#Temple Pop 17

[happy-cup]

not going to the temple anymore its too cold mother is so angry at this but she only just told me last night so like,,,

[catssluvr]

𝓭𝓻𝓾𝓷𝓴 𝓲𝓷 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮, emily prentiss

s16/17!emily prentiss x fem!reader

you drunk call emily

warnings: r being suggestive, r is wipped lol, so much fluff 🤍

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

Emily rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers, the computer screen in front of her making her eyes sting from the brightness. Working for the FBI was never easy but being unit chef felt like an impossible task sometimes. She hadn´t even noticed everyone leave the office at some point and the way it was pitch black outside, the clock hitting midnight.

The sudden buzz of her phone made her let out a frustrated sigh, but soon her expression turned smiley as she saw the familiar picture of you snuggling sergio against your cheek pop up on her screen. You had went out for a girls night with Pen and JJ at the bar so she could imagine that by now you were probably tipsy - if not slightly more than that. She had been tempted to join you two, especially with you looking at her with puppy dog eyes while begging her to go but she didn´t have other choice but to decline it.

Picking up the device, she quickly answered the call with a sweet, "Hey angel, what's up?" Not missing the way your drunk giggles sounded immediately after.

"Ems, hi!" You said, making an effort to sound composed but failing miserably. "I miss you sooo much." You stated between giggles and Emily could hear Garcia´s voice teasing you for being so lovey.

"Yeah, love?" She mumbled softly, still trying to figure out the reason behind this random call but having a light guess.

"Mhm, so much 'Mily." Your words were slured and she had to hold the urge to chuckle at the state you were currently in.

"Well, i miss you too. Are you okay? Do you need anything?" She asked, pressing the phone against her ear and supporting it her shoulder as she closed her laptop.

"Uhmm.." Your voice showed confusion before JJ whispered something to you, what Emily assumed was her reminding you of the reason behind the call. "Oh- right! Could you please pick me up? I know you're working- i'm so sorry-"

"I'll be on my way, angel. Stay right where you are, kay?" She interrupted your rambling before you could continue, keeping her voice as soft as possible. She did have work to do, but truth is you were way more important than all that. And she already felt bad enough for turning you down earlier.

"Kay Ems.. love you." You whispered with a hiccup.

"I love you, now stay close to Garcia and JJ and i'll be there in no time." She said before hanging up and quickly gathering her things before leaving the office.

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

You huffed grumply, sleepines hitting you as you burried your face in Penelope's shoulder. Your mind was hazy, only thing in your mind being Emily as you waited for her outside the bar. Even if the alcohol in your blood was making everything feel more dramatic than it was, you did miss her.

"Don't worry peach, she'll be here soon." Pen comforted you, runing a hand through your hair with her colorful nails.

You sniffled softly, the booze and sleepiness making you overly emotional. But before the tears started breaming in your eyes, you catched the glimpse of the gray haired woman walking out of her car and walk towards you.

"Ems! You're heree-" You ran to hug her, fingers grabing her long coat and nose nuzzling her neck and collarbone. "You smell so so good, always do." You mumbled innocently, ignoring the two girls standing right there and focusing on the way Emily's chest moved as she chuckled at your clinginess.

"Hello to you too, angel. Ready to go?" Her hands gently tucked the strands of hair that fell on your face behind your ears, giving you a pleased smile when you nod. "You two need a ride home?" She asked the two girls standing in front of you.

"Nah we´re okay, just felt like a good idea to call you to come and get your lighthead girlfriend." JJ chuckled and Penelope soon followed, quickly sending you goodbyes before disappearing into the bar again.

"Weirdos." Emily snorted with a smile before her atention returned to you. You were currently pressed up against her, your arms had sneaked their way inside her coat in attempt to warm yourself up from the chilly weater of the night.

"C'mon sweetheart, let's get you inside the car so you can warm up." She pulled you with her as you both started walking towards the car, struggling slightly as you were holding onto her arm like a koala.

"You're so pretty Ems, did ya know?" You pressed pecks to her jaw as you spoke, cheeks pink from the booze. Your gestures were no suprise to her, you tended to get overly affectionate when drunk. "I love eyes and your cute lips..." You went on as you pressed kisses against her cheek and the corner of her lips.

"Yeah? What else?" She urged you to continue, her voice humurous as you approached the car.

"Oh- your hair, love your hair. Looks so good like this." Your fingers clumsly played with her silver hair, lovingly gazing at her. Emily knew exactly what you meant by this, she had been reluctant to embrace the natural color of it but now she wouldn't even think of painting it again, not after the way you looked at her.

She guided you inside the car, gently kissing your forehead as she buckled your seatbelt. "Ugh and your nose- so pretty- gorgeous. Dunno how you could ever not like it. It feels so good when you´re-"

"Okay love i think i got it, thank you." She interrupted before you could get any further with details, but you didn't fail to notice the way her cheeks reddened at your last unfinished phrase, giggling at her sudden shyness.

As soon as she got in the driver's seat, your hand was grabbing hers, playing with her fingers as an effort to stay awake. Your eyes droppy and your head slightly lulling to the side - which she couldn't help but chuckle at before her eyes focused on the road ahead.

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

Unlocking the door to her appartment, Emily turned on the lights before pulling you to her room. You jumped on her bed before she could try to stop you, snuggling up to the pillow she slept in. "Hey none of that, we have to change your clothes and take off that makeup." She grabbed your calves as gently as possible, pulling you to edge of the bed, giving you a look that you knew meant she wasn't gonna let you sleep before you did what she said.

"Ugh okay, mom." You sassed before dragging yourself to her closet, rummaging through her pyjamas. "But just so you know, i'm using your clothes." You mumbled out with a joking tone.

"I'll get you some water." She said as she exited the room.

When she got back she was not suprise to see you sitting on the bathroom counter, half asleep with an unused makeup wipe in you hand.

"Here, let me do that angel." She sighed and took the wipe from you, softly wiping your makeup with one hand as the other held your head so she could sucessfully clean your face.

"All done." She mumbled after a momet, tapping your thigh as she helped you out of the counter. Her hands softly rubbed your arms before leading you into the bedroom and inside the comfy covers of her bed.

After making you take a few sips of water, she joined you in the bed, puling you against her chest. Her arms wrapped around your hips, gently running her fingers up and down the fabric of her your pyjamas.

"Thank you for taking care of me, i love you Em." You whispered sleepily before falling into slumber, head nestled against her chest and finger lightly grabbing at her shirt.

"I love you, sweet girl." She smiled against your hair, her own eyes starting to feel heavy.

·˚ ༘₊·꒰➳: ̗̀➛

a/n: i wrote this when i was sick and i lowkey hate it 😭

anyway emily deserves some love and hapiness in these last few seasons so i had to 🫶🏻

love you,

cat 🤍

[thesassypadawan]

Make Them Blue 1 (Padawan Anakin x FemPadawanReader) *Blurb*

Summary: It’s No Nut November and a certain cocky padawan thought he could easily make it all the way to the end.  However those plans quickly fall apart when he returns early from a mission with his master…and, of course, you ask to meet in that special spot, tucked away in the temple’s garden…so you can congratulate him on a job well done.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of all the lovely smut.  Handy, overstimulation, whiney skyguy, and, as always…Ani’s big, veiny dick.  (Both padas are of age.)

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙 (Hope you also enjoy Part 2!)

- Fingers dance around the v of his hips.  Eliciting another sweet, pathetic whine from his swollen lips.  “Nnngh, ha-hatari…  It’s too…it’s too much…”

- Leaking pre ever since the moment you two started kissing…squeezing…rubbing…  A perpetual pearly drop or two of pre oozing out from his flushed pink tip.  “Sssh, it’s okay, Ani…” 

- You revel in all those cute, shameless sounds of ecstasy.  That flushed, embarrassed look on his angelic face.  As he paws at, suckles so greedily at your breasts; so desperate for the non-existent milk to spring forth.   “Just let it all out…”

- Fingers wrap tentatively around his base.  Eyes soaking in the way his lilith hips twitch slightly, buck weakly in response.  Never pulling or shying away from the continuous onslaught of pleasure once.  Despite his meek, little pleas.   “The b-bet though, I…I…”

- Kissing his crown, cooing softly.  “I know, you wanted to win…”  You gather up more of those shimmering beads; using his own salty slick to help make your movements extra fluid.  Pumping his chubby length slowly; working up to its full, painful attention yet again.  “But you’re already in too deep now…”

- With a wet pop, he releases your saliva coated nub.  Head falling back, tilting to the side.  Breath stuttering, coming out in a shaky sigh.  Loosing himself further in the feel of your tiny hand.  “Was s-so close…”

- Smoothing the stray wispy hairs from his glistening forehead, placing another tender kiss.  Pace picks up, nearly punishing.  Hiding place filling with the lewd, obscene noises.  “And now you’re just close to coming, for the fifth time…” 

- Thumb catches on his thick veins; swirls around, teases his tip.  “So why don’t you be a good boy for me...”  Pushes down on, nail sinks slightly into his slit.  “Show me what the chosen one is all about…”

- Anakin’s entire body contorts, goes ridged.  Lean thighs trembling and spasming.  Big hands pushing, grabbing awkwardly at your plush curves. “ Give me…”

- Trying to anchor himself while a low cry flies from his throat  White splattering across his chest, some onto his chin.  Covering, adding to the lovely mess on his sun kissed skin.  Making the sticky, tacky spot grow bigger in your panties.

- However, you don’t stop there…

- Even as you listening to his woeful whimpers of how much it hurts…how raw he is.  You still continue to work him, showering him with words of praise and encouragement.  Determined to push him to edge one last time.  Then you’ll…  “Mount you, ride you until sunrise…until I’ve milked you for every drop.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @cacti5539, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @xhunnybeeex, @vaderswifey, @skyguys-princess, @sythethecarrot, @valyna27, @anakinstwinklebunny, @rollinsgirlforever,  @ihategushers, @nevaehthecreator1, @lotte08, @beabbsworld, @these-travels, @everydaydreamer, @t03soup, @anakinsbbgirl, @fuckmyskywalker

@littlelamy, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @raiwpenl, @malinadbbdh, @strokingforyou26, @xspacexwitchx, @em-21, @hearts4sammonroe, @shouldbetakencareof2, @loxbbg, @supersoldatbarnesstuff, @thesilentreaderrrrr, @theoriginalsinner28, @dumb-slut-things, @indigoblues1207, @ald6518, @julxstrawberry, @wh0sl0ttie, @tojis-missing-arm, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @theladykassia, @doblasftcisco, @morguexmvp, @f4iryjinsworld, @nyxiesstuff, @heymamasblog, @justsomeimbicel, @prettywhenicry-777, @femme-is-typing, @maddis0n4, @ttdrake, @melmurkun, @brattyyybbg, @zara13ts, @bigaoibhe2024, @neocitywhore, @ter-luer, @ladyanaschmidt, @sarahflores07,  @death934, @dovepevensie, @adorebambie, @pookiswookis, @icecoldhearts, @elliemariscal, @allievalll, @moonlxght-tyler, @1-racha, @tosterwwannie, @inejghafawifesblog, @carlgrimeswifeofficial, @hellemo666

[strawberrystepmom]

jotaro x f!reader. cw alcohol, age gap implied, unhealthy relationship implied. | divider by @cafekitsune, wc 1.3k

JK (DO NOT REPLY!): Want to get a beer tonight?

As if it’s mocking your twiddling thumbs, blinking in a beat with the laughter you hear in the back of your head, the cursor sits anxiously in the chat bubble just inches away from your face.

It’s 9:17 pm. It’s the eighteenth evening in August and as if a cosmic flip switched reminding him that it’s once again time to squeeze the last joy he can out of this year, Jotaro texts you. Just as he did last year. And the year before that. And the one before that…

Sighing, you tap out a quick “wrong number” and hover over the send button for a second longer than you actually want to. That second pushes you to highlight the entire text and erase it, a bubble indicating he’s typing popping up.

It disappears as quickly as it shows itself. You know it’s a take it or leave it offer.

Leaning against the wall in your bathroom, staring at your own towel clad reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall, you groan the eagerness written all over your face. You know how this will go yet you can’t seem to learn better after all these years of the same rinse and repeat.

From August to October, Jotaro Kujo will be yours.

If you agree to go out with him tonight, he’ll come home with you. It’s a certainty, you can even feel warmth between your legs imagining welcoming him home for the first time in more than half a year. He’ll fall asleep next to you, wake up to make breakfast, kiss you on the temple and mumble an indistinct promise about seeing you later.

That later could be two days. One week. Two weeks. You don’t know exactly when it’ll happen but the second time he spends the night will be in the dog days of summer. Those fourteen sticky days that make you wish you existed anywhere but the sultry Gulf coast of Florida, the sun practically punishing you for attempting to distract from her shine when she catches wind of the way he gazes down at you even when she’s out.

He’ll come by your office at the Speedwagon Foundation, two buildings away from where his is located. You will be asked to join him for some evening research which is really just an excuse for him to take you out on a research vessel, a small bit comfortable speedboat, to catch one of those gorgeous sky painted sunsets. To review research. To talk, to silently enjoy one another’s company until the tension becomes too much and he kisses you while the stars wake from their daybed.

These stars will bring him home to you. You’ll spend your evening with your fingers tangled in sea-salt waved black hair streaked with gray. The dim lamp in your room will illuminate him for the faintest moment when you’re enjoying him afterward, still impeccably toned arms for his age wrapped around your waist. You’ll wonder, briefly, how you managed to catch Poseidon with nothing more than a worm on a hook.

The cold air of your apartment, technically a condo as you’ll correct him when he gives you shit about still not owning a home, will lull both of your heated bodies to sleep. A tangle of limbs, wishes and hopes that maybe August doesn’t have to leave so quickly though she’s days away from being a memory as the months before her.

September will have him in your bed every night.

“We’re headed to the same place in the morning,” he’ll deadpan through kisses though you’ll catch the tiniest note of amusement in his tone. “May as well.”

You won’t argue. Not when the proverbial clock is running out, the hot Florida summer fading into a less sticky fall. Maple trees across the Speedwagon Foundation campuses will rustle overhead while you walk in tandem through the courtyard, parting ways at the building that houses the corporate offices to your respective research labs.

The two of you will officially be put on winter standby at the end of September. This means the rest of the year will be spent stapled to desks, laptops writing grant requests for the first quarter of next year, and each other.

Your legs will be draped across his lap feeding him Halloween candy despite his protests. He’ll watch you stumble out of bed wearing nothing but his shirts that come down to your knees. You’ll cook dinner, he’ll come home to you or even more blissfully you’ll arrive together, at the same time, almost as if you’re a real couple.

November is when the cracks will begin to show. It isn’t restlessness that drives him from you, you realized several years ago, it’s fear.

“Do you want to spend Thanksgiving with my sister this year? She finally has room for us to stay.” You’ll ask, innocently, hoping for once you will get a resounding yes. A please. Anything that can help you believe this love is tangible, something he feels and wants, and not just an inevitability.

