of your skirts around corners, as sharp as your gasped giggle when he makes you laugh.

And it’s you; he nearly believes it is you, wrapped around his cock so snug - pleasure lapping at core, water kissing his chest as he stirs in the bath, stuttering breaths that leak a few spare whimpers into the quiet morning air.

There is a breeze through the open window that sends Jacaerys’ bare chest to shiver against the steam of hot bath; A familiar chill, wrapping and curling around him like the winds of winter - settling at the nape of his neck, but dripping lower to pool at the very base of him, where his fist moves, desperate and seeking.

And though he pretends it does not happen, he knows his fist curls and moves to the rhythm of your sighs in his memory, how you’re always so eager to press into him, to kiss him, to taste him; desperate and hungry.

Hunger – that glint, dangerous and unknown in your eyes; a flicker of a grin too wide-pulled, the sliding of a gaze that feels ancient. It’s not proper, he knows; but the pleasure mounts anyways – because of it, perhaps – and that sickly smile sends himself further to the edge, grip shaking as his hips buck against nothing.

Water splashes from the basin. A bite on the plush of his lip as he suppresses a shuddering moan; his abdomen has tensed in such curling pleasure - an ice against the fire in his veins, intoxicating, arresting.

The pressure always builds - not just this pleasurable kind, though his body insists to his mind he should be focusing on such things - and in the last few desperate days that he’s spent far from you, you who truly understands him - it is in these times when he seeks such salacious relief.

It is your name whispered from his lips, breathless - too many times to admit in the past weeks of knowing your company. It is some distraction from the clawing talons of fate; when his palms are warm against his cock though he finds himself wishing to feel your own - that chilling touch which lures him so.

His desperate, soiled lips - groaning your name, falling from his tongue as the whisper of a phantom, some half-formed prayer to gods long-forgotten, squeezed with the very last of air which lived in his lungs. Licking at his skin, curling into his blood like the shade under which you’d kissed him.

The phantom feeling grasps at him, pressing against the thrash of his heartbeat in his chest, bringing the sting of overwhelm to his lashline, coaxing gasps through his lips and tickling a flush to his cheeks.

He can almost feel you when that same shivering peak leaves him panting, gasping as his ecstasy rolls through his entire body, his head lolling back against the tub basin as he whines your name into the empty chamber.

And in those moments, just like now - as his chest heaves and knuckles turn white, as he spends himself - he can think of nothing else.

It is only you.

Though when he steps from the bath and stretches his bare muscles into the bright of day, eyeing the line of constellated freckles which sprinkle over his pectorals and gather in pools upon his shoulders and bridge of nose, he feels the slow recovery of what had slipped so easily from his conscious - pain.

And just as it disappeared, so it appears once more; with a sharp wince, Jacaerys jolts from his haze, gasping at the heavy ache which throbs in the back of his head.

With flushed cheeks, he watches the garden below for any sign of life; It swirls with tantalizing greens, the scent of dahlias and gardenias blowing in even this high into the tower through the open casement. A sigh falls secret and unbidden from his lips as curls are raked back upon his head with a shaky palm.

As always, the pull is there.

The lull, some sweet melody that spins the strings of his heart, warming the blood pulsing in his chest and gathering below his abdomen; which soothes the ache of his mind and whispers his name in the soft breeze.

It is melancholy, in the way life has been without Lucerys. Shadows swirl darker under the attention of morning sun – petals curl beneath the breath of frost, melting back into themselves in the first whispers of day. The blooms smile up at him, and he longs for the embrace of something he can never have.

The garden breathes below.

Across the bailey, the dragonseeds take up arms - measly children playing at a game they know nothing about; Jacaerys’ jaw clicks when he glimpses the regal posture of his own mother across the way, speaking with Maester Gerardys and Addam of Hull. The pierce of his mind’s ache is sharper - the garden’s breeze sends a breath of loneliness through him.

He shuts the window without a second thought.

IT IS ONLY SO MANY HOURS UNTIL HE FINDS HIMSELF IN THE GARDEN ONCE MORE.

Misery flutters in Jacaerys’ mind with every ragged gasp he takes; a creeping nightmare, rousing him from sweaty sheets - clammy and with half a scream lodged in his throat, he’d stirred.

Visions of white, some restless churning that’d grown from dirt of dreams and sprouted a blossoming nightmare - at the top of that ancient, towering wall of ice, the words falling from Cregan Stark’s lips. A fate worse than death.

The loss of his brother; the face which echoed in so many ways his own. The end of a life - of a lifetime - and he still wakes up from restless slumber every night, gasping dry air, yearning for the days of sparring, of fixing wrinkled folds of rich doublets, of teaching lessons, of laughs concealed painfully at supper.

Though tonight, after being roused from sleep by a scream that did not sound like his own, Jacaerys had stood from his mattress, slamming the empty chalice of water upon his table as he calmed his breaths, watching the hedges swirl and blow in the night’s breeze. He’s grown used to the figments of his sleep-hungry mind – young men running past statues, laughter bubbling far away. But tonight, he saw you in a flash of white dress and a rumble of ancient hunger, some need to be in arms which trust and do not quite question.

And so, he ran.

Still clad in his tunic and sleep-trousers, he stumbled past the iron gates, gripped in a chilling bout of tedious familiarity; how many times must he find himself here, searching for comfort - to be haunted by life, by loss?

Why had he not, instead, sought out his mother? Baela? Lord Corlys is often awake at such ghastly hours these days, staring at the sea from upon his balcony…

It is admittedly not the first time he has sought you out in such turmoil; indeed, in the weeks of knowing you, scarcely has past two days where he has not ventured into the gardens; where he has not sought your eerie quiet, your soft words, your gentle palms upon his glistening cheeks.

There is in you perhaps that innocence so lost in people like him - people tainted by the burden of duty; and in your smiles, your whispers, your laughs, your tears - he has come to know you and to love you separately, to be transfixed by you and to crave you.

He supposes it is indeed some rebellion of his own - any breath of you is swept behind by those he has known his whole life; his mother, with no bat of her eye over your name in passing, though if she had scarcely an idea of what he did with you when there was nothing but the swirling trees and falling petals… lips on soft lips, hands on plush curves...

And Jacaerys knows, quite deep in his mind, why he could not speak with them. So often he finds words falling on deafened ears; those who do not understand, or who simply do not wish to. Unlike you – wise beyond your years.

In the pitch dark of night, the statues grow warped - blackened by the hatred of weather and neglect of island; it is darker than he’s ever seen the Garden, with a nearly full moon concealed by thick clouds of dread.

Blindly he stumbles into a statue - grasping once more unto the familiar young maiden’s thigh for balance; though the serpent which encircles her is coiled higher over her hips than he recalls.

Fingertips trace over the scales of the snake, and with a distinct desire in his throat, he presses his forehead to the cool stone of the stone woman’s dress skirts; a momentary comfort upon the stone lap.

It is only moments before his breathing calms; lips, pressing to the stone he rests upon - and that visage that watches down at him - stone and lifeless in the dark, eternally you.

IT TAKES HIM NO TIME TO FIND YOU DEEPER IN THE GARDEN.

It is odd, perhaps, that his feet find their way to you each time he seeks you out, as though they have a memory of their own - though he still feels lost in the ever distending garden itself.

Under the olive tree, as you lurk in the shadows, some ancient beastly predator awaits the hare; but you are no foe.

He stands numbly, the loneliness that grips his chest and fosters growing insecurities and fears within his mind dissolving under your beaming smile.

You’re against him in only a moment, pulling him by the wrists into your embrace; he feels odd, as though he floats when you tug him nearer.

“Jacaerys,” You whisper, eyes wide - startled, perhaps, at his visit in such an unseemly hour; though you, too, are here in the garden. It is beyond him to wonder why you so choose to spend your nights here, when he lies so sleeplessly in his own chambers each night wishing for the embrace of the garden.

The knot in his chest unfurls just under your touch - and you seize him in a shy kiss, leaning on tip-toes to seek his warmth.

He gasps into it, overwhelmed by the cold of your lips against his own; but he melts into the intoxicating simplicity of being wanted - and wanted by you, gods - and kisses you back deeply. Soft tresses tickle his forearm as he slides his arms around your back, tugging you into him - as if he could perhaps drown himself in you; as if he could forget the weight of the night, of the troubles that always come when morning breaks.

His hands find your waist as you pull away, though not too far - he keeps you close, to see the breath that falls from your lips and raises the goosepimples upon his neck, each flutter of every single eyelash.

“You’ve returned,” And you speak the words breathlessly each time he visits, without fail; as if you truly fear that each time he leaves, it will be the last time.

But your smile falls at the state of him, leaning closer to tuck your palm under his jaw.

“What troubles you, my love?” You wonder softly, a cold breeze of your palm brushing away his curled tresses - and he tries not to keen into the touch, swallowing thickly at the concern, at the empathy that drips from your words. He does not recall when you began to levy him with such sweet words – gone is my prince, taken up with far more intimate, kind titles; And, in return, when he whispers such devoted titles into your ear, into the breath of the garden – you bloom, a small smile growing evergreen upon your visage.

Your name is whispered from his lips with a shake of his head, the emotions crawling back to the forefront of his mind, dragging his weary bones down towards the earth.

And, devoted as always, you go with him; sinking into the thick soil, running your fingers through his hair as he breathes heavily, using his best effort to resist the tears which brim in his vision. He feels a fool; though you would not ever hold him in such contempt.

His voice is tight. “I wished to see you,” He admits, “I… saw you, from my chambers.”

Your lips curl into a soft grin; your eyes are dark - knowing - in the concealed moonlight, and it stirs that same odd crazed feeling within his bones. And no matter how tight his grasp on your arm becomes, you do not wince; you instead pull him with a soft caress and practiced words, curled under the statue of the dying lovers.

It is there he lies, head cushioned on the soft chill of your lap, blinking back syrupy eyelids as he spills his mind to you.

His mother, the dragonseeds; heirs, bastards, the colour of the very locks your fingers card through so gently.

His words whisper, curling up through your own hair and floating into the limbs of the tree behind you; your eyes are large as he confesses to you each and every thing that has infected him, has let fester within his mind for so long that now it rots and oozes from his lips with a bitter hatred.

Your words whisper in return, dripping from honeyed lips and soothing the sore and bruised bones that lie so weary beneath skin so thick.

It is in no effort to convince him of one thing nor another; Your words are for him, and that is it - your words are simple, kind, understanding. A balm over festering wounds of family, of fate.

“Jace?” You ask into the quiet of the night - and the tug on his heartstring of your delicate use of his sobriquet fosters a gentle, dreamy smile to his lips. He hums into the quiet garden, his fingers slipping through the tresses of your free hair, billowing around his head like a thick curtain; he leans up and steals a soft kiss from your parted lips, laughing gently at the blush that creeps over your countenance.

Not a breath later, a pressure slides soft against Jacaerys’ face and he jumps slightly. Though you laugh at his misfortune, you straighten; the curtain is pulled, and Jace blinks in the moonlight to find the creature that’d slinked its way into your privacy.

Jacaerys’ gut twists – the cat.

A gasp of excitement from you. “Shadow, darling.” You purr affectionately - Jacaerys, wary and uneased, sits himself upright from his pillow in your lap, spine uncurling into regal posture once more.

It bunts its small head against your palm and Jacaerys is claimed by a faint memory – Baela feeding Sȳndor a foraged fish; You sigh in disappointment, shaking your head down at the cat. “I have none with me this evening, I’m afraid.”

The cat hisses; he feels his spine straighten even more, hair on end.

“Jacaerys,” You hum; your hand is outstretched, and with a disoriented blink, he wonders when you’d risen to stand. He rises, hand in yours as you smile against the pitch-black of night. “I’ve something I would like to show you.”