Instead you’ll get a non-committal hum.

“Have to check with my mom first. I’m sure she’ll find an excuse to come stateside.”

You’ll feel your heartbeat though instead of the usual warmth that fills you when you think of him it’ll be cold, the winter not yet making its way into the air but making its way into you. This is how it will always be.

By December he’ll be infrequently staying with you, if he is at all, flying between Tampa and Tokyo to visit his family. At least the members of it who are still living and want to see him. You’ll lay in bed, sniffling and recalling all of the times you’ve beamed with pride from the crowd while he’s spoken as Dr. Kujo.

How every time he’s made eye contact with you and smiled at you and you alone. How you’re the only one who even knows he’s smiling in the first place, the corner of his lip turned up just enough to expose a deep dimple.

You’ll be ready to call it off yourself by New Year. You even already know what you’ll send, a little bit tipsy from champagne and full of enough good cheer to keep the blues away.

You: i hope this one treats you better, jojo. happy new year ❤️

Jotaro will wake up, half a day ahead of you already in his homeland, and he’ll feel guilty. He’ll stare dumbly at his phone, that cursor blinking in the same cadence as your laughter. It’s a sound he can hear if it’s quiet for longer than a second, your inhale and exhale both.

He’ll stand and stare at himself in the mirror just as you are now, wondering what the right decision is. Can you forgive him if he doesn’t reach out to you again until next August? How many summers are left until what’s left of your patience runs out?

Rolling your shoulders, you pick up your phone and your thumbs work to type out a quick message.

You: been a while. reservoir in about 45? bet they’re dead tonight.

You don’t have the strength it takes to tell him no and he won’t either when he sees the name of your shared favorite spot. Not when your heart pounds as that same bubble pops up and disappears again, anxiety making every bit of you turn until a message appears on screen.

JK (DO NOT REPLY!): Sorry about that. We can talk about it more soon. Be careful.

The hourglass has already begun pouring its sand, the message the same as it always is. Sorry, see you later, let’s do it again. A stronger woman would take her own all caps, glaring advice but unfortunately you prefer to honor what the hands of fate hold for you, more enamored with a man whose love has a time limit more than you are yourself.

At least you’ll get him for five months.

[amethystarachnid]

omg could I please request 17- Holiday Baking Fiasco with Tony x Fem!Reader? We all know of Tony’s poor cooking skills (as exhibited by his burnt omelette 😭) so I think his determination to bake some Christmas cookies will lead to chaos and hilarity

CHRISTMAS COOKIES

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: Tony and Y/n have been in a happy relationship for five years now and live together in Tony's penthouse, so y/n knows that Tony can't cook at all and is shocked when he tells her that he wants to bake some Christmas cookies, he insists on doing it alone but since she doesn't want him to burn down the house she gets him to at least let her supervise.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The warm glow of the morning sun spills through the sheer curtains, bathing Tony’s penthouse in a soft golden hue. The city below is alive with holiday cheer, but up here, it feels like the two of you are the only people in the world. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the open space as you pad into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

You find Tony already up, standing by the counter with a blueprint spread out in front of him. His hair is a delightful mess, sticking up in every direction like he’s been up for hours. Typical Tony. He’s dressed in red plaid pajama pants and a threadbare Black Sabbath tee that you’ve threatened to steal more times than you can count.

“Morning, genius,” you mumble, sliding your arms around his waist from behind. He leans back into your embrace, his body warm and familiar against yours.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he replies, his voice still husky from sleep. He turns his head to press a kiss to your temple before straightening up. There’s a glint in his eyes that you recognize—a dangerous mix of excitement and mischief.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” you ask, suspicious.

“Funny you should ask,” he says, turning around to face you fully. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good sign,” you tease, earning a smirk from him.

“Very funny. No, but seriously, I was thinking we should do something festive today. You know, Christmas stuff.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Tony Stark, Mr. Too-Cool-for-Traditions, wants to do something festive? “Okay,” you say slowly. “Like what? Watch a Christmas movie? Decorate the tree?”

He shakes his head, the smirk widening into a full-blown grin. “Cookies.”

“Cookies?” you repeat, the word sounding foreign coming from his mouth.

“Yeah. You know, sugar, flour, chocolate chips... cookies. I think it’s time I flexed my culinary muscles.”

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, you burst out laughing. “Tony, you don’t have culinary muscles. You have exactly one recipe in your repertoire: ramen noodles in a coffee mug.”

“Not true!” he protests, crossing his arms. “I made that omelet that one time.”

“You mean the one that set off the smoke alarm?”

“That was a fluke,” he says, waving you off. “Anyway, I’m serious about this. I want to bake Christmas cookies, and I want to do it myself.”

The idea of Tony Stark baking anything, let alone something as delicate as cookies, is both hilarious and terrifying. You can already picture the chaos: flour everywhere, batter stuck to the ceiling, and possibly a small fire.

“Tony,” you start gently, “I love you, but you have a... unique relationship with the kitchen. Maybe we should do this together?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis. “This is my thing. I’m doing this solo.”

You cross your arms, fixing him with a stern look. “You’re not burning down my kitchen on Christmas Day.”

“Our kitchen,” he corrects, grinning like he’s already won.

“Fine, our kitchen. Point is, I’m not letting you turn it into ground zero for a sugar explosion. I’ll supervise.”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair. “Y/N, come on. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“It’s alive and well, which is why I’m trying to save Christmas by keeping you from setting the penthouse on fire.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s no malice there. “Fine,” he relents, throwing his hands up in surrender. “You can supervise. But no interfering unless I specifically ask for help. Deal?”

“Deal,” you say, though you both know you’ll probably break that rule within five minutes.

Tony heads to the pantry, pulling out ingredients with more enthusiasm than precision. “Alright, let’s do this. Where’s the cookbook?”

You snort. “Cookbook? You?”

“Okay, fine, I Googled a recipe last night,” he admits, pulling out his phone.

You settle onto one of the barstools, sipping your coffee as you watch him dive headfirst into the world of baking. He’s like a kid in a candy store, his usual cool demeanor replaced with genuine excitement.

“So, what kind of cookies are we making?” you ask.

“Chocolate chip, obviously,” he says, dumping a bag of flour onto the counter.

“Classic. Good choice.”

Tony starts measuring out ingredients, his tongue poking out in concentration. It’s adorable, really, watching him fumble his way through something so ordinary. You can’t help but smile as he mutters to himself, double-checking the recipe on his phone.

Things go smoothly at first—too smoothly. He measures the flour, sugar, and baking soda without incident, and for a moment, you think maybe this won’t be the disaster you were expecting.

But then he tries to crack an egg.

“Dammit!” he exclaims as half the shell ends up in the mixing bowl.

You bite back a laugh. “Need help?”

“No,” he says stubbornly, fishing out the shell fragments with a spoon. “I’ve got this.”

You watch as he moves on to the butter, which he apparently forgot to let soften. He stabs at it with a knife, muttering curses under his breath.

“Tony,” you say, trying to keep a straight face, “you’re supposed to let the butter soften before you mix it.”

“Didn’t know I was signing up for a science experiment,” he grumbles, tossing the cold butter into the bowl anyway.

Despite the hiccups, he manages to get all the ingredients into the bowl. Then comes the mixing.

“Okay, here we go,” he says, grabbing the electric mixer.

“Careful—” you start, but it’s too late.

The moment he turns it on, a cloud of flour erupts from the bowl, coating both him and the counter in a fine white dust.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. Then Tony looks up at you, his face covered in flour, and you lose it.

Your laughter echoes through the kitchen as Tony tries—and fails—to look indignant. “Glad you’re enjoying this,” he says dryly, though you can see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m sorry,” you manage between giggles. “You just—”

“Look ridiculous?” he finishes for you.

“Pretty much.”

He grabs a handful of flour and flings it at you, catching you square in the chest.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” you say, grabbing your own handful of flour.

The next thing you know, the kitchen has turned into a full-blown flour fight.

The flour fight ends with both of you sitting on the kitchen floor, laughing so hard your sides ache. Tony looks completely disheveled, his hair white with powder, his grin boyish and infectious. You’re sure you don’t look much better.

“I think,” Tony says between chuckles, “this is the part where I’d make a robot clean everything. Except today is supposed to be authentic, right?” He gestures dramatically, like that word alone explains the chaos he’s caused.

“Oh, authentic, huh?” you reply, brushing flour off your face. “Well, in authentic kitchens, people clean up their messes before they burn their cookies.”

Tony groans, tilting his head back like he’s considering giving up entirely. “Fine. Let’s clean. But for the record, that flour cloud? Totally added character to the kitchen.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway, standing up and grabbing a towel. “Come on, Mr. Authentic. Let’s see how good you are with a sponge.”

Together, you set about tidying the mess. It’s... slow. Tony keeps getting distracted, like when he tries to use the flour-dusted mixing spoon as a microphone to belt out a horribly off-key rendition of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Or when he attempts to juggle the eggs and nearly drops all of them.

“Tony,” you warn, snatching the eggs from his hands, “focus. Or so help me, I’ll ban you from this kitchen for life.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s banned me from a lab,” he quips, but he grabs a dishcloth and starts wiping the counter.

It’s messy, chaotic, and far from efficient, but eventually, the kitchen is somewhat recognizable again. You tie the trash bag closed with a satisfied huff and glance at Tony, who’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, a smudge of flour still on his cheek.

“Well,” you say, smirking, “I think that’s the closest you’ve ever come to doing housework.”

“I’d be offended if that wasn’t completely accurate,” he shoots back.

You laugh, but your amusement fades as you watch him glance at the bowl of half-mixed dough on the counter. His shoulders slump just slightly, his earlier bravado dimming.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, stepping closer.

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, I admit it. This whole baking thing... it’s harder than it looks.”

“Oh, really? I never would’ve guessed,” you tease lightly, nudging him with your elbow.

“Hey, cut me some slack. I’m a genius in most areas, but apparently, cookie dough is my kryptonite.” He sighs, turning to you with a sheepish smile. “I think I need a co-pilot. Someone to, you know, steer me away from the iceberg before I sink the whole ship.”

You arch an eyebrow. “So, you’re asking for my help?”

“I’m delegating,” he says quickly, holding up a finger. “There’s a difference. You’re not taking over; you’re just... preventing further disasters.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, crossing your arms. “And how many disasters are we talking here?”

“None. Zero. Zilch. I’ve got this,” he insists, but the look in his eyes is pleading.

You sigh, shaking your head. “Fine. But you still have to do most of the work. I’m just here to stop you from burning down the penthouse. Deal?”

“Deal.”

With your roles established, the two of you return to the mixing bowl. Tony picks up the electric mixer with exaggerated caution, holding it like it’s a live grenade.

“Okay,” you say, guiding him, “start slow. Just enough to combine the butter and sugar.”

He flips the switch, and for once, the mixer behaves. The butter and sugar begin to cream together, and Tony flashes you a triumphant grin.

“Look at that! I’m a natural,” he says smugly.

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, though you can’t help but smile.

The next step is adding the eggs, and you’re extra vigilant this time. “Crack them into a separate bowl first,” you instruct, handing him a small bowl.

“Why? Afraid I’ll mess up again?” he asks, but he does as you say.

“Not afraid. Just prepared.”

The first egg cracks cleanly, and Tony gives you a mock bow. “See? No shell this time. I’m a changed man.”

“Congratulations. Now do it again.”

He rolls his eyes but complies, and soon the eggs are safely added to the dough. As the mixer whirs away, you glance at Tony, who’s watching the process with the same intensity he reserves for tinkering in his lab.

“You’re really taking this seriously, huh?” you say, leaning against the counter.

“Of course. It’s Christmas, and I wanted to do something special for you,” he says, his tone softer than usual.

Your heart warms at his words. “Tony...”

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” he interrupts, though his ears are turning red.

You laugh, but there’s a lump in your throat. Moments like these—where Tony lets his guard down and shows just how much he cares—are rare and precious.

“Alright, next step,” you say, clearing your throat to keep the emotion at bay. “Time for the dry ingredients.”

Tony grabs the bag of flour with newfound confidence, measuring it out carefully under your watchful eye.

“Not bad,” you say as he levels off the measuring cup.

“Not bad?” he repeats, feigning insult. “This is perfect. I deserve a medal for this level of precision.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Stark,” you reply, smirking.

Once the dry ingredients are added, it’s time to mix again. This time, the dough starts to come together, and Tony looks genuinely impressed with himself.

“Okay, I admit it,” he says, holding up a spoonful of dough. “This actually looks like cookie dough.”

“That’s because it is cookie dough,” you say with a laugh.

He tastes a bit, his eyes widening. “And it’s good! Damn, I might actually pull this off.”

“Don’t celebrate yet,” you warn, though you’re smiling.

The final step is adding the chocolate chips, and Tony insists on doing it by hand. He pours the chips into the bowl with dramatic flair, tossing in a few extra for good measure.

“Alright,” he says, clapping his hands together. “What’s next?”

“We chill the dough,” you reply, grabbing some plastic wrap.

“Chill it?”

“Yes, Tony. You can’t just bake it right away. The butter needs time to firm up, or the cookies will spread too much in the oven.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Why didn’t anyone tell me baking was this complicated?”

“You’re the one who wanted to do this solo,” you remind him, wrapping the dough and placing it in the fridge.

Tony sighs dramatically, leaning against the counter like he’s just run a marathon. “Fine. We chill the dough. But I’m taking a break. This baking stuff is exhausting.”

You chuckle, pulling him toward the living room. “Come on, Mr. Authentic. Let’s take a breather before round two.”

Settling onto the couch, Tony flops down beside you, his head resting on your shoulder. His earlier frustration has faded, replaced with that easy grin you know so well.

“So,” he says, looking up at you, “how am I doing so far?”

“Honestly? Not bad. You’re no Julia Child, but you’re better than I expected.”

He laughs. “High praise coming from you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, nudging him playfully.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the snow fall outside the massive windows. The city below sparkles with holiday lights, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

Tony breaks the silence, his voice soft. “Thanks for helping me. I know I’m a disaster in the kitchen, but... it means a lot.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re not a disaster. You’re just... a work in progress.”

“Gee, thanks,” he says, but there’s no bite in his words.

As the dough chills and the snow falls, you realize this might just be the best Christmas yet.

The dough chills long enough for Tony to grumble approximately twelve times. By the eighth complaint, you’re certain he’s just doing it to amuse himself. He’s sprawled across the couch like a man overcome by tragedy, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes.

“It’s been a year,” he moans.

You glance at your phone’s clock and laugh. “It’s been thirty-five minutes.”

“Exactly! Thirty-five minutes I’ll never get back. Do you know how many upgrades I could have made to the suit in that time? I could’ve redesigned an entire energy matrix!”

“Could you have made cookies?” you counter, smirking as you throw a pillow at him.

He catches it with ease, his reflexes as sharp as ever. “You’re mocking me, but when these cookies win a Nobel Prize for excellence in baking, I’ll remember this moment.”

“They’ll definitely give you a prize for patience,” you tease, motioning for him to get up. “Come on, it’s time.”

Tony perks up immediately, springing off the couch. “Finally! Let’s do this.”

Back in the kitchen, the dough feels firm and perfect beneath your fingers as you peel away the plastic wrap. Tony, on the other hand, is holding the baking sheet like it might explode in his hands.

“Uh, where do these live?” he asks, staring blankly at the cabinets.

“You’ve lived here for years, and you don’t know where the baking sheets are?” you say, crossing your arms.

“In my defense, I don’t bake. It’s not part of the Stark repertoire.”

You sigh, walk over, and pull the baking sheet from its drawer. Tony grins sheepishly, following you back to the counter.

The two of you start rolling the dough into balls, but Tony’s creations look less like cookies and more like abstract sculptures. Some are tiny, others are enormous. One is oddly triangular.

“Tony,” you say, biting back a laugh, “these cookies need to be the same size, or they’ll bake unevenly.”

“I’m going for a rustic vibe,” he says, holding up a lumpy dough ball with pride.

“Rustic or not, you’re about to have cookies baked on one side and raw on the other.”

“Fair point,” he says, flattening one of the larger blobs. “So, what’s the secret to the perfect cookie shape, Cookie Master?”

You smirk at the nickname. “Here, let me show you.”

Standing beside him, you reach for his hands and guide them, shaping the dough into a neat, even ball. His hands are warm beneath yours, and you can feel his eyes on you as you work.

“Hmm,” he murmurs.

“Hmm, what?” you ask, glancing up.

“Just wondering how much longer I can milk this helpless baker act before you realize I just wanted to get you this close.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks warm. “Tony Stark, are you flirting with me while rolling cookie dough?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

You try to keep a straight face, but his mischievous grin is infectious. “Less flirting, more rolling,” you say, though your tone is teasing.

Eventually, the cookies are prepped, and you watch as Tony carefully places them on the parchment-lined baking sheet. It’s almost endearing how focused he is, his tongue poking out slightly as he spaces each cookie with the precision of an engineer.

“Perfect,” he announces, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

“They actually look decent,” you admit.

“Decent?” He clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, darling. These are works of art.”

“Alright, Michelangelo, put them in the oven before you throw out your back patting yourself.”

Tony slides the sheet into the preheated oven with surprising care, setting the timer with exaggerated flair.

“And now,” he says, turning to you with a triumphant smirk, “we wait. Again.”

“At least this time it’s only ten minutes,” you say, leaning against the counter.

“Ten minutes is still too long,” he replies, stepping closer. “You know what I think we should do while we wait?”

“What’s that?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “I think we should make better use of this kitchen.”

Your breath catches as his hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him. His voice is low and teasing, his breath warm against your skin.

“Tony,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, “the cookies—”

“Are on a timer,” he interrupts, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth. “We’ve got time.”

Before you can argue, his mouth claims yours in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, the kind that makes your knees weak and your heart race. His hands slide up your sides, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes you forget everything else.

“Tony,” you murmur against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair.

“Hmm?” he hums, his lips trailing down to your jawline.

“I’m serious. If the cookies burn, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

He pulls back just enough to smirk at you, his eyes dark with mischief. “Fair point. But I’m holding you to this after they’re done.”

You laugh, breathless and flustered as you gently push him away. “Fine. Go sit down before you start something we can’t finish.”

Tony sighs dramatically but obliges, dropping onto a barstool with a grin that promises he’s not done with you yet.

When the timer dings, Tony jumps up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically shoving you aside to pull the baking sheet from the oven.

“Careful! They’re hot,” you warn as he sets the tray on the counter.

He grabs a spatula to transfer the cookies to a cooling rack, his excitement contagious. “Look at these beauties,” he says, holding one up. “Golden brown. Perfectly round. It’s almost like I’m a natural.”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Let’s not get carried away.”

He bites into the cookie, his eyes widening. “Holy... These are amazing.”

You take a bite of your own, and the buttery, chocolatey goodness makes you hum in approval. “Okay, I’ll admit it. You did good.”

“Did good?” he repeats, feigning offense. “These cookies are a masterpiece. They should be in a museum.”

“They should be in your stomach,” you reply, grabbing another cookie.

The two of you sit at the counter, eating cookies straight off the cooling rack and laughing as you recount the day’s disasters.

“You know,” Tony says between bites, “this might be my best Christmas yet.”

“Better than the Christmas you bought yourself a private island?”

“Way better,” he says, his tone softening.

He reaches for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Thanks for putting up with me today. I know I can be a pain.”

You smile, leaning closer. “You’re not a pain. You’re just... a lot. But I like that about you.”

He grins, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from yours. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

Later that night, as the kitchen quiets and the city sparkles with holiday lights outside, you find yourself back in Tony’s arms. The cookies are long forgotten, replaced by soft kisses and whispered promises.

“Next year,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, “we’re making a gingerbread house.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “As long as you don’t burn it down.”

“Deal,” he replies, pulling you closer as the snow falls softly outside.

And in that moment, with his arms around you and the taste of chocolate still lingering, you know it’s the perfect Christmas.

[teecupangel]

So, got another idea. XD What if we take the Monster Hunter asks and the giant snake asks and combine them? XD Dalamandur!Desmond's here to fuck up Templars and save lives!

And since Dalamandur is so huge and his roar summons meteors, Desmond speaks telephaticly to his ancestor/dream shares with them?

Idk if there's stories of giant snakes or snakes in general in 11th century Syria, so idk how Altaïr would react to having dreams of a mountain sized snake talking to him. XD And the snake is weirdly encouraging and tries to tell him to befriend Kadar and Malik more.

Ezio would probably take these dreams as a symbol of the Devil tempting him or something bad, considering the snake tempting Eve to sin is in the Bible. Especially since the snakes tells him he needs to follow it's advice, otherwise his family will die. XD Desmond just worried, because he slept really long and Ezio looks to be 17 and he has no idea what month it is.

Idk about Ratonhnhaké:ton, this is just a quick idea. XD

Here’s Dalamunder (all images from monsterhunter.fandom.com) for those unfamiliar with how the monster look like.

Okay, first of all.

Dalamunder is so big calling it huge is an understatement XD

So I propose Desmond starts off as a baby snakie during Altaïr’s time. And by baby, we all mean he’s already as big as the average size of an adult healthy snake. He also starts learning how to speak telepathically with Altaïr during this time and it all started when the supposed Ark broke apart during the scuffle (with Altaïr distracted by a voice in his head calling his name) and pops the snake.

… that immediately ate whatever was inside the treasure they were ordered to retrieve (steal).

From there, Desmond begins to grow sorta kinda slowly while sticking close to Altaïr because they tried to keep him in Masyaf and he always just slips away. (Al Mualim tried to touch him and Desmond almost bit him. Al Mualim was lucky Desmond wasn’t that used to his new body yet).

By the time Ezio’s time rolls around, Desmond is now the same size as an adult Dalamunder and has been chilling in the expansive underground ‘city’ of Monteriggioni. Assassins have learned to build their headquarters underground with Desmond paving the way through. He starts telepathically talking to Ezio when Ezio is around 16~17 so we can hammer in Ezio’s Catholic upbringing for as long as we like XD

Ezio lived with the fear that the Devil was tempting him with power and knowledge as well as the fact that he believes he can’t tell anyone about this because they might think of him as a devil spawn. If he had told Giovanni Auditore, he would have learned about how Desmond is considered as an old god or a divine beast. The Templars made the whole ‘the devil is a snake’ thing a bigger impact than in the original timeline because of Desmond.

As for Ratonhnhaké:ton, it really depends on whether we’ll let Edward live or not. If Edward lives, that means that Desmond is a swimming snake that everyone thought was the Leviathan and, Ratonhnhaké:ton learned of him because Desmond starts to whisper to him when he was a kid. It’s the least stressful meeting of the three because Edward is there to tell Ratonhnhaké:ton who Desmond is. If we’re keeping it close to canon as possible, Desmond hibernates in the Grand Temple after eating whatever device was keeping Juno’s data and he awakens because he hears Lee and his men. He eats Lee and telepathically tells Ratonhnhaké:ton that they need to go and save the village because the other squads are on their way. From there, the village believes Desmond is one of the ‘beasts’ that sleeps in the land, having awakened because of the atrocities of the colonists.

[unsoundedcomic]

Whumptober 2024 - 17 - "Nowhere Else To Go"

First part here.

The first savage kick connected with Lemuel's throat and the second with his gut. It was with some satisfaction that this chosen progression caused him to throw his breakfast up across his attacker's feet. Still hurt. Acid dribbled from his nostrils, and half-digested barley mash ran in rivulets through the filthy grout of the barely lit tiles he lay splayed across. The owner of the now sodden feet swore, nearly slipping, but sounded more begrieved than angry.

"Sonnuvabitch!" he howled in a thick lowstreet drawl, "I killed yeh, mothafuckin' pig!" Tainish, but all mud and lips, like they spoke around the canneries on the east river. "Didn't I cut yeh? Stuck yeh in the kidney!"

Some preternatural instinct caused Lemuel to jerk suddenly to the side. The next kick cracked a rib rather than opened up his stitches.

"Your aim," he heaved, "Needs work."

The boot reared back, then slammed into his middle, popping his stab wound open and punching agony so deep through his insides that stars danced. The air thinned. His lungs were suddenly too sizes too small - he couldn't breathe deep enough!

"How did yeh get down here?" the villain demanded, keeping his captive conscious with helpful boot heels to his back, "All midnight and morn I heard yeh moulten trompin' bout up there; trompin' bout and breaking our things! This had nawt t'do with yeh! Nawt t'do with yeh at all!"

Lemuel groaned. The blood poured through his fingers as he tried to hold his insides inside. "Yeeuu… killed an officer of the law. Killed his family. 'M a Lion of Mercy now, b-brigand. If you do evil… then it has to do with me, doesn't it?"

"I done no evil, pissmop!"

A gloved hand dug through Lemuel's hair. His nose was bashed against a knee, shooting sinus into Lemuel's throat. Hacking and wheezing, Lem didn't fight the tilting of his face. Bleary gold met bloodshot brown. Ah, a Bronze. How original.

He spoke: "It were Omen that went mad last night. I killed the Sheriff, I did! He were on the take for John Martin but not holdin' up his part! Omen, he went for the woman and then the children come down from their rooms and Omen broke the littlest one's neck when he wouldn't stop his shriekin'! Broke his neck and then killed all the wee ones! The keddies too! I dunno what got in him; bad glut or krrf or flower, I dunno!"

Lemuel squeezed his eyes shut. "The Lions… think you lot're from the Tannery gang. But that's dogshit, isn't it?"

The Bronze dropped him, stood, paced nervously away. Lem could see the spinning of his thoughts in the unguided gyre of his treads. "Corley is. Corley's a Tanner. Me… me brother. Corley. And he's with your bloody pit men now, ain't he?"

Lemuel laughed around slobber, blood, and bile. "Oh, aye. Wonder if he's lost his mind yet."

The Bronze made a wounded dog noise. His head dropped into a hand. He ground his face as though he could press the visions out of it. Everyone knew what it meant to go into the Temple pit.

"Corley done nawt. I- I wanted into the Tanners too. Omen and I wanted in. Corley vouched for us but that fuckin' Tree said naw. Naw. No reason, only naw, naw. Corley, he'd heard Jon Martin wanted the White Hill Sheriff done, but the Tannery wouldn't take the job, the Tannery is chummy-chummy with the Mayor. Corley said Omen and I ought do it, discreet and professional as tallyboys, and then maybe-maybe the Tanners offer us their mark. But Omen cocked it all up! And Corley got caught when he tried t'burn the manor t'hide it. Oh, Corley! What're you Lions doin' to me brother!?"

The floor tilted drunkenly beneath him, but Lemuel slowly levered himself onto one hip, panting. "Possibly... naught so terrible as what the Tanners would do to him, for implicating them in the deed. The Lions have 'Omen' as well. He was the wright? He threw a brick of something at my head."

"Aye, the wright! The bastard! The lunatic!"

"Then they're both… coughing their lungs up as we speak. But the Lions are just. The Lions have no interest in killing an innocent man." The other laughed sharply but Lemuel let it slide. "Turn yourself in. Confess. Save your brother."

"Like I'd take a fuckin' pissmop's word for it!" The Bronze was no fool. Aldit - proper Aldishmen - could tell when each other were lying. Soud were outside that connection. Lemuel's intentions were as opaque to the assassin as a Crescian's would be. And weren't trusted nor respected much more. Still, Lemuel looked up through his befouled golden fringe, sought the poor bastard's eyes.

"So don't take a pissmop's word for it," he said, "Take a brother's."

The Bronze paused, screwing his brow up in confusion. Finally Lemuel could see his face, guage his age - or at least how young he appeared to be. Barely more than a teenager. Barely older than he was.

And this stunted toad had thought he was going to join the Tannery? One of the deadliest gangs in the country?

Naturally. Naturally. Just like his older brother.

Lemuel released him from his gaze, grinned darkly at the floor. "That lout with me last night was my brother. Three years past we both were serving in the south. Then he was called to the Temple - the big man, the important wright - called to the Temple. He had saved the Amadwe's son. Saved me. Defeated a Salt Lizard! All single-handedly, of course." Always Duane tried to correct people when they told the tale wrong. Lemuel didn't. It only made him feel petty and jealous. He knew he'd had as much to do with saving Will from Shaensigin as Duane had. Duane knew it too. Wasn't that enough? "Then, finally, he got me in to the Temple too. Just last week… he got me in too. And then you put me on the ground. And now I've shamed him."

The room was small. Lemuel blinked hazy half-consciousness away, and took it in. Small, tiled in ancient Rinilian mosaic, lined in rusty pipes dribbling water. An old bathroom, probably. Oh, there was the oatmeal cannister and the dead mouse. His swords, stripped off his back and flung far into the corner. Near at hand he saw a grimy bedroll, too, and a door with a heavy bookshelf wedged against it. How long did the Bronze man - boy - think he could hide down here? Perhaps he had nowhere else to go.

Lemuel looked up at him. He smiled.

"What's your name?"

The Bronze smeared his sleeve across his eyes. "Denis."

Lemuel laughed. His hand was cramping from pressing it so hard against his opened side. "Denis? Partnered with 'Omen' and 'Full Tang' Corley? God's Beard, that's why Tree said 'naw' to you. A proper Sevencrow name is what you need."

"Aye… I suppose so." Denis was trembling and his eyes were lowered, shaded, and far away. Lemuel knew what he was looking at behind them; knew the terrible arithmatic he was calculating.

But finally, resolute, he tilted his countenance again towards the light. "Yeh promise Corley will go free if I come forward and say all as happened?"

"I told you: the Lions have no interest in killing innocent men."

Denis nodded. "Omen is balmy. He's damned himself. And I suppose… I've damned me own self too." He sighed, fisted his grubby mitts. "Off with us then. How do we do this?"