The deeper into the garden you lead Jacaerys, the longer the silvery shadows of statues cast; wrath, visages weathered and greened by spoiled coils of vines - they leap at him when he passes. Earth and dying leaves hang in the air; but in the rotting turns and bends in the far end of the garden, where he’s never been, they give way to something sweeter, richer.

It’s a slow crawl - in a breeze, in a short laugh from you, in the sway of your loose tresses when you turn a corner too quickly for the prince to keep up. A cat-and-mouse game.

Though it grows - a smell so intoxicating that when you finally arrive, Jacaerys is stopped dead in his tracks.

Bewilderment, some serious dip in his gut in alarm at the monstrous silhouette that just barely looms in the shadows of night. His neck has to crane to see them: Figs – plump, ripe, hanging heavy and dripping from gnarled branches easily the size of himself.

It is a tree twice the size of the olive tree - a feat of its own - and possibly more; the fruits drip with nectar that shimmers as if caught in the light that does not find the rest of the Garden.

Massive.

The tree backs up and towers over the stone wall at the end of the garden, fog swirling in a small blanket that conceals the thick, rising roots emerging from the earth.

And at first, Jacaerys believes the heat rising within him to be hunger; his stomach growls quietly, churning at the alluring scent of fruit - but with a glance at you, hand still in his - a different hunger claws at him.

The heat spreads through his veins.

It tightens his chest, mouth watering at the thought of a bite of that sweet fruit, its gentle juices as they slide over trembling, pure skin; his hunger grows, some famished beast clawing at his chest. And a taste of you - that intoxicating you, ever-present and sweet in his mind.

Gods, this is ill done. He does not ask before tugging you gently with him towards the tree, the overwhelming scent pulling him deeper under its yawning canopy.

His hand only slips from yours when he reaches the base of the tree; staring up at the sprawling web of branches above, he lets out an incredulous laugh that is deafened immediately in the sedated air around you.

“It’s enormous,” Fingers brush against bark, ancient and rough, “Why haven't I seen it before? It feels…” He trails off, searching for the words; but he’s gone rather hot in sudden desire. You’re behind him - he feels your freezing breath trickle down his nape, your hand ghosting over his spine; though the shiver that follows is not just from your lips. “...Hidden.” He finishes absently.

Jacaerys turns into your touch, but you are not behind him - you remain a few paces away, bending to feed the cat a fig you’ve plucked from a lower branch.

The presence he’d felt behind him is gone; With a blink, unease churns in his gut.

His question lingers - but too does the heat. That overwhelming scent, as the cat leaps to rip voraciously into the flesh of the fruit. He watches, torn between horror and captivation as the little beast tears at it, releasing some faint growl that sounds nearly like a purr.

His own fingers reach up shakily to pluck a fruit laced in shadows – and in the moonlight, the flesh is nearly purple.

“Perhaps the garden hides what it wishes to keep.”

He startles only slightly – you’re in his ear now, voice laced in that way that stirs heat within him. His fingers clutch the fruit desperately, breathing heavy to regain whatever strength he has lost in the battle against desire. Your whisper sends curling arousal over the ridges of his spine, “The soil is rich here, you know. Fertile, in ways men think it shouldn’t be. The Dragonmont’s deposits do little to stop such delicious fruit from blossoming – it is foolish to think this land cursed.”

Cursed, his mind whispers – and his brows furrow, your words stirring unease in the back of his mind; It is so difficult to think clearly at such a late hour, with the hunger stirring so deep, with the fruit and your hand so soft in his own.

Cursed – but you eat them; and as he gazes into your glinting eyes in the dark, your bare toes dug into the very soil upon which you stand – hunger gnaws at him, blinding his sight from whatever shadows curl in the dark. He doesn’t mind, he decides.

Cursed, or blessed – it is often quite hard to tell the difference.

And his hunger crescendos; with a small press of your lips to the sensitive patch of his neck, the grazing of teeth sharper than the blade forgotten in his chambers, his hand twitches; his thumb splits the seam of the fruit open.

At the movement, the pad of his finger slides into the flesh, its juices dripping into his palm; you let out a small whimper at this, your hands curling in a grasp around his arms – the noise sends heat through him, coiling at the base of him.

Your eyes are alight with hunger – eyes wide, some shrouded smile growing upon hungry lips as he stares down between you and the fruit.

He yearns for something; all his life, for something. To feel alive, a voice whispers - the Garden is alive, you are alive. You are.

His hand drops the fruit.

For just a moment, your face flickers – but he brings his thumb to hover over your cheek, the air thick with the smell of its juices. He is hungry; insatiable. Your breath stutters as you stare up at him, and he down at you, breaths puffing between parted lips, shaking with unspoked craving.

“Gods,” he murmurs; and then, your tongue darts out – his throat tightens, goosepimples roving through him as you gently lick the pulp of the fig from his thumb, leaning further towards him.

He leans; Gods, he can’t help himself – and then his lips are on yours, rapacious, greedy.

You press with cold hands into him, and he stumbles back into the bark of the tree, thicker than himself three times round the trunk; your tongue prods his own, and he can’t help the groan that tears from the back of his throat – the taste, ambrosial.

Some remnants of the fruit linger upon your lips, and he’s unable to quench himself of the desire that spins his head; that sinks him low once more into the soil, that tugs you daringly atop him.

Jacaerys blinks back a bout of dizziness when his eyes adjust – reposed below the fig tree, temptations swirling around his mind as you slide into his lap coyly.

How he got here, he cannot recall; but you’re real and touching him – an icy palm upon the juncture of his neck, your slender thumb slipping to curl over the base of his throat as he keens towards you, plush lips seeking the thrill of your skin against his mouth.

Dress shifts; his tunic rustles, the leaves fall and the fruit lies in the earth, split open. Perhaps it is the hour - or it is the stare you give him; he is overwhelmed with the sense that you know every part of him; every fear, every weakness – and still you lie in his lap, eager and blushing as the day you first met. His mind flashes – in that numb way, as if he is on the precipice of some crucial understanding.

Your own lips sink into his, pressing away any melancholia, replacing it with a boiling hunger - an icy groan from him as you shift in his lap, his stirring arousal quick and heated with your sweet proximity.

Your hips stir upon his own – it lights arousal through him, tensing each muscle in his body as he coaxes you to do it again, again, again; until he is numb but for the sensation of you, willing and hungry and his.

His fingers clench; one palm, grounding himself with a grasp on the junction of your hip - the other, tracing the outline of a nearby root, feeling the thrumming heartbeat which seems to come tandem from both your flesh and its own.

The kiss he pulls you into is careful, hungry, exploring – overwhelming, as your fingers slide into his curls and tug gently; a hiss of desire from him that arches his spine into your cool skin.

He takes your sighs, your curves, the tremble of your hands as you palm at his own pliant body as if it’s a proof to himself – he is a man, he is alive – he, more than a playpiece in his mother’s endless efforts, more than a name which will be written leatherbound parchments of history to come.

He is more than it all; because he is yours.

“Jace–” Your voice is breathless, and it nearly kills him.

In a short whimper, you shift your hips upon his own, driving yourself over the line of his hardened cock – and he hisses, biting hard into the plush of his lower lip.

Near immediately, your tongue soothes over him; and a small noise of pleasure – nearly missed, though your eyes flash as you lean away from his mouth, a smattering of his own metallic blood upon your lip.

Your eyes are blown wide; a chilling sight, reveling in the taste of his ichor – and your hand, cupping his jaw with that frosty command as you hum, eyes taking him apart, putting him back together. Staring through his soul. Gods, you’re divine.

“Is this okay?” You whisper - your lips brush against his in a chilling shiver of pleasure; in which he nods enthusiastically, eyes wide and begging and willing. “Yes, please–”

And he cannot finish, because he is soon letting a soft whimper fall desperately against your own lips; you stir with wandering fingers, undulating against him with a sweet pressure that nearly sends a choked moan past his lips.

Fingers tangle in the strings of your loose hair, tugging you closer; your chest presses to his – a muddled awe when he feels your heartbeat switch and begin beating to the very same gallop as his own.

His breath falls ragged as your lips press a blizzard of sultry kisses across his jaw; your gown’s hem curls and ruffles below him as trembling fingers trace it shyly, staving his insatiable hunger.

Haziness leaks into his mind like the winds creep upon winter; perhaps from the cool, delicate skin so inviting underneath his palm, or perhaps the thick, heady scent of figs in the air. Completely at your mercy, craving everything you’re willing to give him – and as though you know it, there is an odd feeling, some shift under the thick limbs of tree above; it is a jarring realization that you’re smiling against his neck, teeth small needles upon his skin.

His brow furrows - a groan slips from his lips as his fingers gently tug at your hair, coaxing your head up from his wanting skin.

Your eyes, blown wide and hungry as his own; and in a hazy swallow, his voice thick with desire and disbelief breaks the quiet of the garden. “You’re divine,” He admits, shaking his head. You laugh at this; that very sharp thing that always seems too loud for your lungs – his mind blares for a moment, but it disappears with a kiss to his jaw.

“You are, my Prince.” You insist. And in your words strikes him a jolt; Gods, this is ill done. He should have stopped when you led him to the tree – he should have turned back when your eyes lingered too long on his lips, when his hunger grew insatiable and unable to contain – when you slithered into his lap, when he tugged you closer and whispered such flowery words into your sweet ear; when he kissed your lips with blistering fervor and locked his arms so you could not slither away, even if you wished to.

He is a prince, after all—honor bound, held to standards that now seem so absurdly distant; and indeed, as you move atop him, as your hands snake beneath his tunic and brush icicles over his burning bare skin, something snaps inside him.

Your hips, and your sensual smile – torturous things, as you draw a slow rhythm that sends his mind spiraling deeper into the fog of lust; frantically, his hips cant upwards in chase of your own.

Embarrassment is merely a wash of afterthought – because you whimper just as he does, shivering in his grasp at the ecstasy that builds between your frigid skin and his own, furnaced by the ancient blood coursing through his body.

Ice and fire, his mind whispers – and he is struck with some deep-seeded pride, a knowledge that, more than carnally, he was meant to find you, to be with you; And that, perhaps, yours is the heart he will forever keep, as you keep his in your own eternally frigid grasp.

He whimpers your name softly and you drink it up with devotion; a septa to a pointed-star; and with a scrambled grasp in your pleasure, your hand finds the fig, split and discarded in the earth-heavy soil beside him.

It is with lidded eyes and puffing, parted lips that Jacaerys watches you, ravenous and ethereal.

Your hair cascades, a curtain once more – keeping out any prying eyes from the middle of night, keeping in huffs of innocent desire as his fingers tighten their grasp upon you, dragging you once more over the straining length of him.

Your fingers press into the wound of the fig and he is doused in a blaring hot ecstasy.

He bucks at the angelic vision of you, pressing into his heated arousal – as if he might sheathe himself in you now and bring his warmth into your very soul - and you, swirling in a misty breeze of desire, pressing so hungrily against him, bucking your hips with a stuttering pleasure that shoots rapturous satisfaction up his spine.

And then your fingers rise to those very lips he chases.

Your eyes roll back in the moonlight – of which he scarcely notes there is enough to douse the tree and you in a silvery breath – and you moan his name when you taste the juice of the fruit. It is a groan, a low drawl that stirs a beast low in his gut.

The scent is too enticing; abdomen clenching in restraint, his hips buck into yours and you hiss in pleasure, eyes returning to his own, pupils blown wide enough to swallow him. He wishes you would.

And it is nearly too much for Jacaerys to bear; the sight of you, wrapped around him and breath puffing in shallow gasps, the fig’s juice staining your lips and glistening over your fingers as they swirl in the broken flesh once more.