Painfully, leaving a wide puddle of red behind, Lemuel used the mildewed wall to inch to his feet. He wasn't sure those feet would hold him but there seemed to still be enough of Leysa's magical physick in his system to take the edge off his oozing side. He imagined a small sea of Leysas all astride hounds, galloping towards the fissure with magical healing hands extended. "That the w-way out?" he asked muzzily of the blocked door. Denis motioned in the affirmative, and then threw his shoulder against the corner of the shelf wedging it shut. A moment's huffing, a sharp screech of wood against tile, and the doorway swung open.

Denis paused, hands shaking worse now. He pressed the tops of his fisted fingers into his thighs.

"It's never enough," he said. Lemuel wasn't sure who he was talking to. Perhaps himself. Perhaps Riv. "Last night could have gone a treat; perfect as pudding. But it wouldn't have been enough. I can do this now, be the man, the good brother, and it won't be enough."

The Soud nodded, casually dropping a hand to the little knife on his right leg. It was sheathed flush there. Most missed it. "You do best to realise that much earlier," he advised, grinning, "Saves you a lot of time and work."

The Bronze's mouth went all quirked and crooked, considering. The opened doorway was unlit, uncertain. Quiet, Lemuel let him lead the way up the squat, dusty stone stairs beyond it, climbing from one darkness to another.

--

Leysa Adelier was too cultured a woman to throw her weight around the Temple of Song and demand all its services and routines be paused until her injured brother-in-law was located and dragged back to bed. But she did have an earful for the stableboys who had let him take his hound out with so much as clearing their throat. Duane let her do it. He listened with vicarious satisfaction and barely concealed fear. He had to be calm. He was still far too aware of all the eyes on the new Soud Rector.

That was all forgotten when Lemuel rode into the courtyard an hour later with a corpse across his saddle and the stupidest grin on his ashen face. Duane crossed the pavement in six giant strides and ripped him off the dog as though unseating a toddler.

Lemuel knew what he was afraid of: "Lemuel has gone mad again. Lemuel has murdered some poor innocent."

"I saved him," Lemuel explained fiercely. His double vision was cleared and everything hurt. He felt half-asleep. Still he bunched a hand in Duane's robe to make him understand. "He didn't deserve the pit. He was only some over-eager idiot. He'll come back better. He deserves better." Lemuel stumbled but Duane caught him. Black flirted with him in the corners of his eyes, but he jilted it and found his feet.

"What in God's name are you talking about?" Duane breathed into his ear. Old men were starting to come out from Earlich Hall. Leysa was watching from the kennel but stood fast in the entrance, refusing to let the keepers escape from it until her husband gave persmission. They peered around her, trying to hear the Soud.

Lemuel took his hound by the collar, leading the beast and its unmoving passenger towards the Spire. "Come and listen," he invited, "I'll be telling my story. And his. And it will be enough."

[swifty-fox]

hmm 19 and 21 with buck and bucky?

19. “You’re not playing fair.”

Gale meandered his way down the cobbled streets of London.

it had rained recently, the dark stones glittering in the lamplight. It was well past closing time for the local pubs, the rest of the city safe abed.

Hands come around his waist, press him into the safety of a shop awning. Lips press against the sweat-damp skin of his neck, a large body crowding his.

"You're not playing fair, John murmurs against his neck, frotting against him with all the enthusiasm of a dog.

"Am I?" Gale asks with amusement, tilts his head back with a sigh, cards his fingers through John's curls. They were fluffed by the humidity, catching between his fingers pleasantly.

"Yeah," John breathes, fiddling with Gales belt "Waltzing your way down the street with your little waist begging for my hands. Shooting me looks all night as if you were going to have your way to me any minute. Not fair."

"Have my way with you, Major?" Gale teases, "You make it sound like you still have some virtue left." He muffles a gasp into john's shoulder as the other man gets one large hand on his cock, pumps him a few times then pulls away to spit directly onto his head.

"You're right." John agrees, setting a punishing pace with his saliva-slick hand that has Gale's knees buckling, "I'm a bad, bad man and I'm going to make you just as filthy."

They should be more cautious, but as he kisses the whiskey from John's tongue he can't bring himself to care.

21. “Please.”

The belly of the B-17 is sweltering hot. Gale's dog tags stick to his chest, his hair slicked to his temples. His knees bracket John's ears and he grips the other mans curls in desperation.

"Please." he sobs out, throws his head back and tries to swallow his sobs back down.

he's shaking apart, body shattering under the leftover adrenaline, under the aches and pains. All he'd done was sit in a pilots seat. All he'd done was listen to his men get shot up and killed.

he feels like he's been beaten all over with a steep pipe, his mind shell-shocked and hazy.

John draws him back into his body with a viciousness. Swallowing him down to the root and holding his hand so tightly their knuckles pop.

"John, Please!" he comes down the other mans throat with a hoarse shout, sweat dripping down the lines of them both.

[woso-fan13]

Sicktember 2023: 17 (Arsenal)

Magical Remedy/ Healing Potion

You had showed up to your mums’ house after dark, falling rain mixing with your tears as you waited for someone to open the door. You sniffled as the door was finally opened, Leah standing on the other side. Both of you froze- confused- for just a moment, neither expecting the other one to be there. 

But, thankfully, Leah could tell that you were teetering on regression and scooped you into her arms. Shutting the door to keep the chill out, Leah carries you down the hallway, shouting for your mums. Beth and Viv must sense the urgency in her voice, as they quickly appear in the kitchen doorway. 

They see you cuddled into her and they can instantly tell that you’re feeling really small. You’re also soaked from the rain and shaking from the cold, and they can see a stream of snot running down your face. Overall, a pitiful sight. 

Your Mama makes it to you first. She pulls you into her arms, shushing you as you whine as you leave Aunt Leah’s embrace. As soon as you’re settled into your Mama’s arms, though, you melt into Viv. She rocks slightly in place, cooing softly to you in Dutch. Your tears slow as you calm down, and they stop completely by the time Beth is in front of you. 

You Mummy pulls her sleeve over her hand, using the fabric to try and wipe your face clean. You grunt slightly, turning your head into Mama’s neck. Good news, your face was clean, bad news, Viv’s shirt was no longer clean. 

You hear Aunt Leah saying goodbye to your mums before you feel a gentle hand rubbing your back. She presses her nose to your temple, saying a quiet “goodnight, Love,” before pressing a kiss next to your eye. You’re far too little to find words- something all three women can sense- but you open and close one hand in a ‘bye-bye’ motion. 

Soon enough, it’s just the two mums and the poorly baby. You hear them talking, but you pay it no attention. You choose instead to focus on finding something you can put in your mouth. Too tired to lift your hand, you decide that Mama’s shirt makes a suitable pacifier and begin suckling. This prompts a laugh from your mums, but they allow you to continue as Viv carries you to the makeshift nursery. 

The two women make quick work of drying you off and changing you into a fresh nappy and pajamas. Once you’re settled, Mummy slips a pacifier into your mouth and clips the other end to your onesie. 

Mummy picks you back up, taking you into the living room. It was getting close to your bedtime, and they knew you would be sleepy soon. She sits on the sofa, laying you on top of her and trying to engage you in little games. 

What Mummy didn’t know was that you were feeling much too small and much too sick for peek-a-boo, so you decided to inform her by crying. She definitely understood the message, unfortunately the tears did cause you to start coughing. You’re red faced, coughing and gagging, when Mama comes in from the kitchen with a bottle. 

She sits next to you, pulling you into her lap and firmly patting your back while speaking calmly and softly. 

Once you’re finally calmed down, she offers you back to Mummy. You instead decide to lay yourself down across the both of them, demanding all of the attention. They easily comply, and your Mama moves to give you your bottle, but you whine and squirm. As she can see you getting worked up, Mummy puts a hand on your belly, rubbing nice circles. 

“Shh, Liefje, it’s okay. Mama’s got a special bottle for you, it’s nice and warm and sweet. And it’s magic, it will make you sleep and feel better when you wake up. Don’t you want the magical bottle?” Viv asks. 

You didn’t understand everything she said, but you did know magic. Magic means unicorns and dragons and all sorts of cool things, so you would be crazy not to want the bottle. 

Mama pops the bottle in your mouth, both women watching as your lips pout around the nipple, suckling gently. 

“What’s so magical about this bottle?” Beth asks.

“I put NyQuill in it,” Viv answers, shrugging, “She’ll sleep and she’ll feel better- and we don’t even need to fight her to take the medication.”

Beth nods her agreement, running her hand through your hair. You didn’t understand the big words they were saying, all you knew is that the magical baba was making you feel better and your mums were making you feel even better-er. And that’s all you needed to know that night, because after the bottle was emptied and your Mama had picked you up, you fell asleep before you could even notice your mums bypass the crib and settle you into the middle of their big bed. 

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 26)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Eris has yet another surprise for you, and a secret is revealed

warnings: feyre slander, slightly nsfw towards the end

word count: 5.7k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: this is a filler chapter, sorry if it's boring! wedding is coming up next chapter i think. also so sorry the taglist got messed up somewhere halfway through teh fic and it wasn't actually tagging people so if you haven't been tagged like 15 chapters i fixed it now im so sorry!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 / part 24 / part 25 /

read on ao3

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A throbbing headache greeted you as you peeled your eyes open, the bright rays of sunshine coming in through the window directly onto your face. You groaned, mouth dry as sand. Regret over those last few drinks washed over you as you rolled over, body shaky as you pushed yourself up.

“Morning!” Gwyn’s voice sounded through your blurry vision – her normally soft tone was ear-splitting due to your hangover.

“Ugh, please tone down your mouth noises.” You grumbled, rubbing your temples and yawning.

The redhead rolled her eyes, handing you a tray. “That’s what you get for drinking so much. A servant brought us a tray each for breakfast. Drink water and the tonic, you’ll feel better.”

You sighed, trying to fight off the hangover shakes as you reached for the tray. On the golden platter was a glass of water, a vial of liquid meant to ease how shitty you felt, and a plate with toast, eggs, fruit, and thick slices of bacon. The food smelled heavenly, but your stomach churned in protest. So you quickly downed the tonic before slowly sipping water, your throat no longer feeling like a desert.

Nesta had joined Gwyn on the bed in the far corner in an effort to get Emerie to sit up. The Illyrian female protested, eyes squeezed shut as she cursed the sun for being so bright. Despite your state, you snorted. At least you were better off than Emerie. 

“Come on,” Nesta insisted. “You have to at least have a sip of water.”

Emerie shook her head vehemently, then cursed, dizzied. “No. I’m gonna die if I move another inch.”

Gwyn reached down to Emerie’s tray and grabbed the glass of water, bringing it up to her lips. “Here, that way you won’t have to move.” The hungover female protested, but Gwyn tilted the glass up anyways, forcing the water into her mouth. She sputtered for a second, but eventually swallowed some of the cold liquid.

With Gwyn now settled coaxing water into Emerie, Nesta headed towards your bed, smirking. “Morning, sunshine.” She said coolly. Her hair was loose and messy around her shoulders, eyes slightly red from the lack of sleep. But she still looked incredible, despite having drank more than you.

“Not fair.” You complained, rubbing your dry eyes again and scowling at your mate. “I drank half as much as you and you seem perfectly fine.”

Nesta plopped down beside you, shrugging. “Perk of drinking myself half to death for a few months, I guess.” She joked, then motioned to your bacon. “Are you going to eat that?”

“Go for it.” You shook your head. “I can’t imagine eating anything right now.”

A wider smirk came over Nesta’s face as she popped the bacon into her mouth, blue-grey eyes going up and down your body. “I can.”

You blushed, smacking her with your pillow. “What has gotten into you?” You hissed playfully so that Gwyn and Emerie wouldn’t hear. Your body had responded to her words instantly, heating up even more and making you squirm. 

She shrugged, taking the second piece of bacon off your plate as well. “I’m just glad I can finally show appreciation for my mate without worrying about someone hacking my head off for it.”

“Fair enough.”

The four of you picked away at your breakfasts in silence, much to you and Emerie’s relief. The tonic began to work after twenty minutes, your headache slowly easing up and the fog around your brain clearing. Eventually, Eris and Azriel came through the doors, stifling their laughs at how hungover or sleep deprived you all were. After saying goodbye to your friends, Emerie grumbled something about the likelihood of throwing up all over Azriel as she took his hand, preparing to winnow. Gwyn’s cheeks flushed slightly as she took Azriel’s other hand, the spymaster’s shadows curling around her slender wrist. You raised an eyebrow at her, but she blushed harder and refused to meet your gaze.

After Azriel, Gwyn, and Emerie left, Nesta left for the bathing chambers to freshen up while you flopped back down into the bed, pulling the sheets over your head. “I’m staying here all day,” You declared. “Nobody wake me.”

You heard Eris chuckle, feeling the bed shift as he sat down beside you. He yanked the sheets down, and you whined in protest. “Eris!” You cried out. “Please, I’m so hungover. I just want to rot in this bed all day.”

“Too bad,” Eris said with a delighted grin on his face. “Because I have another surprise for you.”

You groaned, turning onto your stomach and burying your face into the pillow. “I cannot handle another surprise right now.”

“Trust me. You’ll want to see this. Now get out of bed.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish. Now get up.”

When you didn’t move, strong hands grabbed your waist, pulling you into the air with surprising strength and flinging you over the High Lord’s shoulder. You yelped, the blood rushing to your head as Eris gripped the back of your thighs, holding you steady as he walked.

“Put. Me. Down. Right. Now.” You hissed through gritted teeth, stomach churning as the world swayed around you.

“Absolutely not.” Eris quipped, squeezing your legs once and he strode down the hallway. “Besides, you’re too hungover to use any of those sneaky moves the shadowsinger taught you. So suck it up, do not vomit on me, and thank me later for dragging you out of bed.”

You groaned as Eris carried you up a winding staircase with ease, your upper body swaying across his back. “Where are you even taking me?” You asked, defeated.

“Your surprise is out on the private balcony.” 

“What is the surprise?”

Eris snorted. “Mother above, you and Nesta are the worst when it comes to surprises, you know that? Nosy creatures.”

“You could have at least given me time to prepare.” You grumbled, realising you were still in your pyjamas.

“So you’d rather I have told you I had a surprise in advance and then let you stew over it for a whole day, leaving you in limbo before finally revealing it?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he had a point. You didn’t answer, and Eris laughed victoriously. “Thought so.” He said smugly.

Finally, after climbing up a mountain’s worth of staircases, Eris finally set you down. You wobbled, legs unsteady and clinging to the High Lord for balance as you adjusted to being upright again. A large wooden door stood in front of you, elegant whirling carvings along the edges. You shivered at the bone chilling cold of the stairwell, and Eris was quick to drape his warm cloak over your shoulders.

“Thanks.” You said before shooting him a glare. “But if you throw me over your shoulder like that again, I will nail your balls to the wall.”

Pure predatory smirk overcame Eris’s face as he met your gaze evenly. “Oh, please. We both know you enjoyed being tossed around.”

Your cheeks burned, unable to deny that his words rang partially true. You slapped his arm, and hissed at him, “This surprise better be worth it.”