He lets out a shaky whimper, the pleasure mounting – his hands roam over your curves, frantic and trembling with the tension of wanting to hold you so close and wishing to ruin you completely.

In a hazy gasp, he wonders what in the realms he is doing now, out in the open so salaciously; but the thought blanks when he feels your hand, freezing as it curls over his clenched jaw.

His lips part for you easily, and your smile is hauntingly beautiful in silvered moonlight.

Your fingers brush over his lips; in a shivered groan, Jacaerys’ eyes flutter shut and his tongue darts out, unable to resist.

The thick, heady flavor sends heat through him, and he’s nearing that edge, that something - he groans, body arching underneath your epicurean touch as he lets your fingers slide past his lips, closing around them with hunger.

The sensation hits him; heat, coursing through his veins so hot it turns icy, burns under his skin. And he bucks desperately, tugging you closer, a shudder running through him as he sucks the juice from your skin, overwhelmed with need.

His body trembles underneath you; your touch, divine – otherworldly – and you hum, letting out a moan as your body stutters above him. Faintly, he is aware of your own peak rolling through you, of your moans, of the sickening smile that flashes above him – though the taste, the smell, the feeling of you slithering atop him – it’s too much.

Jacaerys groans and your fingers slide from his lips, instead cupping his jaw, coaxing his mouth open for your own lips to find him.

His groan becomes a gasp as he comes undone beneath you.

His head falls back against the bark of the tree, feeling its breaths stutter with your own as you follow him, curled into his chest, stuttering your movements as he grasps you in pleasure. His trousers, spent – yet he notices not, whispering your name weakly as his body pulses in an unknown pleasure. Your lips trail ridges of ice over the sliver of exposed collarbone under his tunic.

The juice of the fruit lingers in his mouth, pulsing oddly through his veins. And in a moment, the world shifts; his vision blurs, and as he blinks, the garden is different – bathed in golden sunlight, blooms wild and in full blood; and laughter, a girl and a boy’s, warbled and happy. His heart strikes; a calming unease, some familiar edge. Another boy’s laughter joins in, and his stomach douses in ice.

He blinks, and the garden is dark again, the ancient branches of the fig tree curling overhead like gnarled, sinister fingers.

He looks up at you, still dazed, his body spent but his mind whirling with the remnants of the pleasure and the strangeness that had gripped him so – and registers your stare, suddenly rigid and intent upon him.

He watches as you lean forward, body pressing against his. A lazy kiss, one that spurs him to chase as you lean back, tasting of those sweet figs; slick with saliva and desire as you suddenly lift a palm between you, brushing his heaving chest.

The sweetness hovers over his lips; he can nearly taste it, taste you – the scent is overwhelming, the presence of your body so close, so inviting; that hunger remains, even as his spend sticks to his trousers beneath you.

His eyes trace the macerated fig in your palm, its flesh bleeding and willing, sweet and hungering. The fig.

“Eat.”

Your voice, a soft command – and your eyes, dark, intense as they bore into his own. The fig presses lightly against his mouth, and his tongue darts to lap at the juice which gathers upon his bottom lip hungrily.

Pleasure blossoms at the taste, and in his heart swirls a yearning.

Though something stops him; a sudden wave of dizziness, a strange sensation pulling him from some darkened haze. He hesitates, blinking at the fruit in your hand.

“No.” He murmurs.

He sees it in a flash of moonlight – your smile, faltering.

It’s not disappointment, but something dark and fleeting – a deepened stare, a flash of malicious hunger; the sweetness of the garden suddenly gathers too thick, too heavy.

You’ve stilled in his lap and he vaguely registers the rigidity of your expression, some familiarly shadowed stare.

He’s not sure what he’s done wrong, but your lip trembles, and with a racing heart, he reaches for you. The look upon your visage stops him; a calculating flash in your gaze, the thin press of your lips.

And for the first time the whole night, fear creeps into his chest.

Something isn’t right.

His hand slips away from your cold touch, trembling now for a new reason; and that fig which hovers in your palm suddenly smells sickening, filled with dread and longing all at once. The soil is rotten, he thinks hazily, it’s rotten…You’re–

“Come, why won't you try? Just a bite?” Your words curl in a taunt – and he nearly responds, but you’re leaning forward, lips brushing over his ear and sending shivers down his spine. His fist curls savagely against the bark of the tree as his heart begins to pound.

“It’s only a fig, Jace.” You whisper, pressing your lips to the soft spot under his ear.

You move to lean back, the curl of your smirk against his neck melting as you shift, only a sweet smile remaining when you turn to look at him. But the fear and the desire have mixed into some beastly conviction within him.

And, in a moment of sharp courage, he catches your wrist in a firm, iron grip.

You freeze under his grasp, your eyes glinting almost ominously in the silver moonlight.

“Is it?” He snaps back, heart pounding in his chest as his jaw clicks. Somewhere in his heart, there is an unsettling air that chokes, stilling around you when you blink slowly at his question.

Your stare is sharp, but there is a flash of something there he’s not yet seen before; something, he thinks, must be mirrored in his own gaze.

Fear.

A part of him expects for your jaw to unhinge – for a beast to emerge, to swallow him whole, to rip him open and feast upon his innards; but instead your gaze shifts, and your face is small, youthfully beautiful and dripping in purity – a girl no more than his age.

And then, bone-chillingly, as though a petulant child would when denying a crime, you shake your head just lightly.

No.

A confirmation, one which sends a chill rather sharply down his spine.

And from his lips a stuttered breath – he should run, should scream; but what does such a thing do in dreams?

Yet as quickly as it came, the shadow over you vanishes.

As if he blinks and wakes from the hazy dream – your face, returned to that familiar sweetness he so adores, the chilling smile you save only for him. You cup his cheek gently, and it is enough to pull him back from the edge of terror.

Lilting and light once more, a touch of concern crossing your features as you tilt your head – “You look so troubled, my love. Where did you go?”

He blinks, confused, alarmed.

You press a kiss upon his lips, and he chases your touch. “Come back to me,” you whisper.

He blinks once more, heart still hammering - but the fear dissolves with each ancient breath of the soil beneath him; and he gazes into your eyes through the dark of night – those same eyes that have always seen him.

You understand him; and whatever that moment of dread had been— wherever he’d gone just now, into some visions conjured up by an exhausted mind – it is gone now, lost in the softness of the fig tree’s leaves, in the tenderness of your touch.

“I’m sorry, I...” You shift as you murmur and it presses against his spent arousal, his breath hitching as his eyes fall upon your sweet lips, mind fogging. “I sometimes forget myself. You’re just…”

His eyes hook upon your own, waiting; with bated breath, he waits for you.

Your lips press together bashfully, fingers toying with curls of his hair, “Special. I’m quite fond of you.” You admit, nearly shy – and an affection blossoms within Jacaerys, a grin trickling upon his lips. “I’m quite fond of you too,” He breathes, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Your eyes lose their sharp glint as the moon falls in the sky and his shoulders lose such tension that’d built in the moments past, replaced by the soothing touch of your palm; quiet whispers and gentle laughs that lull his mind into ease.

And it is there, in the very edge of Aegon’s Garden, that you and he repose for the better hours of the ghost and wolf, whispering of lifetimes and fears and sneaking kisses between mumbled sentences. He forgets the fear he’d felt, that he’d seen in your eyes; soon, fog of morning creeps into the garden and tickles tendrils round his boots.

He is lulled into your lap again - his head rested upon the plush of a cool thigh, your dress gentle against his heated cheeks.

And though he is unsure if the words that are murmured when his eyes become heavy are real or a part of his tricking mind, they fill him with that warm affection, that love that festers in his heart.

“I wish I could stay here,” He whispers when he is half asleep from exhaustion. “With you.”

There is a pause in your fingers for a moment.

“And you can,” Your voice is laced with something he cannot see - for a moment, his mind conjures a flash of something rather wicked, the memory of your face when he’d denied the fig; though he throws away such absurdity.

You’re so very soothing, trailing your nails along his temple.

He drifts away.

HE WAKES SOME TIME LATER.

He no longer lies upon your lap; instead he is pressed against your very body, his chest shivering in the cold line of you, in the breath of icy air that threatens from the sky above.

You stir beside him; the garden is impossibly darker now - and as you sit up, he unwinds the hand he’d placed upon your waist. Uncomely, he reminds himself - though, what does it matter? What does any of it matter?

“You dreamt,” You murmur.

Disoriented, Jacaerys blinks, trying to find your face in the dark; he’s merely met with the glinting of your wide eyes against the moonlight blinking owllishly.

“I…” He frowns, uneased by your observation. “I did. It was…” He shakes his head as he tries to recall, watching your frame materialize under the dark blanket of night. “Odd. A battle - over the sea, I think. Statues – dying, crumbling into the water.” He shakes away the creeping frustration of slipping memories, however distant or unreal. “It didn’t make sense.”

You hum, and there is some specific glint in your darkened face he nearly misses; the shining of pearls outstretched against plush lips - the flash of a dark grin, sinister in the moonlight, snuffed quick by the effort of a gentle nod.

He grows even more uncomfortable in the quiet - it must be nearing the early wake of sun; his muscles yield surprisingly little soreness for sleeping upon the earth.

“Did you dream?” He wonders, relaxing as his eyes adjust to find your visage calm and sweet, watching him with a soft interest. What odd tricks his mind plays in the dark.

Your voice, ever distant: “I don’t dream.”

He’s imbued with the slow tendrils of sleep, though he frowns. “Everyone dreams,” He murmurs.

You huff smally, tilting your head in that doelike way, “I suppose I can never recall them.”

He laughs, then – a hollow thing, though recovering some of the warmth gone after the loneliness settled in those moons ago. A strained sound, though it makes you mimic his laughter in that odd way you sometimes do – and with a smile, you watch him intently.

“I enjoy hearing your laugh, Jacaerys. It’s comfortable… familiar.”

And for some odd reason, perhaps in seek of his own comforting memory, Jacaerys pictures Luke – laughter bubbling over at the drawing table of his mother’s quarters, breaking fast as a family; and a deep melancholy settles over him, pulling him deep into the pit of grief that finds him in the night.

His smile falls. “My brother used to laugh until he turned red.” He recalls, settled into that haze that begins to reclaim him, as if he’s drifting to sleep once more. “He’d lose breath sometimes – like he had to suck air out of every lung in the keep, just to keep himself from passing out. It would make him laugh harder.”

You smile in his peripheral.

His brows furrow. “He was just always so full of…light.”

He’s not sure why he offers such information – it is near impossible these days for Jacaerys to utter Luke’s name aloud, let alone think such fond memories.

Though something about the blanket of night and the gentle brush of your thigh against his own, brings a lull to his mind; as though he’s sipped too many cups of wine, or still rests in some odd state of slumber. The remainder of the fig’s juices slip past his tongue when he wettens his lip, and he’s coaxed into that state of hungry bliss – not fully satisfied, yet pleasant to repose.

Your fingers pull at the many frays of your odd dressskirts; in the faint moonlight, the fabric looks as though it has stains. Deep, dark streaks that blossom just near your breast and stomach; they seem to spread with the breaths you take, your hands beginning to shake. He blinks rapidly to rid himself of such an uneasy sight.

A statue of a man and woman across the way has caught a streak of moonlight; He’d not noticed any statue in the fig tree’s courtyard hours ago, but now it sits, gruesomely pale in the scarce silver - and their faces are rather distraught.

A familiar statue, one so alike the marbled lovers near the olive tree. A man, wind-and-water-torn, with that same arrow protruding through his flesh; and the woman in his arms watching with a transfixed expression, grasping at his arms with lonely eyes.