“Oh, I know it is. Once again, feel free to use your spare time to brainstorm all the ways you can thank me later.” Eris simply winked, turning the knob and pushing the door open. You squinted, eyes taking a second to adjust to the bright morning sunlight that glared at you.

Stepping through the doorway onto the breezy balcony, your eyes began to focus. A tall, male figure stood a few feet away, the rays of the sun shining behind him and casting him in an otherworldly glow. Strands of red hair blew in the breeze, the light reflecting off of a familiar golden eye.

“Lucien…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as tears began to pool in your eyes at the sight of your friend coming into view. His golden skin shone in the light of Autumn, his red hair half tied back, revealing his chiselled, handsome face. It was filled with a mix of emotions as he stared back at you – awe, happiness, regret, all at once.

“Hey there, (Y/N).” Lucien said softly, lips pulling up in a smile.

All nausea and dizziness vanished as you surged forward, running towards your old friend. Your heart raced with excitement as you leapt into his outstretched arms, burying your face in his shoulder. There was no hope at stopping the sobs that choked up your throat, so you let them out. Lucien’s strong arms wrapped around you, holding you up as you clung onto his tall form.

Time was askew as you hugged him. It could have been hours or seconds for all you knew. You hadn’t seen Lucien since those few minutes after you escaped Rhys’s prison, all those weeks ago. 

Eventually, Lucien gently set you down. You turned around to ask Eris how he had found and gotten his brother here so quickly, but your mate had slipped away, leaving you alone with Lucien. When you turned back to your friend, his remaining eye simmered with emotion. “I’ve missed you.” He said, squeezing your hands in his own.

“I’ve missed you, too.” You said through tears. “I’m so sorry, Lucien.”

He frowned. “What do you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“For everything,” You gulped. “For everything you’ve been through, for how you’ve been treated. For not trying to find you sooner–”

Lucien interrupted you sternly. “No. Do not say that. None of this is your fault. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. I’m sorry, too.”

“What do you possibly have to be sorry for?” You threw his words back at him playfully, despite the sadness still lacing your voice.

Lucien squeezed your hands again, regret crossing his kind face. “For not fighting harder for you.”

Your heart cracked a bit at his broken voice. Lucien was the best male you had ever known, always putting others above himself no matter the personal cost. “You showed up with armies from the Spring Court to get me back. I’d hardly call that not fighting for me.”

“I meant before that. Feyre and Rhys told me that you were enjoying Velaris and your new missions as a spy, which was why you hadn’t come to visit me. They even went so far as to bring me a scarf claiming it was from you. I simply believed them, and didn’t question it. It wasn’t until Azriel found me and told me the truth about your situation that I realised what was going on.” 

“Lucien–” You tried to speak, to reassure him that he was not at fault here, but your friend cut you off sharply.

“No, it is not okay.” He said sternly. “I should have known better. I had never trusted Rhysand, but decided to take his word for it anyways. I was living in the human lands minding my own business while you were being tortured by that scumbag. And I will carry that guilt with me for the rest of my life. I failed you, (Y/N). And I am deeply sorry.”

You smiled sadly. “Listen to me. You did not lock me up. You did not deceive people. You did not have anything to do with what happened to me. That was Rhys and Feyre. They failed me, not you. And I made it out, that’s all that matters. You risked your life going back to Tamlin and raising the armies for me. If you really wish to seek penance for your guilt, consider that your debt paid.”

Lucien sighed, shaking his head. “I just can’t believe they put you through that.”

“I can.” You snorted, leading him over to the soft couch by the marble railing, overlooking the vast forest below. 

“With Rhys, yes I agree.” Lucien said as he settled down next to you. “But Feyre… the girl I knew who went under the mountain would not have ripped open a court of innocent people for petty reasons. Before Rhys took her away, she gave her own jewels to a poor citizen who did not have enough money to pay the Tithe. It seemed that every time she went away to the Night Court with him, pieces of her slowly chipped away and were replaced with new ones that Rhys created. She was so young, so vulnerable, and now she’s completely under his spell. The fact she could let any of this happen to you disgusts me, and I am ashamed that she manipulated me into believing she was a better friend to me than I ever was to her.”

The autumn breeze soothed your warm face, the fresh air clearing your foggy mind as you drank in the beauty of the view. Lucien was right – the Feyre you had heard about in the stories of Under the Mountain was not the Feyre you had met. As much as you resented her, you couldn’t help but spare her a shred of pity. “She chose her path,” You said steadily. “Just as I have chosen mine.”

Lucien fiddled with the rings on his fingers, playfully elbowing your ribs. “Your path as High Lady and my awful brother’s wife, you mean.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving him back. “He’s not so bad.”

Lucien laughed sharply, a beautiful sound you had missed dearly. “Ok, sure. Come talk to me in a few centuries when you’ve had enough of his bullshit and are debating throwing him off a cliff.”

“Eris seems so enamoured with me, I’m sure all I’d have to do would be to tell him to go fling himself off the cliff and he’d happily do so without question.”

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.”

The two of you chuckled, just like old times. You adjusted Eris’s cloak, wrapping it tighter around your body. His scent filled your nostrils, filling you with content. “Lucien,” You said hesitantly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” The male replied with confidence.

You took a breath before speaking. “Eris is my mate. He has been extremely good to me throughout all this, but you’ve known him and this court almost your whole life. What am I truly getting into by marrying him?”

Lucien was silent for a moment, as if contemplating his answer. Regardless, you knew nothing he could say would change your mind. You wanted to marry Eris, and you knew he would look out for you. But marriage and the workings of Autumn? it was still unknown territory for you. 

“Eris has always been a puzzle,” Lucien said slowly. “For as a long as I can remember, he’s been difficult to figure out. Everything he does is for a reason, and sometimes I can never figure it out. He switches personalities so fast it makes my head spin, and I could never tell what kind of male he truly was because of it. He was an excellent brother when Beron was not around, but the second he entered the room Eris became a different person.

“But it’s different with you. He’s different around you and Nesta, like he’s beginning to thaw. I think it will take a while for him to get used to not having to pretend to be Beron’s prodigy. But with time, he will soften up. Eris knows what he wants and will do anything to get it. He will protect you with unyielding loyalty, even if at times he may seem aloof. There will be times where you grow frustrated with him, and he may shut you out. But from what I’ve seen, I have no doubt that the three of you will be able to work things out. As for this court, give it time. The people can be frosty. Do not show weakness, for they will devour every ounce of exposed flesh like starved vultures. With the right leadership, I do believe it can change. But be patient, and unyielding.”

You mulled over Lucien’s words. He was right – it would be ridiculous to think everything would be smooth sailing from here. Being mates did not mean any complications in your dynamic would be immediately soothed over. It would take a long time for you to recover from and process everything that happened since you were sent to the House of Wind. Just as it would take a long time for Nesta to be comfortable with bathtubs and crackling fire. There would be challenges and disagreements, but at your core you knew it was nothing the three of you couldn’t manage.

“And how do you feel about us all together?” You asked. “Me, Nesta, and Eris, I mean.”

Lucien shrugged. “I see no issue with it. As long as the three of you are happy, that’s all that matters.”

“I wish the rest of this court felt that way.” You sighed. “They didn’t react well.”

He barked out a laugh. “No, I can’t imagine they did.”

You tilted your head back, letting the sun warm your face as you sighed. “So, when did you manage to sneak in here? I assume your banishment is lifted.”

“Yes, it is. Eris brought me here yesterday. I spent the day with my mother. Thank you, by the way, for what you did for her.”

Your heart swelled with happiness. You knew how much Lirilla loved Lucien, how much it pained your friend to be away from his mother for so long. She had a soft spot for him, as he was the least cruel out of all her sons. Every day you thanked the Mother that Lucien had not turned out like Beron.

In the distance, three dragons circled the air, sunning their wings in the rays of sunshine. Their gentle cries rumbled throughout the air like a song carried by the breeze. You snuck a glance at Lucien, whose eyes were fixed on the beasts circling the mountains in the distance. “Eris really did it.” He mumbled as Athariel spun upwards and around Zorzimril.

You whipped your head around. “You KNEW he had dragons?”

Lucien was awestruck as he continued observing the creatures. “Technically, yes. But I never believed him. When I was younger, Eris showed me 3 unusual rocks, claiming that they were dragon eggs. We played with them for hours, and I helped him build a nest to keep them warm. He swore me to secrecy, saying it was our own little game. He told me one day the eggs would hatch, and would grow into three big dragons. Then he, myself, and my mother could each climb on one and fly away from everything.” Lucien’s voice grew sombre, his eye darkening as he continued. “Then one day we found the rocks broken, and Eris told me the dragons had flown away after hatching. I was devastated, I had wanted to see one so badly. But he said they were gone, and I was to never breathe a word about them to anyone. I guess the slippery prick found them and raised them in secret on his own.”

“How did Eris keep dragons a secret from everyone?”

“Keeping secrets is one of his many talents. As I am sure you know very well since he hid the fact he knew that he was your mate.”

You snorted at the jibe, rolling your eyes. “Wow, so you really know everything then, don’t you?”

Lucien laughed, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. The image reminded you of a cat sunning itself in the window. “Unfortunately, yes.” He said. “Eris and my mother filled me in. Among other things.”

You frowned. “Among other things? What does that mean?”

Lucien’s expression was grave, and he turned to face you. His golden eye gleamed in the sunlight but was equally intense as his regular eye as he stared you down. “Promise me that what I’m about to say, you keep to yourself, Eris, my mother, and Nesta.” He said seriously.

Confused, you nodded. Lucien took a deep breath before continuing. “Beron was not my father, apparently.”

You blinked in surprise, but bit your tongue. Lucien had always looked slightly different than his brothers, but you had never really thought twice about it. “My mother had an affair with Helion of the Day Court,” Lucien admitted, his voice hollow as if he didn’t even believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. “I’m his son, not Beron’s.”

Your jaw was slack. “Wow…” You muttered. “Does Helion know?”

Lucien shook his head. “No. But my mother has always been in love with him. It will take her a while to adjust to a reality without Beron hovering over her shoulder, to allow herself to love him openly. If that is what she desires, of course.”

“And what about you?” You asked your friend. “What do you want from all this? I mean… how does it feel?”

Lucien’s expression was distant, as if his mind was elsewhere. It wasn’t hard to tell by the way his jaw tensed that he was thinking of his childhood with his father, remembering every cruel word and ruthless fist he endured. How maybe if things had been different, he could have been spared Beron’s suffering and been raised by Helion – a father who did not delight in torturing his sons. Lucien had a rough life, one that did not seem to be getting any easier. From being banished from Autumn Court to living in a state of uneasy limbo with his mate who seemingly wanted nothing to do with him, Lucien’s life was never truly stable. He was always bouncing from one place to another, never truly fitting in. 

You hoped that with his banishment lifted, Lucien would choose to come back to Autumn. After months of being separated from your best friend, you wanted nothing more than to have him back by your side.

“I’m not quite sure,” Lucien finally answered. “On the one hand, I am glad I am not actually Beron’s son. But Helion being my father changes very little. I was raised by Beron, and for better or for worse I am the way I am because I was a part of his family. In my blood, I am Autumn Court and always will be.”

“But Helion has no other children,” You pointed out carefully. “Which technically makes you the heir to the Day Court, whether you like it or not.”

He shook his head. “It is a power and title I do not want. I’ve never desired to be a Lord of anything, especially not one of an entire court.”

You smiled softly, leaning your head into his shoulder and sighing contently. “I know. That’s why you’re such a good male.”

Lucien wrapped his arm around your shoulder and squeezed you closer to him. “I will let my mother choose what to do about Helion.” He continued. “She may well want to forget the whole thing and leave the past behind. If that is her wish, I am content to go along with it. If she wants to rekindle a relationship with him, then she may tell him that I am his son, and we would go from there. Besides, not all of us are High Lord power hungry like you.”

You laughed, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re going to make fun of me for becoming High Lady of your court for as long as we live, aren’t you?”

“Of course.” Lucien purred. “Someone has to keep you humble so that power doesn’t get to that pretty head of yours.”

“Careful,” You teased, grinning. “Or I’ll force you to scribe notes during all the council meetings for a decade.”

“Never mind, reinstate my banishment and bounty, please. I’d prefer that over being your note boy for your and your mates’ stuffy meetings.”

Your laughter echoed across the wind, just as Zorzimril let out a playful screech in the distance. For a few minutes, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, until your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked, “So… speaking of mates, has anything happened with Elain?”

The male sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. You felt a muscle in his neck twitch at the mention of her name, an instinctual reaction like the mere mention of her rang a bell inside him. “No,” He said stiffly. “And frankly, at this point I wish that she would just sever the bond if she wanted nothing to do with me. It’s agonising. And Feyre and Rhys keep her cloistered away, knowing it would be too hard for me to try and visit her after everything that’s happened. I want Elain to be happy, even if it’s not with me, but I truly don’t think she would be happy in the Night Court. I just… I just want her out of there. To give her a chance to choose her own life.”

“From what I’ve seen, she seems content to let her sister choose her life for her.” You kept your words delicate, not wanting to offend Lucien. As much as he was your friend, he was still a mated male – and now you understood that protectiveness he likely felt.

“I think the Archeron sisters need to be apart from each other.” Lucien said, stiffening but not snarling at your comment. “They’ve all been through a lot, and none of us will ever truly understand the history they have because we did not live it. Nesta needs this freedom here in Autumn to build a life for herself after everything was taken away from her. Feyre, for all her faults, needed to be loved in a way that was different from how her sisters loved her, and now she seems to have that. Elain… Elain has been coddled by both of them, from what I’ve heard. She needs to stand on her own two feet and figure out what she wants and how she can navigate this new life by herself.”

You picked at one of the threads of the cushion. “And you want to help Elain do that? Even if it means she severs the bond?”

He nodded. “Yes. I will not lie and say I would not be upset if she chose to do so, but she deserves the choice. We all do. Besides, isn’t Nesta planning on severing her bond with Cassian?”

“We don’t think there’s even a bond.” You admitted, stomach fluttering with nerves at the mention of Cassian’s name. The three of you still hadn’t figured out how you’d deal with that. “It’s a touchy subject. But we know he isn’t her mate.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “But Rhys said Cassian was her mate.”

“And you’re going to suddenly start taking his word now?”

“Point taken.” He corrected himself. 

“Something about the whole situation is just weird.” You muttered. “Maybe a link between them is some kind of punishment from the Cauldron. Azriel is investigating it secretly.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow. “He’s still in the Night Court? After everything he did to go against Rhys?”

“Yup. I think Rhys knows he’s too valuable to lose at the end of the day, which is why his head isn’t on the chopping block. Azriel is good at playing both sides I guess.”

That comfortable silence fell over you for another few minutes as you happily existed in each other’s company. You huddled into Lucien’s warmth, begrudgingly knowing Eris was right and this had been worth getting violently dragged out of bed.

Later, you would think of ways to thank him.

An idea formed in your head as you thought of your mate. You propped yourself up, turning to face your friend. “Lucien?” You asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you to do something for me?”

“Sure.”

You took a deep breath, wringing your hands together before blurting out, “Would you walk me down the aisle at the wedding?”

Lucien blinked in surprise, and then a grin spread across his face. “Really?”

You smiled. “Yes. I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have giving me away.”

“Giving you away? I thought you wanted to smash all archaic male-oriented traditions in this court.”

“Don’t be an ass.” You smacked his arm playfully. “I do. But… I won’t have any of my family at the wedding like I always imagined as a child, and you’re the next closest thing. I just want you by my side, that’s all.”

Lucien reached forward, wrapping his big arms around you in an embrace. “Of course I will.” He muttered, squeezing you tight. “Thank you for allowing me the honour.”

The dragons screeched happily in the distance, reflecting the content you felt in your chest. So you inhaled your friend’s familiar scent mixed with the fresh autumn air. Everything you had done to get to this point was all worth it.

 *********************

You all but skipped down the hallway towards Eris’s office in the private library. After hours of talking, Lucien had left to go on a ride through the forest with Lirilla. You had briefly bathed and changed, freshening up to remove the lingering mustiness from your body after the sleepover and alcohol. 

You felt ten times lighter as you swung open the door with a force so strong the expensive knob bounded off the wall. Eris’s head snapped up from where he sat in a plush armchair, a mountain of papers in his hand. He was dressed in a billowy white shirt, the laces at the neckline undone and ever-so-slightly pushed open, revealing part of his toned chest. Red hair was tied back loosely behind his neck, and he raised an eyebrow. “Where’s the fire?” He asked dryly.

You simply bounded across the room in three steps and flung yourself into Eris’s arms, crawling into his lap and pressing your lips against his. His eyebrows shot up and he let out a muffled noise of surprise, but brought his hands up to your hips and pulled you closer. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee, melting in your mouth as you kissed him fiercely. 

Your skin tingled at the sensation of his hands on your hips as they slowly crept downwards, giving your backside a firm squeeze. The mating bond was practically purring in your chest at the contact, urging you to give into your desires. But you reigned yourself in, finally pulling your lips away from Eris’s after your lungs begged for air.

The High Lord smirked up at you, face flushed from your kiss. “I take it you liked your surprise?” His hands stayed on your backside, gently gliding up your hips then back down.

You nodded, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him. “You’re amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He chuckled, letting his lips drag over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You’re very welcome, my dear.”

You pulled away, tangling your hands in Eris’s hair, tugging on the end of the locks right by his scalp. The High Lord tilted his chin back and let out a breath, eyelids fluttering as he grinned. You leaned down and pressed your lips to the column of his newly exposed throat. Underneath you, Eris shuddered as you grazed your teeth up his warm, pale skin before pressing a kiss just below his jaw. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, little fox?” He asked, but his voice was strained, hands gripping your hips tightly.

“Thanking you.” You purred, moving your head to the other side of his neck and repeating your actions.

Eris swallowed thickly, but chuckled. “Oh, sweet thing. Thanking me properly will have to wait until after the wedding.”

You leaned back, sitting up and frowning with confusion. Your mate’s subtle rejection stung slightly. “Seriously? I didn’t peg you for the wait until after marriage type.”

“I’m not,” He corrected, sliding his hands up from your hips and onto your lower back, pulling you closer to him once again. “Believe me, I want nothing more than to take you against this very desk and bury myself between your thighs until time loses all meaning. But I have plans for how I want to fuck you, the both of you. And it involves waiting a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, but stuck out your bottom lip ever so slightly. Eris smacked your rear sternly. “Don’t pout,” He scolded. “Brats don’t get nice things. And you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

“When I feel like it.” You shrugged playfully. Eris’s grin widened like a cat that had just eaten the canary.

“Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you.” His voice was a slick purr, heating up your skin as if his very own fire was running through your veins. Eris pressed a kiss to your cheek, then tapped your hip. “Now, I hate to brush you off like this, but as you can see I have a mountain of paperwork to get through before the wedding to make sure everything is in order. Nesta needs your help in the main hall, she’s all alone with those wedding planners and threatened to shave my head if I don’t send you to her the second you’re done with Lucien.”

You crawled off his lap, rolling your eyes playfully. “Aw, poor High Lord has paperwork.” You said mockingly. “You poor pampered thing.”

Eris shot you a glare. “Careful, little fox. Soon enough you’ll have your own mountain of paperwork as High Lady. That is, if you actually want to help me run this court. Unless you’d rather be like little Archeron over in the Night Court and be just a pretty face.”

You crossed your arms defiantly, knowing he was right. “Fine.” You turned on your heel to exit the study, cringing slightly as you noticed the chip in the wall from where you flung the door open.

“Little fox?” Eris called out.

You turned to face him at the door frame. “Yes?”

Eris’s smirk was devilish as he said coolly, “Do not seek out Nesta to satisfy your desires. She and I have already discussed the matter and are on the same page, so she will say the same thing I have told you, that you have to wait until after the wedding. And don’t you dare try to satisfy your urges on your own. If you do, I will know.”

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @red-bees @daughterofthemoons-stuff @bloodicka @blackgirlmagicforever @

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Batfamily fanfic recs

Duke Thomas

Keep Your Head, Your Backbone, and Your Heart by MrMich (word count: 54,578/chapters: 6/complete

The last thing that Duke expected on what was supposed to be just a regular patrol was being suddenly thrown five years into the past, coming face to face with a darker, more violent Batman than the one he knew, a broken family, and a Tim who was a foot shorter than Duke, and not even Robin yet.

A silent shadow flitted past him, just barely visible on the cave walls. He went rigid, tracking the shadow in the corner of his vision.

And then he dropped to the floor, just in time, as a familiar black gloved fist passed overhead. He just barely missed being hit by the punishing blow that would have landed right on his temple for a sure concussion if he hadn’t dodged.

“Batman?” Duke yelled. He somersaulted forward, just barely avoiding another strike. “B, what are you doing?!”

“Who are you,” came the growled response. A shiver crawled down Duke’s spine at the grim hostility in Batman’s voice that promised violence, and something tightened in the back of his throat.

Tim Drake

Liminal Space by Calamityjim (word count: 77,186/chapters: 17/complete)

Bruce's habit of collecting strays is not limited by dimension.

Or

When Young Justice Batman comes across an angsty, seemingly abandoned by his Batman Tim Drake, he decides to step up to the plate and parent the crap out of him.

Ten cents richer by Ms_trickster

(Word count: 13,493/Chapters: one shot)

You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

That’s how the saying goes. Take enough punches from the universe and eventually it becomes harder and harder to pop back up, to see the worth in fighting back, to stop yourself from turning around and delivering some punches of your own.

Tim never wanted to become the villain—

“Appendicitis,” Tim breathed in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

—but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to burn the world to ashes when shit like this kept happening to him.

Dick grayson

making gold out of it (read all the tags/word count: 7,601/one-shot)

Dick talks himself back down on the bathroom floor, clinical and detached.

(For someone whose primary skill is manipulating his body, it’s not very often that he feels connected to it.)

Or, five years after Blockbuster, Dick begins teetering on the ledge of processing what Catalina did to him.

Stephanie brown

DON'T YOU CRY, DRY YOUR EYES. (Word count: 4,842/one-shot)

After inhaling her food before Bruce's even halfway through his vanilla milkshake, Stephanie seems to have sobered up a little. She's looking less green, and more like she's trying to develop x-ray vision and look into Bruce's soul.

Or maybe she's still drunk, because she very suddenly and very bluntly tells him, "I used to wish you were my dad," drowning her chips into a little pot of ketchup.

Bruce pauses. He slowly drops the chicken nugget he was about to put in his mouth — since now is probably not the time to complain about how the nuggets are a little dry today.

(Bruce Wayne is not Stephanie Brown's father, not at all.)

Gen (two or more bats)

THIS ISN'T PUNISHMENT (I LOVE YOU). (Word count:2,250/ one-shot/ jason & bruce)

It's not."

Jason swallows thickly, "What?"

"My parents death is not the worst thing to ever happen to me," Bruce reiterates, as calm as Jason has ever seen him, eerily indifferent to the topic. But it's his eyes that remind Jason of the situation at hand, the way they're wide and glassy, pale blue eyes screaming for the words to stop.

They don't stop; "Losing you," Bruce continues, unblinking to Jason's expression of absolute horror, "Is the worst thing to ever happen to me."

Pain should not be quantifiable. It's with sinking hatred and pity, does Jason realise, guilt shouldn't be measurable either.

(Batman is hit with truth serum, Jason reacts to the consequences.)

The Neighborhood Watch by AlexaAffect (word count: 8,565/Chapter(s):1/gen

A knock on his door roused him from his vigilance, strong and steady.

Jason tucked a crutch beneath his arm, pushing himself up off the couch. In his other hand he carried the gun; his finger poised on the trigger. Bruce’s gun safety rules bounced around in his head, mingling with his father’s from years earlier.

Keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to shoot.

Jason didn’t intend to miss.

Another knock; more frantic this time than before.

He had half a mind to yell. The curses died in his throat. The list of people who knew his safe house was short. He was leaving nothing up to chance. He leaned forward, pressing the gun against the door, and checked the peephole.

Dick.

Immediate relief.

Or alternatively; The Joker escapes Arkham and due to a broken leg, Jason can do nothing about it. Luckily, he doesn't have to wait alone.

[amazingmsme]

Is The Bucket Worth It, Stanley?

AN: Bear with me as I try & catch up on these fics, I've been working on homework a lot. This was really fun to write, the Narrator just opens up a lot of fun possiblities with his powers! Love messing around with that! Here's day 17!

The Narrator watched Stanley with annoyance, tapping his foot. He'd been more obsessed with a stupid bucket than with him. And that was unacceptable, quite frankly. He'd made it clear that he too was interested in the bucket! Yes, Stanley made it look so fascinating that even he was curious as to its unique properties.

"Stanley, I think it's my turn with the bucket now," he said, garnering no response. "Hm? Stanley, don't you agree? I'd like to see the bucket." Stanley hugged the bucket closer.

The Narrator sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Look, I'm not going to steal it, I just want to look at it! I can do that, right?" He was met with a skeptical gaze. "Oh alright fine. You can have the bucket for one more minute, but I'd really appreciate it if you shared after that." He thought he was being rather reasonable.

He left the room for only a moment, but when he popped his head back in, the bucket was nowhere in sight.

"Wha- Where's the bucket?" he asked in shock. Stanley merely shrugged. "What do you mean you don't know? It was just here!"

He caught sight of the tug at the corner of Stanley's lips. Oh, so that's how he wanted to play it...

"Stanley, you have until the count of three to give it back, and then I'll be forced to take drastic measures," he warned. The warning went unheeded.

"One." No answer. "Two." Stanley stared at him, arms crossed. "Three." Okay, they were doing this.

The Narrator sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them nonchalantly. "You're really forcing my hand here. Last chance," he offered him a way out. Just cough up the bucket now and you won't have to worry. Stanley was always a stubborn one.

"Alright, be that way." Before Stanley could question him, the Narrator spoke once more in a clear, deep voice.

"Stanley was in the dark." Suddenly, he couldn't see a thing. A pitch black void stretched before him in every direction. "He tried to move, but found he was tied to a chair." A chill crept up Stanley's spine upon hearing those words, and suddenly he was no longer standing. He sat in a chair, arms and legs tied down.

"He tested the bonds, but they were tight. Not so tight as to hurt, mind you, just tight enough to keep him secure. And the rope wasn't rough or fibrous either, it was soft like silk." As he spoke, Stanley realized he was right: the ropes weresoft and didn't cut into his skin.

"A single light turned on overhead. It wasn't very bright, but in the complete darkness it might as well have been blinding. A silhouette came into view, allowing him a glimpse of his captor." The Narrator stood before him, an incredibly smug smirk in place. Stanley threw his head back, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Hello again. Now I just need you to answer one simple question. Where did you hide that bucket?" He didn't know why he expected an answer.

"Oh well, you leave me no choice. Always the hard way with you, right Stanley?" he teased. He pulled his hands out from behind his back, wiggling his fingers in the air. "Feel like answering now?"

Stanley's eyes widened and he gulped, but still he shook his head. The Narrator smiled widely.

"Good." He let his hands connect with Stanley's torso, vibrating against his ribcage. His captive jolted away from the touch, biting down on his lip to prevent any laughter from escaping. The Narrator tutted and shook his head.

"Now Stanley, you already know this won't stop until you give me what I want. So I suggest you either cough it up, or get comfortable," he said, not a hint of sympathy in his voice. The Narrator heard a quiet whine slip past his sealed lips and smirked, tracing maddening circles over Stanley's sides.

He slowly ramped up the speed of his fingers, prodding between the spaces of his ribs and scratching lightly over the bones. With a snort, the dam broke and Stanley's bubbly laugh filled the air. He squirmed in his seat, twisting side to side and arching his back, but that only pushed his body into the Narrator's hands. He yelped when his own movements sent wiggling fingers straight into his pits.

"Feel like sharing with the class?" the Narrator asked, but Stanley shook his head. "Okay, more tickles for you then," he said, not even trying to should anything but gleeful.

He worked his way back down, tweaking each rib as he went. Every pinch drew out a different shrill sound and twitch. The Narrator noticed the way the pace of his giggles quickened any time he strayed too close to his belly, and he couldn't let the discovery go unexplored.

"Oh, what this? Does someone have a ticklish tummy?" he started, drawing circles on either side of his stomach. Stanley ducked his head to look away, as if to hide from the teasing.  He shook his head, adamantly denying  it. He was proven wrong when the Narrator wormed a finger in his bellybutton, causing an ear splitting shriek. 

"I'll ask again: where did you put the bucket?" he asked, squeezing his hips in a downright torturous way. Stanley bucked and cackled. The Narrator chuckled and leaned in to whisper, "I know you'll give up sooner or later. But I think we're both hoping it's later." His voice was a deep purr that sent chills up Stanley's spine.

He whined at the accuracy of the assumption, lip trembling in an adorable pout as he still tried to hold back his reactions. The Narrator shook his head and tsked.

"Now now Stanley, don't try and play tough. It only makes me want to break you even more," he taunted, drilling his thumbs in his hip dips. Stanley bucked and thrashed about, but those hands might as well have been glued to his skin.

His laugh turned to breathy frantic giggles when the Narrator began scratching lightly across his lower stomach. He slipped a finger inside his waistband, wiggling against warm sensitive skin. Stanley flushed and let out a giggly yelp.

The Narrator pulled away, allowing him a moment to catch his breath. But that didn't mean he had to be nice to him.

"Stanley knew what he had to do if he wanted this to stop. Either he was so fucking stubborn he refused to give up a metal bucket, or he loved this so much, he wasn't quite ready for it to end. He could feel nervous dread- or was it excitement? building in the pit of his stomach as he saw his captor reach into his jacket and pull out a long fluffy feather," he narrated this song and dance they found themselves in. He hadn't even been wearing a jacket, the idea just came to him. The wide eyed look Stanley gave him was more than worth it.