He tears his eyes away uneasily.

“I know a boy like that, too.” You whisper quietly, though Jacaerys is hooked upon the odd bend of the arrow which sticks through the statue’s shoulder across the way. He’s not quite sure what you mean, and his brows furrow.

“-Though,” You shrug with only one shoulder, as though mimicking the woman from the statue, “His laugh is more full of water.”

Jacaerys freezes.

His heart stops at your words, breath catching in his throat - the mention of such a thing sends a chill through him. “What—” He whispers, mind flashing back to the glimpse of curls, of that bouncing gait, of the blue that had flickered through these very hedges days ago.

“What do you mean?” He chokes.

You smile that soft smile – the one that haunts his mind, that leaves him uneasy in the flickering of moonlight. “I see him in the garden sometimes,” Your eyes flicker, gleam, “He comes here – to the fig tree – during rainstorms. He told me he used to enjoy the sound, but now he detests them.”

Jacaerys is rooted to the ground, staring wide-eyed into the yawning chasm of night; its jaw spread wide, your face the shining beacon of fire at the base of its throat.

The pain of a lost limb; of a lost soul entwined with his own, cut from the same womb, carved from the same stone. But your voice echoes drearily through the quiet silence.

“And the boy…His laugh,” Your brows knit faintly, “It’s like yours, but…drowned.”

Every hair on the nape of his neck is on end as he lets out a shaky breath. No. Lucerys is dead, he reminds himself.

Your fingers brush his hand against the soil; cold as ice.

The sensation jolts him, and he leaps to his feet, sleepclothes uncomfortable, his skin sticky from the sins of earlier. His cheeks flood with heat.

It is wrong. Dread fills him, the leak of a moat into a basin of fear; there’s something wrong about this - because Lucerys is dead, his father is dead, Rhaenys is dead - all of them, dead.

Life moves on, but the dead do not; and it is a burden he carries, and he carries alone - because the crown is too heavy to be marred by the blood of the ones you’ve loved, so Jacaerys must bear the weight for him and his mother.

How could you have seen him?

“-You know how.”

Your voice comes sharp from the tree below, and it strikes him through the stomach - and before he can consider the unnerving murmur from your lips, how you’re always seeing into the words in his mind, the thread has snapped.

It’s only a fig, Jace.

He staggers back a few steps, feet caught on the twisting gnarl of treeroot. “I’ve… I apologize, I must go.” He murmurs, swallowing thickly; and with a shaky breath, he resists the urge for his mind to spiral into that dark place, where grief and madness lie in wait.

He turns away from the lulling ease of the tree above, nearly as large a shadow as the castle itself – and takes one, two, many steps towards the hedges, chest thundering.

Perhaps you call after him.

He thinks he hears your dress snagging on thorns and branches behind him as he tears through the bowels of the rotting garden; rounding a corner, he hears a feline’s hiss, a dark rumble of thunder. The garden is wrong – a putrid thing, in the dead light of nightingale’s earliest breaths.

It is rotten soil, a voice mimics – though his heart still pounds your name into his ribs; he still misses the chilling press of your lips to his own, the sweet saccharin taste of the fruit upon your tongue.

The soil is sick, it is too rich in his nostrils; and when he staggers past the maiden statue, he is terrified to see there is no snake upon her thigh – instead her visage stares down at him with a wicked, serpentlike grin.

A shiver of fear as he blinks back terror.

Morning glories are trampled underfoot, poppies beaten until their bloody leaves smash into the soles of his boots.

Jacaerys’ eyes clench shut and he pretends not to hear the faint mix of joint laughter – warbled in the distance, a girl’s and a boy’s, bubbling over before dissolving, echoing into the crash of the icy ocean below.

An agonizing gasp of unease from him as he finally bursts to the entryyard, the wilting flowers decaying in a sickly sweet scent. He nearly retches.

When Jacaerys pushes past the gate and into the bailey’s courtyard, the breaking dawn is cloudless.

Early morningbirds chirp in the sky; waves crash down upon the shore, lit bloody with the waking sun. He is very alone.

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theemporium · 8 months ago

Note

omg omg vampire!sirius im-

ya know how people write remus as absolutely feral around the full moon? now make it 10x worse cause if you’re ever bleeding and siri can smell it he’s absolutely all over you

he can also hear your heartbeat all the time and you know he loses it when it starts racing

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Oh shit.”

His shoulders tensed as the sweet, pungent smell of your blood completely overwhelmed him. He kept his gaze on the window ahead of him, trying to take breaths like he wasn’t a tick away from losing his goddamn mind.

And then he made the mistake of looking at your reflection in the window, and any hold on his sanity crumbled in seconds.

He watched the way you stepped away from the counter, away from the stepping board. He watched the way you frowned down at the blood staining the knife, as if your hand wasn’t still bleeding all down your palm right now. He watched a few drops fall to the floor. He watched the way you reached for the tea towel with another curse, trying to put pressure on the wound.

And then he watched your gaze meet his in the reflection of the window.

And he heard your heart skip a beat or two.

And Sirius knew, deep in his bones and the cells of his being, he couldn’t fucking hold back anymore.

It took less than a second before he crowded you against the fridge, his forehead pressed against yours. You could see the dark veins glimmering under the skin beneath his eyes, watched the way his eyes darkened and the length of his fangs peek from behind his lip. You watched the way he inhaled deeply, savouring the scent of your blood that filled the kitchen.

“Sirius—” You started, only to let out a gasp when you felt his cold fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Fuck, love,” he groaned, his voice gruff and low and it sent shivers down your spine. He pulled the tea towel out of your grasp, letting it drop to the floor as he brought it up to his mouth.

Your stomach dipped as his dark eyes stayed locked on your expression, as he wrapped his lips around your fingers and sucked. A low noise of pleasure sounded from the back of his throat as his eyes fluttered shut, his tongue licking every drop of blood that covered your fingers.

“Sirius,” you breathed out, your voice heavy with emotion but you weren’t sure which one. This should have scared you, he should have scared you. But there was not an ounce of fear in you as you watched him in his most primal state, as you watched him drink every drop of blood from your hand.

You felt exhilarated and excited and intoxicated by the sight of him. You felt like every cell in your body was being pulled towards him, wanted to see every side of him that he would show. You felt like you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you.

“You taste like a fucking treat,” he muttered as he slowly pulled your fingers out of his mouth, the corners of his lips stained red with your blood but the sight only thrilled your further. “So fucking good.”

You paused for a moment, listening to the blood roar in your ears as you contemplated your offer for a solid two seconds before you tilted your head back. You watched his eyes drop to your exposed neck and you knew you made the right choice as the veins shimmered under his eyes again.

“You can have more,” you whispered, your heart thundering in your chest but that only seemed to encourage him.

“Love—”

“Do it, Sirius.”

He looked at your expression, the lack of hesitation in your gaze as you continued to leave your neck open for him, as your eyes dared him to do it.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he eventually gritted out.

“I trust you.”

“Baby…”

“You won’t hurt me, Sirius. I know you.”

His eyes lingered on the pulsing vein in your neck.

“Do it.”

So he did.

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zaimta · 2 years ago

Text

彡PAINTING HIS NAILS

parings: laxus, gajeel, bickslow, bacchus x gn!reader

zai's notes: rewatching fairy tail for the 100th time n i remembered bacchus he's so yea <3, n i'm getting back to requests after this one!!

˗ˏˋ«────── « 𓆩♡𓆪 » ──────»

˗ˏˋLAXUS DREAYAR

the hardest to convince, you could ask him over and over but he never gives in, he only gives in because you "annoyed him" which obviously ain't true he's just whipped

doesn't even let you pick the color either, he just tosses you the black nail polish because he's aware it's a neutral color

killjoy!!

the two of you lounged on some couches on the upstairs area of the guild, his arm was around your shoulder as he talked to the thunder legion. while he talked to them your mind was elsewhere, you glanced at his hand. you remained silent while you stared at it you didn’t even notice how focused you were, you didn’t even notice the thunder legion going downstairs for a quick bite to eat.

you held his hand in yours as the two of you sat side by side on the upstairs level of the guild. you noticed how rough his knuckles looked from all the punches he would through, and small scars littering his hands. your gaze game down to his nails and you gazed down at your own painted nails and you got the best idea.

“you should let me paint your nails.”

with in a heartbeat he responded “no.”

you groaned “come on it’ll be fun and it’ll look cute!”

“no.”

“i think you should let me paint them, they’ll look so nice too! besides your hands could use some tlc” you looked down at his hands and rose a single brow, a manicure was clearly needed for him. even if you couldn’t do anything about the scars the nails would at least spruce them up a little.

“i’m good.” he rolled his eyes at you but made no effort to remove his hand from your grasp.

you stared at him and he sighed feeling your eyes on him “tell me why i should let you paint my nails?”

“because i’m your s/o and you love me and you would do anything for me” you flashed him a grin and he rose a single brow in return “pleaseee.”

he sighed finally giving in, he his free hand down his face knowing he was going to regret his decision “fine.”

you led him out of the guild abiding “knowing” glances from some guildmates. you walked back to your house and gladly led him into your bedroom where you were going to paint his nails. you walked over to him with your box of nail polish clearly excited

“we can try any color you want maybe we could-”

he cuts you off tossing the black nail polish at you, you catch it easily and sigh “you’re so boring, i was hoping we could do a blue or something.”

“the second it chips you’re removing it.”

"killjoy."

˗ˏˋGAJEEL REDFOX

another hardheaded one

tell him it’ll make him look likea rockstar and he’ll be willing to hear you out

he’ll only go for black you could talk him into grey to match his metal magic but only if it’s a dark grey

you sat across from where he sat in the guildhall leaning close to him with a grin “i just had the best idea ever, you should let me paint your nails.”

he looked at you annoyed “im still waiting on your ‘best idea ever’.”

you rolled his eyes used to his attitude by now “im serious it would be fun! plusss you’ll look like a rockstar, a real rockin' one with a stage presence.”

he rose a brow "what kind of rockstar wears nail polish?"

"a color-coordinated one. come on don't you wanna look nice for your next performance? if you don't like it we can take it off i promise." you silently begged with your eyes.

he sighed "fine if it gets you to stop your whining."

you cheered and grabbed his hand leading him to where you lived, he got comfortable in your bed while you rummaged around for some nail polish in your bathroom. you debated on shades of black and grey but you ultimately decided to bring all of them so he could have some options.

"okay so i have a few colors here which one are we feeling. maybe this one?" you held up a dark grey nail polish "or maybe this one?" you held up a light grey nail polish resembling the color of iron "or maybe-"

"well do this one" he cut you off and picked up the black nail polish

you took the black nail polish in your hand you couldn't complain much since the color would match his overall vibe, but you can't deny you were hoping to at least use some grey tones to match his iron.

"okay we can do black it'll look cute too." you take his hand in yours and smile at him, you focus intently on his nails. you knew the chances of him letting him do his nails again were low so you made sure to make his nails look perfect for the first and unfortunately the last time you'll be painting them.

he watched as you concentrated on his nails, you took great care in making sure you wouldn't mess up some nails it was honestly cute to him he couldn't help but snicker "you're really putting a lot of focus into some nails doll." he rested his free hand on his cheek and smirked at you.

"well duh, i have to make them look nice who knows when I'll be able to paint your nails again. if this is the first and last time i'm painting your nails they're gonna look cute ya know." you spoke while completely focusing on his nails.

he offered a hum as a response and let you finish working on his nails. once you finished his nails he gave you a kiss as payment.

a few days have passed by since you pained his nails, and once he saw them getting old he immediately walked over to your house and barged in "hey." he walked past you lounging on your couch, ignoring your confused expression, he walked into your bathroom then flopped down onto the couch next to you with nail polish removal and the black nail polish in his hands.

"they're gettin old wanna fix 'em up for me doll?"

˗ˏˋBICKSLOW

he’s down for it the second you suggest it

he mainly prefers colors that would match his whole theme any colors that he thinks would throw it off he won’t mess with em

he asks you to do it again once they start looking old he makes you redo them

the two of you were hanging out at your house, he’s at your house more than yours it was like he lived there at this point. you were lounging on your couch mindlessly talking about everything and anything. you looked down at his hands and a light bulb went off in your head

“you should let me paint your nails, we could make them match your babies too.”

he shrugged "okay let's do it."

you flashed him a smile and gently kissed his lips "I'm gonna get the nail polish i'll be right back." you padded off to your bathroom and went through your nail polish basket, you couldn't decide between purples, greens, and some oranges, although you felt like the orange was a stretch. you shrugged and brought him all the colors you walked back to the couch with various nail polish colors in your arms, and you dumped them on the couch in between the two of you.

"i couldn't decide on one color so i brought multiple! you can pick which one you want though."

he looked down at all the colors you bought and settled on a dark purple "this would match my helmet wouldn't it?" he grins and handed you the purple nail polish.

you took his hand in yours and took care in painting his nails, he watched as you painted his nails his great care "you're really focused there babe."

you snickered "well yeah i don't want your babies making fun of your nails because they're sloppy." he laughed along with you and leaned to gently kissed your forehead.

"i can't focus if you're kissing me bix" you smiled and spoke without taking your eyes off his nails.

he laughed and smiled at you "and what if i don't want you focused?" you looked up at him and sent him a playful glare "do you want your nails to look like a mess or do you want them to look nice?" he leaned in closer to you "whatever gets your attention onto me."

"so needy" you teased while giggling and gave him a soft kiss on the lips "i'm almost done with your nails then I'll be all yours."

˗ˏˋBACCHUS GROH

he was drunk and he was just talkin

he was the one who suggest you even painted his nails when he was playing with your hand and noticed your nail polish and randomly suggested it

he traced along your hands giving them great focus despite his drunken state "let's paint our nails to match it'll wild baby." you giggled at his state "are you sure you want me to paint your nails? you're pretty drunk right now i'd doubt you'd even remember this."

he laughed loudly "do y'a know who you're talking to baby? bein' drunk is my magic." he pulled you off to the stool you were sitting on at the bar and led you home, or he assumed he was the one leading he started wobbling within a few steps so you had to lead him instead.

once you made it to your house you lead him to your bedroom where he could sit on your bed so you could paint his nails "i feel like a nice purple would suit you." you spoke to him from the bathroom raising your voice slightly so he could hear you, he hummed a response.

you hopped onto your bed with the nail polish in hand and took his hand in yours "make em look nice baby i wanna show the guys how wild i am" he emphasized his guilds motto with a small yell and a grin on his face causing you to laugh "hold still so i can do em right."

he grinned at you "come on say it with me baby these nails are gonna be" you playfully rolled your eyes at him but spoke his guilds mantra in unison "wild!"

you laughed and brought your focus back to his nails, while you did his nails he spoke mindlessly. it was becoming obvious that he was just talking so he could stay awake all the drinks he had was catching up to him. once his nails dried he carefully laid down not wanting to ruin your handiwork.

he woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and newly painted nails, he slowly sat up groaning when he noticed you sleeping by his side he froze. you stirred in your sleep and slowly opened your eyes.

he leaned down to kiss your forehead "mornin' baby. did we paint my nails yesterday? i don't remember much after the bar." he squinted in thought "or was it before the bar..."

you giggled "yes i did paint your nails bacchus you asked me to do them."

he looked down at his nails and smirked "they're wild baby."

#fairy tail x reader #laxus x reader #gajeel x reader #bickslow x reader #bacchus x reader #fairy tail x you #fairy tail fluff #fairy tail x y/n #laxus dreyar x reader #laxus dreyar x y/n #laxus dreyar x you #laxus x you #gajeel redfox x reader #gajeel redfox x you #gajeel redfox x y/n #bickslow x you #bickslow x y/n #bacchus x you #bachhus x y/n

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tokischaaaaa · 5 months ago

Text

“ascensor roto ; broken elevator”

WARNING!! Contains smut, all that nasty stuff, freaky deaky shi

!hamzah x latina!reader

summary: a sudden storm traps two neighbors in one elevator, and their previously unspoken attraction rapidly escalates into a night of passion as they find comfort and excitement in each other's arms.

muy important!! : this is my first imagine or oneshot for hamzah, so take time with me pls lol. also there are some words in spanish/slang so here are the translations for yall <3,

toto → vagina, punani, clit, pum pum, etc

coño → dammit/shit

casi algo → “maybe something”, refers to a person you are having a situationship/unlabeled relationship with, “es mi casi algo”

fantastica → “fantastic”

sucia → “dirty”

fue mejor - kali uchis ft. sza

⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻

00:35 ━━●━━━━━━━━ 03:51

** im too tired to proof read mb gang

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It's been a few weeks since your boyfriend broke up with you. Just yesterday your friends stopped by to try to help you get back on your feet. It was somewhat successful because today you went out to get some groceries.

As you are getting out of your car to enter your apartment you see a familiar face entering the apartment building, it's a guy you've seen here and there, he's wearing a gray shirt and some black sweats. As you stop staring at him you look for your key card, which allows the elevator to lead you to your floor, you're stumped, you forgot your key.

"Shit," you mumble to yourself, you start walking faster towards him so maybe you can use his key as a way to get to your floor. As you start walking faster toward the door of your apartment building but you hear thunder and water starts pouring very hard on you. "So much for trying to fix my hair today," you sigh. You start running towards the door and to the elevator.

Thankfully he's still there, as the elevator is about to shut he puts his hand out to keep it open. You run towards the elevator and breathe out, "Thanks a lot!" you're out of breath from the little side quest you just completed.

He looks back at you, you feel your heart stop as he looks at you to respond. "No problem, ma." He says with a deep tone. You can't help but blush and chuckle at his response. As you get situated he slowly puts his card to the elevator, the light turns green.

Next thing you know there's a big shove all around you and everything goes black. "Shit!" You cuss, you grab your phone and turn on the flash, you see your groceries everywhere, and the kind stranger on the floor. you extend a hand to him, he takes it. "That wasn't very hot of me," He says in a horrible rendition of Paris Hilton voice.

"Yeah, but now what? Do we call the police?" You ask, "Well, I could press the red button that calls the cops and lets them know," The stranger says before he's interrupted by a speaker supposedly in the elevator. "Residents of this apartment building, stay calm, there has been a power outage due to the storm. The power will be restored in approximately 1 hour."

"Damn, bro I just got new groceries they're gonna be fucked now." You say rubbing your fingers towards your temple. "Damn, you're loss, should've gone earlier." The stranger snarks. "Bruh, where are you even coming from, especially at like 10 in the night? You ask raising your eyebrows at the snarky stranger.

"None of your business, that's where." He says now facing you. The flash on your phone is now pointed towards his chest, he slowly gets closer to you. A familiar feeling is in your stomach and toto. "Mhm sure buddy." You say eyeing him down.

He huffs, then pushes you towards the elevator wall. your phone is now on the floor, there's no more flash, everything is based on your sense of taste and touch.

He crashes his lips onto yours, one of his hands wraps around your waist, "take this off." he says pulling on your shirt. you quickly rip your shirt off and motion for him to do the same, he follows. You both continue to get closer, you begin to grind against his c0ck, you start to go faster and faster, getting off on his grip on your waist and the wrestle going on in your mouth with his tongue and yours.

As the grinding gets progressively faster and faster, he stops you, you can only assume he's taking off his sweats, before you can ask why he stopped, you're turned around, now holding onto the railing of the elevator wall. He spreads your legs and slaps your ass. A loud moan escapes your mouth, and as a result, he shoves his c0ck into your toto. "How's that princessa? " he asks , leaning into your ear.

"Fantastica," you gasp, adjusting to his size. He lowers his head and starts kissing the back of your neck, his kisses getting deeper as his lips touch your skin. Before you can groan at him to start again, he slaps your ass once again and harder than before. He continues thrusting into you, every few thrusts he continues to give you back kisses. His pace begins to slow down, as he's about to pull out to cum, you grab his hand and thrust it back into you.

"Into me papi." You groan taking in all of this stranger, who knows if y'all will be casi algos or even talk again but you don't care. He's matched your freak, and you've matched his, so why not fulfill the feeling for both?

As he finishes inside of you, you pant in exhaustion, he pulls out and gently faces you towards him. You hear him bending down and grabbing something, he places your phone and clothes in your arms gently. All that flows through your mind is, wow. You quickly put on your clothes, you can only assume he is doing the same. Before you take your phone to face the phone towards the floor to pick up the groceries all across the floor due to your sucia behavior, you feel deep kisses on your neck.

You cave in and kiss his neck too, before you step back. "What happened ma?" He asks, "What's your name bebé?" you ask him, "Oh, Hamzah. And yours?", You tell him your name, he stays silent for a few more seconds before he continues to kiss all over you. He stops once again and takes his hands into yours and positions the both of you to be sitting down, "Hamzah, you gonna tell me what you were doing out at 10 now?" You smirk holding his hand. "Nah, but if you come back to my apartment with me then maybe I'll tell you."

Just as he said that the energy had been restored in the building. You squint your eyes getting used to the lights. As you looked down you saw your groceries everywhere, you tried to pick them up once again before Hamzah started to help you pick up the groceries scattered throughout the elevator. He placed the items in your bags, he began to hold them, "Hamzah, give them to me I can carry them." You groan, "Naaah." He smirks. Soon the elevator doors open, and Hamzah sprints towards his apartment. You have no choice but to chase him into his apartment to obtain your groceries and maybe something else...

────────────── ౨ৎ ───────────────

tokischaaa hablas!

so that was something, anyway umm lmk whta to do now. umm yeah. also to all my latina readers I LOVE YALL <3, love all yall tho too <333

also, listen to my playlist (i used it while making dis 😈)

#hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefantastic #hamzahsmut #slushy noobz #Spotify

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snail-studios · 3 months ago

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It’s “appreciate yourself” hours! Pick five pieces of writing/art that you’ve done that you love and talk about them! ❤️❤️❤️

THIS IS SO SWEET??? 😭

Umm ok!!! 🥺🥺

I really like this picture of mipha specifically!! I feel like the emotion is shown really well and even tho there are a lot of things I can't do with her to make crying more realistic (nose to go red and run, ect) I think I've shown it as best as I can ^^ I also love the way her top showed up and am proud of the little star <3

I really like this sketch. My first miphlink kiss I've drawn :D the hands look better than usual and I like the green/pink gradient. I like the looseness of the lines, too. I was really just having fun with it and not putting too much pressure on myself

Even if this didn't turn out as I'd hoped it would in colour I like how mipha turned out :'^) still disappointed with the overall outcome so won't be sharing unless prompted, sorry T.T

This animation still impresses me when I look at it XD I did that????? What???

Mipha dropped her bag onto the table with a thud. Her hands trembled on the sink as she poured herself a glass of water. She bit her lip hard, choking down a sob as she lifted the glass to her lips. She wiped her mouth, her hand coming back red with a spot of blood, mixed with lipstick. Her eyes burned with tears and she let them fall, shoulders shaking with each quiet cry. Oh, she’d messed everything up, she’d let everything fall apart and now everyone was in danger.

In the dim light of the empty safehouse it was hard to see. The window above the sink stared out at a concrete wall, a cruel mockery of what she could be looking at instead. Even from deep underground she could hear the hail thundering onto them, a constant pitter-patter with the occasional thud as a particularly large ball of ice fell.