"So what'll it be? Mercy? Or more?" he asked, twirling the feather between his fingers. Stanley gulped, barely containing giddy snickers as he shook his head. "More it is then."

The Narrator brandished the tool with a flourish and swept it across his neck from ear to ear, as if he was slitting his throat. It sure as hell felt like he was being murdered.

He fluttered the soft plumes over his ears, sending him into giddy, shrill laughter and breathy snorts.

The Narrator leaned in to speak directly in his ear while he tortured the other with the feather. "As you continue to laugh yourself silly, I want you to really think: is the bucket worth it?"

[crisp-burnt-water]

"Clara Bow" is Xie Lian's song!

Clara Bow is the sixteenth track in pop titan Taylor Swift's newest album, The Tortured Poets Department. A famous American actress from the early 1900s, the titular Clara Bow was globally renowned as the personification of the Roaring Twenties and a leading sex symbol of the era. Tragically, Bow succumbed to mania and varying mental illness in her later years, eventually ending up institutionalized and dying from heart attack.

I'm half-hallucinating on a steady stream of caffeine, insomnia, and lucid daydreams, and I am here to preach the uncanny similarities between our beloved trash-collecting crown prince and this great song, separated by oceans, millennia, language barriers, and vast cultural divides! Here goes (song lyrics in indented quotes, individual analysis below):

“You look like Clara Bow in this light Remarkable”

17-year-old Xie Lian adorned in a gilded mask and robes, fighting Mu Qing before a screaming crowd of his people—until a mysterious young child wrapped in bandages falls from the city walls, and he leaps into the sky, sunlight catching against his jewels, to grasp the boy in his arms in a stunning act of heroism. As the light glitters off his blade, isn't he quite so remarkable?

(Alternatively, these lines capture his brilliant and short-burning life as beloved crown prince, treasure of all of Xianle, bright and utterly adored—he looks like the legends of old, doesn't he? Like a god. And yet, too much like Bow, he is forced to bear tragedy after tragedy until he finally crumbles before an unforgivable end.)

“All your life, did you know You’d be picked like a rose”

Xie Lian did know, really—that he was an unparalleled martial genius, undoubtedly on a cultivation path to divinity ... that the treasured prince of Xianle would be picked out of the sea of mortality to become a god one day, ascending and torn from his lifelong flowering vine, killed and risen at once.

But he never realized how awful it would be, would it? That roses are only plucked when they are young and naive and beautiful, and they always die when separated from their roots, killed before they might wither—or gain too much wisdom about this cruel world.

Sword in one hand ... and flower in the other. That is our god.

“I’m not trying to exaggerate But I think I might die if it happened Die if it happened to me”

Xie Lian dreamed of being a god, was so very flattered and amazed when Guoshi told him that he would undoubtedly ascend in his lifetime. He was so very deathly excited about this prospect, and yet ... did he know what the true implications were, in this reality where his mortal life must die utterly? (Where he might die along with it?)

“No one in my small town thought I'd see the lights of Manhattan”

The glittering lights of New York, the shining lanterns of heaven. Both a fantastical (and whimsically wretched!) heart of rot and hope and endless possibility. It is where dreams are born to die. It is where monoliths reside.

He was their prince, yes, gorgeous and undefeatable, but did the people of Xianle realize that this barely-fledged child would truly see the sparkling glow of the Godly Capital?

“This town is fake but You're the real thing Breath of fresh air through smoke rings Take the glory, give everything”

Xie Lian was, by very far, the youngest-ever god to have ascended, and he still holds unshakable ties to his people (who, as Guoshi bluntly puts it, are a weakness for him, because they have not perished quite yet.) He's "fresh" to the playing field of divine politics and earthly manipulations, and he's also an uniquely brilliant prodigy ... just given the crown of godhood, fueled by his seven thousand temples in the mortal realm, what will this new deity bring to the world?

“Promise to be dazzling”

Promise, Crown Prince, promise to bring glory to your people and your kingdom and your family. You must swear.

“You look like Stevie Nicks In ’75, the hair and lips”

Junwu? Perhaps? So similar, so breathtakingly different.

They were to rise to match each other.

“Crowd goes wild at her fingertips Half moonshine, a full eclipse”

Adored, incandescent, absolutely perfect for three wretched years, his closest attendants given godhood as well … Xie Lian's at his peak now, the brightest moment in his young life—and he is expected to reign, so very beloved, for many centuries more. What could possibly break this shining mirage? The people cheer at the wave of his hand.

Besides, there's this imagery:

“I’m not trying to exaggerate, But I think I might die if I made it, Die if I made it No one in my small town Thought I'd meet these suits in LA, They all want to say …”

In the end, Xie Lian is a teenage boy. He is still reeling at his ascension, his newfound divinity, and his unending success. (At the same time, though, is it not simply his birthright?)

And who would have thought that these great, ancient gods all think, awestruck—

“This town is fake but You're the real thing Breath of fresh air through smoke rings Take the glory, give everything Promise to be dazzling”

He is incredible.

Everyone has so much faith in him, this dazzlingly popular martial god of their nation. The gods above and the millions of mortals below all pray to him with bated breath, drowning temples in gold for a glimpse of his glory, for a glimpse of his divinity. They want this new god and new blood to breathe novel life into his worshippers.

“The crown is stained but you’re the real queen Flesh and blood amongst war machines”

Again, Xie Lian is a martial god: undoubtedly brutal war machines, who cannot respond to prayers other than those who cry for war and bloodshed. But he remains so painfully human beneath this all, doesn't he? He is young and hopeful and blind and foolish, and his heart remains mortal still. For all his power, he still remembers what it is to walk upon the earth, and that is nothing but a curse in the long journey of godhood. 

He is ruined by his own humanity. "Flesh and blood," praised for it, killed for it.

“You're the new god we’re worshipping Promise to be … dazzling”

LITERALLY. QUITE LITERALLY XIE LIAN'S STORY. NO OTHER COMMENT.

(Additionally, the repetition of "dazzling" ...)

“Beauty is a beast that roars Down on all fours Demanding 'more'”

The fall of Xianle is all too inevitable and all too quick. He is beautiful and he is divine and he is perfect ... and what of it? They demand more, and more, and more. He has sacrificed everything he has already! How can he stop this mounting horror of conflict? How can he fix the hearts of starving peoples who are already too crazed to hear anything beyond the cries of their own desperation?! 

They will always ask for more. And, soon enough, even the beautiful Flower-Crowned Martial God will be unable to meet their demands.

“Only when your girlish glow Flickers just so Do they let you know It's hell on earth to be heavenly”

Plague and disaster and war and famine! What could be more hellish than that? And it is made all the worse by Xie Lian's status as a god, by his overwhelming power that tears the world apart the more he tries to save it.

He is heavenly. He wants the best for all of his peoples. He wants an end to this suffering. And what is the result? More pain, more torture, death by a thousand swords. But he would never know until the last piece of his kingdom slipped away, until the people began to smash his temples down at last. (He is in heaven, he is in hell.)

“Them’s the breaks They don’t come gently”

NOT GENTLY AT ALL. Xie Lian, fallen from heaven, risen again, and then finally betrayed and cast down with chains that bind him horrifically to life …

“You look like Taylor Swift In this light We're loving it. You've got edge she never did

It has been eight hundred years. Xianle is nothing but a dust-kissed whisper in the history books. The rivers have swelled and dried, and mountains which once seemed so unmovable have collapsed, burned, been covered with new forests a thousand times over.

He is the Flower-Crowned Martial God, Sword in One Hand and Blossom in the Other. He is the prince of a kingdom of nothing, scarred by history no mortal will ever speak of again. He has spent nearly a millennium wandering the lands, learning the whisper of the brooks, the turns of the roads, the bite of the winter. He is a heroic general and street performer and scrap collector and young priest and the laughingstock of the three realms. He wears a bamboo hat gifted to him on a rainy day centuries ago. He walks with strange bandages around his neck and wrists and ankles, hiding the most inevitable brand of his past.

He is everything, and nothing at once. He is very much himself, and yet so much more ... All of history undulates with his quiet breaths. Can a god of war find peace in such a tumultuous world? When Xie Lian, Crown Prince of Xianle, ascends for the third time, all realms find themselves turned and enraptured, seeking the answer and the final outcome.

“The future's bright … Dazzling.”

That mysterious little orphan from eight centuries ago, bloodied and covered with bandages?

He has never once forgotten your grace. He has built a grand city in the name of your glory. He remembers what your great empire of a million worshippers was once like, and is determined to see it come into fruition again. He has made a name for himself—Crimson Rain Sought Flower, the supreme Ghost King—so that he may stand proudly by your side and be worthy of facing this world with you.

You have wandered the same converging path for one thousand years. You have been killed and gilded and cast into dust all the while during, and, now, you find each other. In a heartbeat, you fall into each other's embrace, and you vow to never let go.

The future's bright ... dazzling with the shine of thousands of lanterns.

Thank you to anybody who's read this far! <3 This analysis was just written for fun on a whim, and I'm absolutely open to any and all discussion~

Also, I apologize for any missteps, as I am new to Tumblr ^-^

[rebelwrites]

Fourteen: Can’t Steal Something You Own

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till the wheels fall off Masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

A/N: I think we have all been waiting for this moment 😍

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

“Where did you disappear to?” I asked, pulling the glass to my lips. Less than an hour ago I was pouring my heart out to Charles and now I'm sipping champagne, soaking up the summer rays. There was no lingering awkwardness like I thought there would be, instead I felt lighter.

Leaning back against the pile of pillows behind me I let my eyes flutter closed, feeling the warmth of the sun kiss my skin. This was the life I could get used to, although I wasn’t one for the lavish life but every once in a while it was nice to dip my toes into the water.

“You will see soon, Sunshine,” he hummed, holding his hand out for me to take, “right now we need to jump onto the tender which will be taking up to the surprise,” taking his hand I let him pull him to my feet, guiding me towards the smaller boat that was in the water.

After a short trip we were on a secluded beach, I couldn’t help the tears that filled my eyes at the fact Charles had planned this little excursion, “how did you know?” I whispered, pulling my hand over my mouth the moment I saw something in the distance that I hadn’t seen in years. I didn’t give Charles a chance to respond as I sprinted over to the large cedar tree that stood alone amongst the palm trees.

Running my fingers over the initials carved into the bark I couldn’t help but smile.

“Sunshine, what is it?” Charles breathed, appearing next to me.

“This tree, this beach,” I whispered, looking up at him, tears threatening to spill over my lash line. “Pops used to bring us to this beach every summer. The last time we came, me and Jax were 17, he carved all of our initials into the tree. Some of my favorite memories came from the trips here.”

Feeling Charles wrap his arm around my shoulders, he pressed a tender kiss to the side of my temple, “I honestly had no idea, I just saw it in the distance and thought it was a good place to stop,” he chuckled.

“It was like it was meant to be,” I smiled, resting my hand on his chest, “like the universe wanted us to be here.”

Charles moved his arm from my shoulder, taking a step so he was now standing in front of me. The way he was looking at me made me feel like time had stood still. My heart was pounding against my chest as he raised our hands up, interlocking his fingers with mine. His other hand came up to my cheek, his thumb brushing against my cheek.

In my head I knew what was about to happen but I hadn’t quite processed the fact he was slowly closing the space between the two of us. His hands dropped to my waist, pulling me closer to him until our bodies were pressed together. Before I could react his lips were pressed against mine, it took a moment for my brain to catch up with the situation.

The feeling of his soft kiss sent my whole body into a frenzy.

Once my brain had kicked into gear processing the fact that Charles was kissing me, I snaked my arms up around his neck, letting my fingers run across his skin, focusing on the feeling of his lips against mine. My heart was pounding against my ribs as he deepened the kiss, if it wasn’t for his arms securely wrapped around my waist my knees would have given out on me.

Pulling back slightly, I rested my forehead against Charles’, I had never felt this much emotion from one single kiss, “not gonna lie, I wasn’t expecting that,” I whispered, giggling softly, I felt like a giddy teenager that had just had their very first kiss.

Charles chuckled softly at my question, “this place is special to you, Sunshine,” he hummed, pressing another tender kiss against my lips, “I guess I just wanted our first kiss to mean as much to you as this place does.”

“Oh Char,” I whispered, feeling tears prick my eyes.

The whole world suddenly felt right again, nothing else mattered.

-

“I don’t want to go back,” I whispered, resting my head against Charles’ chest. In such a short space of time he had become my safe space. My fingers danced across his skin as I spoke, “I don’t think I am ready for the conversations that need to happen.”

Charles pressed a kiss to the top of my head, “we don’t have to go back if you don’t want to,” he hummed, running his fingers through my hair, “I will text Pierre telling him to find somewhere else to crash tonight and we can go back to the lodge if you want.”

A small smile played on my lips at him willing to kick his best friend out of the accommodation for the night, “tell him to speak to Jax, he can stay in the guest room, plus Elenor would love him staying over. Although you are her favorite, much to Jax’s annoyance.” I smirked.

“She is an amazing kid,” Charles said softly, pulling his phone into the air as he texted Pierre, “Jax doesn’t need to worry, he will still be number one in her eyes no matter how old she gets, I can just be the cool Uncle Charles.”

My eyes practically popped out of my head at his words, he had only been in our lives for such a short space of time, although in a way it felt like we had known both him and Pierre our whole lives. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, this man was setting my entire world on fire and I didn’t plan on stopping him.

Propping myself up on my elbow, I cocked my brow at him, “one kiss and you are already calling yourself cool Uncle Charles,” I giggled, moving my hand up to his cheek.

“Eh, it was alright,” he said with a cocky smirk on his face.

Shaking my head at him, “we can’t be havin’ an alright kiss, can we?” I hummed, pushing myself up allowing myself to move closer to him, without any warning I pressed my lips against his, feeling him wrap his arms around my body pulling me on top of him. Our bodies worked in sync with each other as he ran his tongue over my lips seeking entrance, I couldn’t help but smile into him. I happily parted my mouth letting him deepen the kiss. Once again I felt the sparks light up my skin like the fireworks at the end of summer, everything with Charles felt right, like the universe had been guiding me to this moment.

“Babygirl,” he whispered against my lips, his breathing was slightly heavier than normal from the make out session which put a massive smile on my face, “as much as I’m enjoying this, I don’t think you lying on top of me in this bikini is going to end well.”

The man that was lying underneath me was driving me crazy, without even trying he was bringing out a side of me that I didn’t know existed. Pushing myself up so I was now straddling him I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, grinding my hips against his. The movement caused him to plant his hands on my hips, letting out a low growl.

“Je ne ferais pas ça si j'étais toi, Sunshine. I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sunshine,” he groaned, brushing his thumb over the exposed skin of my hips.

“Ou quoi, Leclerc ? Or what, Leclerc?” I giggled, repeating the movement once again.