She faintly heard the door upstairs open, multiple pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs until Gaddison, Bazz and Rivan burst into the kitchen, rosy cheeked and smiling fin-to-fin. They chatted amongst each other for less than a minute, before seeming to realise Mipha was standing at the sink and turning to her.

“Oh, Mipha. Hey.” A gentler smile curved Bazz's lips, and he picked the bandage on his cheek. Her heart rate picked up. He was, like Gaddison and Rivan, absolutely covered in bandages. A thick one was wrapped around his bicep, a blood soaked gauze was taped on Gaddison's knee, and Rivan was covered in small, shark patterned band-aids.

“What…” She gulped, reaching backwards to steady herself on the kitchen bench. She was used to the sight of blood, but that, coupled with her exhaustion and the way they had messily covered their wounds sent a wave of light headedness to her head. “What happened…?”

Im proud of how quickly I wrote this Fisheye Lense snippet :> I really enjoy writing Mipha with a lot of people who love her and am excited to show that more in the fic 😌

Thank you so much for this! I really needed it and it made me realise how much stuff I've created recently that I'm proud of!!!

#my art #my writing #snailsstuff #asks #lovely skyloftian-nutcase #tw blood #tw smoking #< if we're assuming whatever he has in his mouth is a cigarrette #link would never smoke so its just a lollipop in my mind haha #fisheye au

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leynaeithnea · 2 months ago

Note

Just finished your beautiful beautiful very yummy and very angsty analysis of love in paradise ( maybe I shed a little tear here and there, maybe I didn't, you can't know that ) so I thought this would be right moment to leave you an ask for a gods game analysis maybe?? *stares at you with big brown eyes*

Last one of this saga!!!! Yayyy

Praying ill remember all the musical parts ive heard about but im sure theres so much hidden i forgot/didnt hear about yet

30. God Games

We open with a choir of course, because...gods! Athena decides to do something (finially)

“Father, God King” (athena asks daddy for help SIJGSEIG)

“Rarely do I ask for favors” being the good favorite daughter

“Now, I’m knocking on your door, with hopes to save a friendship with one who’s a prisoner far from home....Odysseus” I LOVE the melody of this part somehow??? especially how the drop before “odysseus”, ALSO SHE CALLS IT A FRIENDSHIP INFRONT OF ZEUS TOO

“Divine intervention, is that what you seek?” ........yes, bruh. Zeus dont fuck this up, u are decent enough in Homers Odyssey

“To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?” okay i had to google “apprehentions, and apperently it both means “arrest” and “concern/fear”...........to untie the arrest on Ody, and at the same time the concerns of Odysseus THATS GENIUS, Ive heard Homer does a lot of these double meanings of words in his Epics and IM SO HERE FOR IT, also “that Greek”, come on, dont use it as a slur >:)

“You are playing with thunder for a man full of shame”..................NOW WHO PUT THIS SHAME ON HIM YOU MF, YOU WHAT KIND OF SICK GAME IS THIS-

“But if he’s worth the risk of going under, why not make it a game?” Lukes vocal performance in this part is something else, like dude??? hello? youre a tenor SIEJGSEIGJ, its good, also WDYM GOING UNDER??? HUH??? ....yeah of course you make it a game, because everything is a game to you, because really, theres nothing and noone who poses a thread to you

“Convince each of them that he ought to be released, and I’ll release him” the slight echo effect in that voice.......fascinatinggg, wish i knew if the melody in this part had any meaning, gotta look it up

“Who’s them?” Athena god of wisdom asking about details before agreeing to deals *cough* Odysseus, learn from your friend

“Apollo” APPOLO MY GUY ehehehehee

“Hephaestus” okay, fair

“Aphrodite” the wWAY HE PROUNCES HER NAME?? OMG

“Ares”, yea yea imposing yada yada

“Hera” cant exclude his wife

“Or me” OR me, so its ALL of them, or him? bruh

“What do you say?” WHAT IS SHE SUPPOSED TO SAY

“Great” ehehehehe apollo <3

“Very well” just doing it because

“Eh” shes so excited

“Alright” he IS excited

“Groovy”....ok? um...imma move on

“Bring it” of course she would choose all of them over Zeus, its Zeus, he just WANTS you to loose, bc hes the god king

“Apollo!” parrot

“You all know I’m a fan of catchy songs” god of music yada yada HIS VOICE

“so with so many sirens gone, I think Ody’s in the wrong”.........there are so many reasons to dislike Odysseus and you pick the SIRENS? .......did you just join for the fun and had no real reasons or did u get dragged there or-....but its ok, your voice is amazing, also IIRC it should be the melody of suffering??? of different beast??? i forgorrrr norrrr also Lyreeee in the background! ehehehe

“They were trying to do him worse, All he did was reimburse them Now they’ll tread with caution first To live another day and sing another verse” maybe the melody was in this part. also, yeah tell him athena, what kind of argument is that, they tried to kill him he just did what he had to--------admittely he was VERY cruel about it, but athena doesnt have to mention that, and well Ody probably protected even more sailors in the future through his actions

ALSO DONT COME AT ME WITH “but all the sirens are dead” THERE ARE MORE, theyre obviously not talking about the sirens Ody killed, its about all other Sirens out at see that woudlve seen the others dying after being brutally cut down by a human, they WILL be more cautious in the future

“If that’s true, release him”, yeah u really had nothing to argue against, he just shrugs it off LMAO

“Hephaestus!” Hefefuf ehehehe ALSO JORGES DAD YAY adorable, tho when first listened i rly thought it was Jorge with voice changer again THEY SOUND SO SIMILIAR

“Trust is not given, it’s forged”...true, valid argument, Also Scylla melody??? I THink?

“Why should I give him my support? He sacrificed his own cohort”......well....um.....he didnt rly have much of a CHOICE ....but its a more valid concern, the sounds that sound like a hammers in a forge sound cool btw

“Did you forget they failed to listen?”.........yeah literally

“He was betrayed and then imprisoned” IMPRISONED AH ODY, but yeah EXACTLY, the WIND BAG, THE MUTINY AH

“But if you make the right decision He can still build a future with those who miss him” AND BUILD TRUST WITH THEM AGAIN AHHHHHHH yes. Hefefuf choose right.

“Fine, release him” good.

the music making it sound like steps in a game as you level up....fine, it sounds nice

“Aphrodite” seductive, i like it

“Your little high and mighty Odysseus” SHeS pissed, and does not like Ody you can hear the “high and mighty” in her voice :”) ouch

“Claims to love his mother But let her die of a broken heart” LIKE HE HAD A CHOICE IN THE MATTER HE TRIED TO GET HOME SHE DIDNT HAVE TO JUMP

“He was busy fighting”, yeaaah

“More like busy spiting the cyclops”.........yeah okay we can get behin that this was stupid decision but it wasnt a rational decision either he just lost his best friend, THATS LOVE TOO; GIVE HIM SOME SLACK

“Let him feel the pain that his mother felt and rot” WHY U BE SO COLD HEARTED , i love the melody/music in this tho

“Wait, please reconsider this”, athena using quick thought on a goddess, intriguing! also shes begging her :tear: aw man

“Really Athena? These old tricks?” annoyed older brother breaking into quick thought to the rescuse of his lover, makes him likeable somehow, i love the delivery of this line

“Ares!” yeah shes pissed

“What kind of sick coward Holds back his power While his friends get devoured? He didn’t even fight Scylla Didn’t even try to kill her Hides inside a wooden horse to get the job done Never handles things upfront” sorry that he didnt want to DIE dude??? i get your concern with straight forward, open combat but???? is dying on the battle field rly that much worse than wanting to come home COME ON, he wins, he is EFFECTIVE, are you jealous of his stragedies? HE GOT MENTORED BY ATHENA; OFC HE WILL CHOOSE THE SMART WAY OUT NOT THE QUICKEST-WAY-TO-DIE WAY OUT smh

“Pathetic and weak like his son” thats a low blow what is your issue with telemachus bro, the drums for ares makes sense

“Hold your tongue now His son’s my friend” awwww shes calling him a frienddddddd

“And tell your lover that a broken heart can mend” AHAHAH “tell your lover”, true true

“You want more bloodshed? Then set him free To get back to his homestead, he’ll make everybody bleed” SEUHGSOUEGESH “if you let him back he’ll kill everyone” Ares: :D thats what i like to hear, Athenas piano playing again, as she fights Ares is fun too

“Ugh, release him”, what made them change their mind? Esp Aphrodite? was it Athenas concern for Telemachus? and for Ares athenas promise of bloodshed? maybe who knows

“Hey baby”.....okay, flirty? from Hera? alright, lets interpret it as motherly flirting

“Hera” how to hit those high notes

“So many heroes So many tales Give me one good reason why yours should prevail” NOW THAT is intersting, everyone else so far gave a reason NOT to release him, but now Hera asks her to give her one reason WHY he deserves to be released “dont tell me of all the sins he didnt commit, tell me of the virtue he holds” typa thing

“He’s got the mind of a genius”, fair, but there would be others

“Try harder”, encouraging, she doesnt rly want her to loose does she? she support it, she just wants to see if Athena is worth it, i do like this characterization (as long as i ignore the disco animatic, i know its Jorges creative freedom but my brain tries to refuse ANYTHING that would be a reference to modernity, let me live in the bliss of ignorance to pretend its a movie set in ancient greece x)

“He’s pretty skilled with words”, hes a lair, i love him for it

“You can do better than that”, ...yeah

“He’s kind of funny?” running out of reasons athena, also YOU THINK HES FUNNY? LMAO ur right, the odyssey is quite the commedy for anyone but odysseus (and a few others but yk)

“Eh” doesnt sound convinced heh

“Never once has he cheated on his wife” HA HA HAHAHAHAHA HA right thing to say to Hera

[also the whole debate about “did odysseus cheat or not” no. idc what anyone says. if anyone argues he INITALLY consented to Calypso: fine, its blurry in the narrative, anyone can choose how to interpret that as they wish, but Circe was bestowed upon him by Hermes (in the myth at least, in Epic there ofc very clearly refuses her, and she accepts him (hear that calypso? HEAR THAT CALYPSO)) and Calypso, at the very least later on turned VERY unconsensual. FOR SEVEN YEARS., but the “he liked her no more” could also mean she didnt like her as a person anymore after she saved him. its not 100% clear how the relationship started out, we just know how it ends rly, but given the historic context too, it might very well be that it wouldntve been considered as cheating, even if it was consensual, would hera consider it cheating bc she does so with Zeus? maybe, idk, i think the idea of Ody being (one of) the only greek hero(es) that doesnt cheat is one i like, he gets praised enough by homer for all his skills he might as well have the skill of being true to his wife, in EPIC we know that Ody refuses her from the beginning so whatever did or did not remain unnamed in Epic, would NOT be cheating,.........and anyone who mentions Odys proof for cheating being the telegony or any other later versions where suddenly children show up, and he offs penelope for cheating and telemachus marries circe, can kindly, do some more reading into the history of the text and how later authors added their own twists, we dont know if the odyssey from homer was the most well known version, i think, but its the one we consider canon now, and i rly refuse to believe that Ody coming home only to get a new wife]

“Release him” the side glace Zeus mustve gotten LMAO

...ok angry zeus choir again, rly?

“I’ve played your game and won”, she did, fair and square

“Release him” you better

“You dare to defy me?”, what happend to your voice zeus? also....are you pissed that she called you out on cheating? bro, ur just pissed that she choose everyone else over you, grow up zeus

“To make me feel shame?” shame about loosing the game or shame for the humiliation about cheating, mhh

“No one beats me, no one wins my game!”, sounds like my 3rd brother, but hes at least cute when hes throwing a fit about a game having rules

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer Show her I’m the judgement call The one who makes her kingdom fall! ”.your voice is getting worse btw, but...are we talking about pride still? Athenas pride? or is “her” just Athena now? mhhhh, Odysseus DID call her “selfish, prideful and vain”, so maybe it does refer to her pride, she DID Have a character arc tho >:) unlike zeus, hes just an ass, also he gets a choir background for this? intersting,

NOW HE THROWS LIGHTING AT HER??? thats intense, i was gasping when i saw, night sound design

“Is she dead?”, he does sound concerned, is it bc big brother energy or bc athena was zeus favorite child? or do they know how Zeus fucked up just now? hah..ha

the flashes you can hear in the music....aaaah

NOW THIS INSTRUMETAL PART

IS SO BEAUTIFUL ITS SO GOOD THE WAY “WARRIOR OF THE MIND” AND TELEMACHUS LULLABY AND LEGENDARY BLEND TOGETHER AND BECOME “ATHENAS FINIAL STAND” (as its supposedly called) ITS SO GOOD i ah i like this part the most of the song, together with apollos voice aseghsegij Aphrodite is fine too :) and "rly athena; these old tricks"

AlSO her having a flashback to Ody giving her Telemachus to hold after his birth, PLS??? Thats so vulnerableeeeee aaaaaaaaah yeah, yea that was good

“Let him go, please, Let him go”, she reaches out to Zeus, as her light dims and she begs him to let Ody go, nothing left of the selfish and prideful goddess, she was selfless- sacrifcing herself and ler go of her pride to beg to Zeus to let him go, who stops as he grabs to throw another lighting, in shocked realization of what he has done.

The song fades out. And we are left to wonder if Athena is ded or not

now initially i rly thought Jorge killed a goddess

by now im more hopeful that she isnt dead (im hoping for that, mostly for the fun of sticking to the source material of Athenas help in the last chapter(s) of the story)

but

im still doubting a bit. the chance is there that she is, infact, dead, but i dont know how that would impact the narrative-,...i suppose we’ll see, either in the vengence saga, or at the lastest in the ithica saga x)

#god games #epic the musical #leyanalyses #LeyAnswers #epic the wisdom saga #i kept forgetting to do this but its done now!#im not in on the hype around the song #but its still good #quite good #the instrumental part at the end kills me a lil

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bullet-prooflove · 6 months ago

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The Comeback - Michael 'Riz' Ariza x Reader (feat: EZ Reyes)

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @mysoulisasunflower @msjava1972 @adaydreamaway08 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @wakeama @librarian1002 @briefpersonenemy @creativitybeware @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @purrrrfect @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx

You don’t sing for a couple of months, at least not publicly. You’re burned out after the tour, run down and tired. Riz sees it in you, he understands the fatigue that comes with what you’ve been through, that it can take a little while to recover. You end up bartending in Jo and EZ’s place a couple of nights per week, it’s been getting busier since they’ve changed things up a little. They do a weekly open mic night and there’s usually a band on the weekends.

Things change when ‘The Freedom Fighters’ cancel at the last minute, because their van ran into a ditch on the way over to the venue and their equipment is submerged in a few feet of water. You overhear the conversation as you put away some of the clean glasses behind the bar. When EZ puts down the phone he gives you a questioning look.

“No pressure.” He says holding up his hands. “I know you’re just getting back on your feet.”

The thing is you kind of want to. You like playing in intimate settings, connecting with a crowd, seeing the moment your music touches them. One of the things you hated the most about being on tour was losing that. The bond between you and the audience just isn’t the same when you’re playing in arenas.

Nobody’s watching when you pick up the guitar, nobody except Riz. He’s been sitting at the bar most of the night chatting you up, the same way he always does when your shifts are a little quiet. You sit down on the stool under the spotlight, your fingers playing over the strings and the attention shifts to the stage.

“I haven’t done this in a while so forgive me if I’m a little rusty.” You speak into the microphone before clearing your throat. “This one’s called Pretty Boy.”

A dark haired lover with amber eyes to kiss me through the night.

He’s got patches on his skin that tell a story, of a thousand lifetimes lived.

I run my fingers over them, and I hope he knows I’m his.

His heart thunders against my chest, my hands in his hair

As he whispers I love you against my lips.

It’s Riz’s song, the one you wrote for him in the middle of the night. You keep your eyes on him as you play and he smiles, that wonderful, captivating grin of his, the one you fall in love with every single time.

You don’t realise how much you’ve missed performing until after your set is finished. There’s an exhilaration in your veins, an excitement you haven’t felt for a longest time.

That night someone in the crowd makes a video, uploading it to a fan page and tagging the bar. You have no knowledge of this because you don’t do social media. During the tour there was a marketing team managing your platforms, you’d never had the log ons. You haven’t seen the messages from fans asking if you’ll be performing again, hoping that you’re ok because you dropped off the face of the earth.

The first you hear of it is when EZ turns up at your place at some god forsaken time in the morning. You’ve barely been awake five minutes and he’s telling you about all of the phone calls he’s getting at the bar asking when you’re doing a repeat performance.

“I don’t understand.” You tell him as Riz sets the big French press between you and EZ, the one you use for guests.

EZ removes his phone from his back pocket before bringing up the bar’s social media pages. All of them are inundated with messages about you.

“You had a huge following when you cancelled the tour.” EZ explains when he shows you the fanpage dedicated to you. It’s full of pictures from your tour, playing the guitar on stage, singing into a microphone, there’s videos of previous performances, snippets of your lyrics made into graphics. “The label never explained what happened, only that they weren’t representing you anymore.”

“That probably adds to the whole thing.” Riz says, his voice still rough from sleep as he rubs his palm across his jaw. “The mystery of why you disappeared from the music scene.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” EZ says, shrugging his shoulders before giving you his full attention. “People want to know of you’re making a comeback. The question is are you?”

Love Riz? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#michael riz ariza #michael riz ariza x reader #michael riz ariza x you #michael ariza #michael ariza x you #michael ariza x reader #riz ariza #riz ariza x reader #riz ariza x you

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lilliancdoodles · 9 months ago

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I wanted to shout out some of my favorite fics! Most of them are FitPac cause I have a problem. (This will probably be updated overtime)

Burnt Espresso (by @solsays ) - Modern AU slow burn FitPac fic that I ADORE. It's on going and super good. It flips between Fit and Pac's pov on the chapters, so Chapter 1 is from Pac's pov; Chapter 2 is from Fits, so on and so forth. I love the world and the way the characters interact!! It just AAAAAA. I love it. Go read it.

One Like You (By @massivewaffle) - Also a Modern Au slowburn FitPac fic. IT'S SO GOOD. RAMON AND PAC'S RELATIONSHIP MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME!! And there's this one scene in Fit's gym where Tina, Etoiles, and Foolish were all talking/ arguing and it was so accurate I could hear it in their voices. The whole fic is amazing, Fit and Pac's respect for each other- I just *muwah* On going and amazing read. (plot has progressed since first writing this AND IT RAAAAAAA I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH I CAN'T TELL YOU. I WILL BE SO SAD WHEN IT'S DONE TAT. this little family has my whole heart and it's written so beautifully)

I don't want to be this kind of animal anymore (By @tastytoastz) - A six chapter fic of Fit grappling with his 2b2t past and what that means for his feelings/relationship towards Pac. It's super good, love every second of it. AMAZING headcannons (that while writing became cannon so pog) All the love!

Ask me to bare my throat, and i'll show you where to put the knife (also by tastytoastz) - One shot fic of Fit and Pac exchanging Promise Rings and a similar 2b2t tradition. It's super cute and I love it so much.

Promise? (also by tastytoastz. Listen I can't put everything by TastyToast but if you have the time check out all of their work I love it all) - One shot fic where Fit was around to help Pac recover after the Risus Potion. It's a really good fic and if I could make it cannon I would. (minor warning Forever is mentioned at the beginning of this fic, but only a little and he doesn't come up again. If you can get past it I HIGHLY recommend) Life is like the ocean, it goes up and down (surprise surprise another tastytoastz work what can I say) - A mermaid AU fic where Fit is a mer and gets captured with Ramon. Pac eventually finds them and wants to help. It's an on going fic and absolutely amazing, the world building has me hooked (ha ha). I've actually done a few art pieces for this fic, so if you want to see what the mers look like to me, you can look in my 'lcdoodles' tag! The federation makes my blood boil in this fic it's so good. Im always excited for more chapters!! (Again just read anything by tastytoastz) flash, thunder (you and i are burnt flesh and melted alloy) (By yourfauxentropy) - On going fic where Tubbo has been elected president and after someone tries to assassinate him, sends Sunny with Fit and Pac to a house in the country to keep her safe. This fic is crazy. IT HAS A PLOT. AN ON GOING PLOT THATS HAPPENING AROUND THE SLOW BURN. The plot is so good and the slow burn is so well written. I liked this fic so much more than I thought I would, give it a read!! i can't hide from you like i hide from myself (By ellabellachicketychella) *(new addition :O )* - Kingdom SLOW burn au. Fit is a knight and Pac is a healer. There's only one chapter so far, but it's AMAZING. I love fantasy settings and this is so good. The world building is pretty small right now, but I can't wait to see if it develops. I love how they handled Spreen in this fic, probably the nicest i've seen him dealt with (that being he doesn't just walk out. This is just a different way to handle it and it's done really well). If you aren't convinced yet, chapter one is a lot of baby Ramon. Can't wait for the next chapters <33. so I'm following the map that leads to you (By knightinsourarmor) *(new addition :O )* - Fit gets fucking kidnapped via portal, and Pac had him literally ripped from his hands. Pac is dealing with the grief as is Ramon, cause they know why he got taken, but the others don't know. And they're going to try to find him. It's only got two chapters right now, but it's really good and im excited to see where it goes. It's a different but very interesting premise! <33 Diamond Blossom (By @fitpacs) *(new addition :O )* -The lovely and wonderful fitpac wedding planner au. only one chapter so far, but I actually laughed out loud at several points, god I love these kids they're sassy as hell. Amazing start, very excited for the next chapters <3 Long Long Time (By @emiliaexists) *(new addition :O )* - Zombie au, but the zombies aren't really there cause this aint about them. This is an incredibly sweet story of these two characters just living life together. It's apparently an au based off of an episode in the last of us, but you don't need to know anything about that to enjoy it, I sure knew nothing about it. Can easily say i cried for like the last 15 minutes while reading the last chapter, but its a good cry. If you are able to play the music do it, I suggest getting a one hour loop for the last scene, just in case it takes you longer to read than the song length so it doesn't ruin the vibes. Pay attention to the 'growing old together' tag but just be aware of the others. I want everyone to be safe, but if you can handle it, it's an amazing fic.

Side Effects (By WhyB.) - 7 Chapter completed Fic where Fit got effectively Feeble Mind-ed (It's a dnd spell, look it up) and he's super comfortable around Pac so stays near him while Pac tries to make a cure. It's really cute and sweet and I love the way they interact. <3

Easy (By WhyB) - One shot Au where GreenGayNinga's died during Purgatory and Ramon is left as an orphan so Pac takes care of him. Its AAAAAAAAAA I CAN'T SAY ENOUGH HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO ME. (Im pretty sure I cried reading this)

Forget-Me-Not (By @iridescentpull) - Same concept as the above one, but it starts before the eggs wake up. Currently only three chapters, really hope it keeps updating. I KNOW FOR SURE I CRIED READING THIS. AAAAAAA CHAPTER 2 KILLED ME. I WANT IT TO CONTINUE SO BAD PLEASEEEEE. <THIS IS STILL VALID. I WANT IT TO CONTINUE SO BAD ;-;

Cry Little Boy (By random_idka) - One Shot Modern AU where Ramon is upset about Spreen and Fit isn't there so Pac comforts him. Pac and Ramon's relationship means so much to me you have no idea.

#LCChats #fic recs

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love-toxin · 2 years ago

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Angelface who gets herself ‘stuck’ in places, so pornstar!steve not only has a nice surprise but gets something good to film <3

im so normal about this i swear

(cws: pornstar!daddy dom!steve, f!plus size!angelface, modern au, stuckage, breeding, loud sex, creampie, daddy kink, a bit of roleplay, steve's a chubby chaser.)

Just a little more wiggling, and--

"There!"

You giggle to yourself, proud of your handiwork as you slide yourself right through the space between the two shelves on the empty bookcase. Steve had bought it as an indulgent IKEA purchase last time you were there, and though he'd put it together as diligently as he's built nearly all the other furniture in your new apartment, it has yet to be filled with books or records or anything else you wanna fill it with, thus it's sat empty in your living room for a month or two at least.

Perfect for your purposes. With Steve raking in most of the money with his rather lucrative business, he's given you free reign to do pretty much whatever you fancy--so, as payment for taking you on trips and giving you gifts and just generally being the best boyfriend in the world, you figure it's the least you can do to help him with some.....content.

Right on time as you call his name, Steve's footsteps come thundering down the hall to respond to your pleas for help, an inquisitive "oh?" burning your face with warmth as you rub your thighs together at the sound of his voice. It always gets low like that when he sees something he likes, and your beautifully round ass hanging out in plain view as you're bent inside the shelf is one of his favourites, especially with those pudgy thigh-high clad legs brought up so you're kneeling on the carpet, too.

Tap, tap, tap tap. Click. You know the sounds of Steve unlocking his phone, and you smile to yourself out of sight as he draws closer, and you know he's got his camera up.

"Reaching for something back there, baby?" He queries, and you can feel that chuckle when you whine and make a show of kicking your feet, toes pushing against the rug and pulling those socks taut around your skin just like he likes it.

"I'm stuck! Please, help me, daddy...." You make sure to do a little wiggling too, just to taunt him that much more. Steve loves your figure, you know that, and it's funny cause almost all his movies and even the casual content he posts to social media--purely the videos he does in collaboration with other pornstars--features primarily smaller women, skinny girls, petite girls, that sort of thing. It's not like he hates working with thin people, not at all, he can get off just fine either way. He's definitely the type that isn't picky, considering he's even tried out some stuff with other guys for a couple promo videos, and he thoroughly enjoyed it in that surprisingly innocent way. "It's guy time, baby!" He'd tease you, showing off his favourite scenes because he was proud, and cause he was hoping you'd get a little excited seeing him get his face cummed all over.

But something about your chubby thighs, your tummy, your boobs, your arms, your back, your hips--it just drives him crazy in a way that he doesn't really show in his other videos. And that's why the few that he's posted with you as his co-star end up doing so well, whether other people like your figure or not. Their opinions don't really matter, after all--cause Steve just loses his mind when you put on a show for him, he goes feral whenever he fucks you, and in the end he usually forgets the camera's even there when he gets wrapped up in making you cum your brains out.

"Aww, poor thing. Trapped just for me?" He slaps your hip, watching with rapt attention as your ass ripples and you squeak in response, already unable to keep your whines back when he starts massaging those soft cheeks through your thin shorts. "That's too bad, bubbles. You know how daddy gets when you bend over like this." You can hear him getting on his knees behind you, his hand possessively refusing to leave your skin even as he's moving around to get comfortable.

"Look at that. Already got daddy excited," He breathes, his hard cock straining his sweatpants and nestling right up against your cunt--begging to be let in even through the layers of fabric that separate you two. "Sorry, honey, you're just too cute for daddy to resist."

He tears those shorts down your legs, making a show of ripping them right off your body with only one hand available. But he leaves your panties, dirties them with a bit of your wetness as he rubs his fingertips up and down your slit over them, before tugging them aside so they're out of the way. "Never get tired of this view," Steve sighs, stroking your folds delicately with his thumb as he holds your panties in place, and groaning as he watches you tremble and leak all down his palm.

"Need my cock, baby? Want daddy to fill you up?" Those words dizzy you, and you push your hips back as far as they'll go for his thumb to dip inside you, earning yourself a groan from your boyfriend and a pleasant shiver up your back.

"Need it, daddy, need daddy to breed me..." For that needy plea, you're rewarded with another hard slap.

"That's my good fuckin' girl. Honest girls get all the cum they can take, don't they, bubbles?" With one quick shup and the sound of his sweats being slid down and kicked off each leg, Steve's cock is freed and bounces softly for the camera, before he aims his phone down and moans out your nickname again as he slowly starts pressing himself inside. Wet, soft, warm--you're so easy to enter, but you're always impossible to leave.

"Fuck--breed you so much, n' you're still so tight-" Steve gasps as he breaches a deeper spot, watching intently as inches upon inches disappear inside you, all while your girlish cries serenade him in the background of his slick cock spreading you open. "Show daddy's fans how good you take me, how tight your pussy stretches just to fit my fat fucking dick--fuck, show em how much you love your daddy." He babbles, high off the clench of your cunt as he starts off hard, and plows you into the wobbling shelf at a pace that he knows you're gonna love. He grabs the top of it with one hand, bicep flexing as he grips the wood paneling and films your ass buckling under his rough thrusts.

"Shit....m' addicted to this pussy..." Steve grunts out in a low rumble, voice coming off even deeper in the recording. It's one of the things he's fawned over for, and rightfully so. "Need a mouthful of it when I'm done barebacking you, sweet girl. Gotta taste you, gonna lick up my cum when it's all mixed with yours."

"Daddy!" You shriek as he suddenly fucks you faster, a surge of energy flowing through him when he watches how hard your ass is jiggling as it meets his hips. It's an endless rhythm, a clapping sound that he gets so high off of and could serve as a drug for him all on its own.

"That's right, baby. Say my name. Let em know I'm slamming your guts into fucking paste right now." Another spank comes down on you, followed by a rough grope of your ass with his newly-freed hand. "My thick little princess--my princess, got that? My chubby little bunny with her pretty little pussy, it's all mine."

You're babbling now, tummy filled with heat and butterflies and your head going white as Steve rumbles that dirty talk loud enough for you to hear. A chorus of his name and please and more get lost in your own moans and in Steve's, but your voice jerks out harder when he hits you over the cheeks again, smacking each one individually before reaching around you to stroke feverishly at your clit.

"Louder!"

Your desperate scream of his title melds with a sob that's already halfway out, throat growing hoarse as Steve pounds the breath out of your lungs and the tears springing from your eyes.

"That's my good fucking girl!" He yells right back, laughing with that sexy smugness as he throws his head back, that makes your brain go blank and your cunt cling to him on every thrust like it never wants him to pull out. "Show the world you're daddy's fucking princess, baby--cum on daddy's cock for all these pervs to stroke themselves off to it. Wishing they could fuck you like I do."

With the skilled hand of a professional entertainer, he effortlessly slides his phone underneath you two, giving the audience the perfect view of his balls beating your clit raw and your tummy rippling with the weight of his thrusts. All that's showing from the edge of the shelf are your thick thighs, your cunt, and your hips--some of Steve's favourite parts of you for his hands to roam possessively over.

"Drain these fucking balls, princess. Take it from daddy--you've been a good girl, take what you want. Take it." Steve's moans rattle you to the core, deep and rumbly and low and sexy as he pumps you so full it hurts, the softest parts of you aching as he fucks you so deep he's practically begging your womb to open so he can pound it into submission.

"Daddy! Daddy, da--f-fuck, Steve! Stevie, I'm cumming-!" You should've known that by offering this chance, you'd be paying for it before you know what's happening--and while you're definitely not gonna be on steady feet tomorrow, the blinding flash of white-hot pleasure melting your mind is completely worth it, and so is the intensity that floods through your boyfriend as Steve shudders at the feeling of you cumming around him. It's all he needs to finish cause pleasing his girl is always enough to get him there, and lucky for you, the gloriously hazy glow that comes as you ride out your end totally numbs the roughness of those last few thrusts that Steve pumps out before he's creaming you til you're completely full.

"Ohhhhh, fuck..." He drawls out, watching intently as you quiver and your pussy still flutters around his cock buried inside you. Pump after pump after pump, he watches with an open mouth and hitched breath as you milk him with each spasm of your soft walls, his cum slowly starting to dribble down your mound once he pulls out and your pussy struggles to readjust to the empty space. With a swipe of his fingers up your parted slit, he huffs out an awed breath before bringing his cum-sticky fingers to his mouth to taste you. It's so pretty, you're so pretty.

"Oh, look at that....you stay right there, bubbles. Daddy'll get you a pillow for those sore knees."

"N-Nooo....don't go...." You reach around for him in a gently growing panic, only for your boyfriend to capture your hand in his effortlessly warm one and stroke it with so much affection, so much tenderness. You feel him lean over you, reaching down for his phone to fumble with it, before there's a soft beep that signals the recording has ended and he breathes a sigh of relaxation.

"Here, camera's off, baby. You did so good for me. C'mere," He makes short work of pulling you gently out from where you've been stuck, the shelf a little more wobbly but he catches it with his hand, and makes sure you're all the way out before he lets it go. "Was it all okay? Did you have fun?" You nod in response, enjoying how warm his arms around you are and nuzzling into his bicep. "Didn't mind my dirty talk?"

"I love your dirty talk," You giggle, finally taking a deep breath and letting it go with a little sigh of pleasure.

"I'm glad." He smiles down at you, cradling you in his arms like he loves to do after any good session, no matter how gentle or rough it gets. "Y'know, doing this stuff with you....it always makes me realize how grateful I am to have you."

"Why?" You loll your head about, enjoying the heated warmth of Steve's body as he shifts to sit cross-legged, all while manhandling you carefully to keep you propped up and comfy in his lap.

"Well, when I'm working, or when we're in between shoots, I always think of you. When you're not there, I just wish so badly that you were--I just spend my whole break thinking about reading with you, or hearing you talk about your shows, or playing those terrible, terrible rounds of Mario Kart--"

"-Not my fault you suck, Stevie!" He laughs with his whole chest, the tender affirmations losing any stiff sense of tension when you can both let yourselves giggle over it. You love him so much, and you've heard those glorious words spoken on repeat--yet they never get old or stale, and they never lose the sincerity that he always manages to speak with whenever he's professing his love. Steve is just perfect, he's just.....he's Steve. "I don't care. I love watching you play, and I love that grin on your face when you smoke my ass out." He grazes your sides with his fingertips and sticks his tongue out when you bat them away, knowing he'll tickle you into a stupor if you let him get away with it. But it melts into a soft kiss that steals the rest of your breath away, his hand cradling the back of your head to keep you there and give you all his love, every iota of it poured into that one kiss that he could give you again a thousand times over.

"Well, looks like I've got a video to edit tonight." He puffs once he finally manages to break away, fingers threading through your hair to rub comforting little circles into the back of your neck. "You wanna sit in my lap while I work, bunny?"

"Clothes, or no clothes?" You tease, walking your fingers up that broad, hairy, manly chest.

"Whatever you want, bubbles. Might have to take a break or two to bend you over the desk, though." Steve whispers back, and suddenly you're in a fit of giggles again as he finally succeeds in tickling you, and brings you to the floor in a bout of laughter so he can make that pretty mouth smile so much more as he kisses away any inkling of that post-coital slump. It's never really a down when Steve's the one soothing you, anyways--and you're certain it never will be.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #spicy accountant au #spicy writing #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #anons

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