Within seconds Charles had flipped us over, his hands wrapping around my wrists, pinning them above my head. His green eyes darkened with lust as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “Mon Dieu, tu me rends folle, Nova! God, you drive me crazy, Nova!” he growled, leaning closer to me, his lips brushing over mine, the feeling of his warm breath tickling my skin caused my heart to do somersaults.

The sound of my name falling from his mouth felt right, the way he pronounced it with his accent made me practically fall in love with my own name, “as much as I want to see where this goes, I don’t want to rush anything,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss against my lips, “I am not going to let our first time be on a yacht,”

“Why not?” I whimpered, looking up at him through my lashes, “feels pretty romantic, if you ask me.”

“I have my reasons,” he whispered, running his thumb over my wrist, flashing me a soft smile.

"I dunno how much time you spend on yachts, this is actually kinda an unusual occurrence for me, so I dunno," I shrugged. Then it hit me, maybe it had nothing to do with our location at all. Nervously I ran my teeth over my bottom lip, feeling my chest start to tighten as the man that had set my world on fire was turning me down. The feeling made my stomach churn, causing my insecurities to take over.

Did he not think I was attractive?

Was everything he said earlier just a lie?

Was I being played again?

It was like Charles could read my mind, he released his grip from around my wrists, moving his hand to my cheek. His touch was soft as he brushed his knuckles across my skin. “Sunshine, if it was my yacht then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now,” he whispered, “like I said I want our first time to be special and I don’t want to rush anything.” he hummed, adjusting his position so he sat back on his heels, pulling me up with him. “We will know when the time is right. I promise.”

-

Anarchy lodge

The bright neon sign shone bright against the dark gray paint of the building, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as Charles killed the engine of the Ferrari.

Once again he jumped out of the car before me, jogging around the bonnet so he could open the passenger door. Flashing him a smile I took his hand allowing him to help me out of the vehicle.

“How you finding the lodge?” I asked, watching him as he grabbed the duffel bag from the trunk.

“It’s great,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, “the bed is so comfy I never want to leave it,” he paused for a moment, “kinda feels like home.”

The smile on my face grew wider, knowing that he was finding his stay pleasant, he was used to jet setting across the world, staying in fancy hotel rooms. The club always strived to make all our business feel like a home away from home so hearing him say the words made my soul happy.

Walking into the building it felt like the walls were closing in on me the moment I saw the state of the main room. I wanted to scream seeing that no one was manning the front desk, and the housekeeping cart was abandoned in the middle of the lobby.

The whole place was a damn mess.

When Jax put Juice in charge of this place I had my worries and doubts. The boy knew he was on his last warning, yet it was apparent all he cared about was his stupid weed and colonic irrigation shop. I made a mental note to talk to Jax and Chibs, the clubs President and Vice President, about what our next step was with the lodge. We needed someone that wouldn’t fuck up, this place was one of our main income streams, especially over summer. Along with the bar it provided the club with enough money to get through the off season. I wasn’t going to let this place fall to the ground even though the recent storms had scared a lot of the tourists away.

Yet again life had a way of punching me in the face, when things were going well there was something that always caused my head to spin. Running my hands over my face I let out a shaky breath, I’d love to know what I did in a past life to have the cards stacked against me like this.

Normally I would be instantly reaching for a trash bag running around the room like a headless chicken trying to fix the mess that was the main lobby of the Anarchy Lodge. There was no way I would have left it like this but right now I felt like I needed to pack a bag, hit the road for a while, letting Charming grow small in the rear view mirror, and give myself a chance to put a plan together to get my life back on track.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall above the large fireplace in the center of the main wall, “I just need to grab something,” I hummed, dropping Charles' hand, rushing across to the fire. Standing on my tiptoes I stretched my body out as far as I could, my fingers brushed against the wood but I couldn’t reach. I wasn’t going to give up, glancing to my right I spotted the small footstool. Within seconds I moved over to the stool, dragging it into position, stepping onto the leather feeling it move slightly under my foot. Reaching up I wrapped my fingers over the neck of the instrument, carefully lifting it off the hook.

“Dites-moi que vous ne volez pas cette guitare. Tell me you're not stealing that guitar?” Charles asked, wrapping his arms around my waist, I jumped slightly at his touch, “sorry babygirl, didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“I just didn’t hear you move across the room,” I chuckled, leaning into his chest.

“Now about the guitar, did you just steal it?”

“Can’t steal what you own,” I giggled, moving so I could wrap my arm around his waist, ignoring the questioning look I was receiving, “now what room are you staying in?”

“16,” he laughed, pressing a kiss against the top of my head.

The smile on my face quickly vanished as a wave of embarrassment washed over my body. I had completely forgotten about my number system of the lodge, “okay confession time, again,” I whispered, approaching Charles' room. “When the club took over the place I persuaded Pops to forgo the standard numbering system like all other places, instead we used driver numbers.”

“That is actually kinda cute,” he laughed, swiping the pass key against the reader, “you keep mentioning the club, but I’m not quite sure what you are on about?” Charles asked, holding the door open for me.

Taking a breath, I stepped over the threshold. I knew I would need to explain everything to Charles, sitting on the edge of the bed placing the guitar down next to me, “so you have probably heard of the Sons of Anarchy right?” I asked, patting the empty space next to me, “I mean you’ve been in town for a decent amount of time now so you have got to have heard people mentioning the club, the Sons, etcetera.”

“I’ve seen people wearing leather vests with it on,” he chuckled, kicking off his trainers before sitting next to me.

“So anyone that is a member of the motorcycle club wears a Kutte, the leather vest,” I said softly, running my fingers over the reaper tattoo that sat proudly on my right bicep, “each of them has a patch on it signaling their position to the MC. I don’t have a role within the club as such, the guys are my family and I’d do anything for them. So when Jax was old enough to become a patched member I kinda followed suit but not in the traditional way, I tend to help behind the scenes organizing things and keeping up with the day to day running of things and I got this tattoo on my 18th birthday to signify my loyalty to the club.”

Charles stilled for a moment before speaking. “So it’s kinda like a gang?” He asked, resting his hand on my knee. I could hear the gears turning in his mind, “please tell me you aren’t involved in drugs, guns and stuff?”

“It’s nothing like that,” I said softly, placing my hand over his, “the club used to be involved in all that shit, but Pops managed to turn everything around and for the last 10 years the Sons have been a legitimate business,” a proud smile appeared on my face, resembling the struggles Pops had when he was getting the club on the straight and narrow. It wasn’t an easy task but he never gave up. “The club owns most of this town, we even have the local police department on our payroll.”

“Oh wow,” Charles whispered, “no wonder you are always tired.”

“Don’t worry I only run the bar and cafe,” I said with a small laugh, “I ain’t got a death wish,” It was true there was no way I could have taken on anything else and neither Jax or Pops would allow me to anyway, “to make it easy to identify everything the club owns, to the locals at least. We painted all the buildings dark gray, each of them having the same style of neon signage,” pausing for a moment I decided tonight wasn’t about a history lesson, “I doubt you want to spend your whole night listening to all the trials and tribulations of the club.”

A small laugh escaped his lips as he placed his hand over mine, “I could listen to you talk all night, Sunshine,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over my skin, “but I can sense you want a night off from everything.”

I felt the corners of my lips tug into a small smile, silently I reached behind him grabbing the guitar. Resting the instrument on my knee, my fingers automatically started strumming. At first I wasn’t playing anything in particular but soon enough it turned into ‘Yellow’ by ColdPlay.

The soft sounds of my voice bounced around the room, letting my mind drift back to the events of the day. Charles had made me feel lighter, something only two other people in this world could do. Looking up I felt my skin heat up from the way Charles was looking at me, his green eyes shone with a mix of emotions; pride, happiness and the one that took me by surprise, love.

@withmyteeth @chibsytelford @stillbreathin @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @angywritesstuff @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @buendiabebeta @ferrarifwendvale @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @queenslife @panicforspec @justme2042 @liv67 @derpinathebrave @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @raaaaabzzz @mehrmonga @sbgal @fangirl-lb @pitconfirmbutton @oslokij @tall-tanned-tattoo @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @babypink224221

[8bitscarlet]

It Will Come Back

Summary: The cabin was becoming a distant memory but you and Wanda had been anything but. Missions continued with the team but when it was time relax, you were no longer alone. And for the first time, you never wanted to be alone again

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Fluff (mention of alcohol, alcohol consumption, blood)

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: The rhythm is slowly coming back and of course, I can't leave this series alone for too long. Here’s chapter 17 of AOP. I’ll be testing out if I have major writer’s block with a fic not related to this a bit later 😂 Happy Reading everyone! 💕

*please do not repost or translate my material or claim as yours. reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!*

________________________

Your chair squeaks beneath you as your leg quietly bounces, hands trying to pop already cracked fingers. It's taking everything within you not to let out a sigh, trying to remind Steve that you all had plans later tonight and there was still things to do. He was even involved, you just knew he didn't want to set up the decorations.

You knew this was a fact as you glance over at Nat, her eyes peering up from the time on her phone. Even she knew he was cutting it close and she needed him to climb the ladder.

As you glance around the room, you catch a pair of emerald eyes across the way. Your stare softens as you watch Wanda cock her brow, you pen tapping silently against your temple. You wait for her to tap her fingers against her journal, the silent confirmation that she was connected to you. A secret language the two of you had developed over time.

You're beautiful, the words fill your mind and you watch the smallest upturn in Wanda's lips as she tries to pretend to pay attention to Steve.

The mission, her distant voice echoes in your mind as you sigh, leaning forward onto the table. You feel the pull to find her eyes again, to find her across that table but you hold yourself together for the moment. You'd have all the time in the world to stare into those emerald eyes, as you trace along her silk skin and listen to her alluring whispers all night long.

The clicking of the air-conditioning brings a soft rush of air from the vents. You noticed the slight shift in Wanda's hair and smell that sweet amber flow from across the table. Breathing in deeply, you feel yourself relax your cheek even more into your hand. You stare at Steve but your attention is far from him.

You smell wonderful, you think.

Y/N...we're in a meeting, Wanda warns and you move your hand to hide the grin on you face,

You smell wonderful at this meeting.

Wanda doesn't respond but you watch as she stares down at her notes, biting softly against her lips to keep her beaming smile from escaping. You don't stop your thoughts but simply readjust yourself in your seat.

Haven't seen each other in a few days. I say, we go get a solitary cottage by the sea. Lock myself inside with you. Stay there for a week.

Green eyes curiously flash up to you, What would we do for a week?

Got a lot of ideas, you shrugged.

Wanda catches the hum she nearly lets go and clears her throat, Perhaps. And even more, I like what I see.

You can't pull away from her stare this time. A teasing glint in her eyes and a glowing warmth in her cheeks. Your thoughts start to continue through everything the two of you can do in that solitary time together. All the recipes that could be attempted, all the kisses that could be stolen.

A sharp pain in your knees makes you jump in your seat as you sit up straight, your hand rubbing against the throbbing pain.

"Alright, we'll check on this lead. Y/N, check in with Yelena and we'll meet back here. Hopefully we'll have a triangulated location of where Strucker is."

You nod at Steve's words and glance over at Nat, gratefulness whispered from your lips to her. She makes a noise as she stands and begins to walk out with Wanda. You sigh, closing your journal and trying your hardest not to look at Wanda. As you glance up, you shift your eyes and see a different pair of green eyes already looking at you. She was waiting. Expecting you to fail at your only objective, not to be obvious.

Quickly, you jog out of the room and past the pair, attempting to catch up with Sam. Mostly you were trying to put as much distance between you and Wanda. To get the Russian off your scent before she sent Yelena to ask a billion questions to break you. Besides, you had the rest of the day to preoccupy yourself with getting things prepared for the party.

And the rest of the day was tiring burden. To avoid Wanda and the peering eyes of Nat, you picked up other people's responsibilities. You walked into the compound with an armful of party decorations as Wanda was finishing decorating a batch of cupcakes. Your eyes connected, both of you knowing the redhead could come around a corner at any moment. There would be time to share cake later, no matter how much your stomach was growling.

________________________________

You make it through the afternoon though. Finding yourself leaning up against a doorway with a grin on your face. Nat was out of the Compound, you were a bit safer to knock on the door in front of you. As it opened, your brow rises slightly.

"That's a nice sweater you got there," you eye the slightly oversized sweater on Wanda. She pulls softly at the sleeves as you push yourself away from the threshold.

"I picked it up from somewhere,"

You step forward, "Somewhere or someone?"

"Oh, I don't remember actually," Wanda closes the door softly behind you, 'But I'm sure something," she leans against you as your arms wrap around her, "Or someone could spark my memory."

Your lips press against hers, feeling her arms slink around your neck. She steps into you, practically leaning as your arms tighten around her waist.

"We can't stay here forever," you whispered to her, "You have to make a good first impression,"

Wanda grins against your lips, stealing one more peck, "Just knowing I put up with you, she's going to love me."

You let her slip from your grasp and watch her put the finishing touches on her hair, "That might draw some suspicion, Princess. Putting up with me as... an acquaintance?"

"Exactly," Wanda nods as she steps out of her slippers, "Who sometimes wear each other's clothes."

You laugh, "You do look amazing. I might have to steal it back later, though."

"You do know I’m not wearing this tonight right?," she teases and reaches for the closet handle. You press your hand over hers, softly clasping your fingers around hers.

You hover your lips over her neck, watching how her breath catches, “Even better,”

As your lips press against her soft skin, you hand that wraps around her waist sneaks beneath the sweater. Her contented hums vibrate through you as she cranes herself closer to your lips. Until you feel her hand rise up, pressing your face just to side.

For a moment, you fight to continue kissing down to her collarbone but you feel her body shift. Her lips find yours as she peeks over her shoulder. You feel your body relax in a way that’s only possible with Wanda.

Every muscle her fingers run across, relaxes at her touch. The sighs that brush over you when you grip her tightly and press the softest kiss beneath her jaw. They pull you from the world around you and truly show you just how vulnerable you are. But you don’t worry about made up dangers anymore.

All your focus doesn’t belong to fear now. Only to her.

“You don’t want to wear yourself out too soon do you,” Wanda whispers against your lips, sucking in a breath when you nip along the tender spot on her neck.

You hum as you nuzzle into her, “A warmup before strenuous activities is highly recommended,”

Wanda giggles, trying to pry your locked arms from around her, “There won’t be any strenuous activities if you don’t let me get dressed,”

You let out a defeated groan, watching her open her closet, “Isn’t the point to not let you-,”

She holds her hand out the door and with a flick of her wrist, her duvet is twisted around you.

“This! Is!” You struggle against the unending maze of fabric, “Unfair!” By the time you rip the sheet off your head and give it a few good stomps, Wanda has already undressed and dressed.

“It was for your own good. We’d never make to down those stairs.”

Jabbing at her sides with a grin, you press a kiss to the side of her head, "Should we be walking down those steps together? Y'know, all this secrecy stuff."

Wanda glances back at you, "We shouldn't really take all the attention away from your sister, right? Besides, we still have things to talk about. Serious," her finger stabs into your chest and flicks up to your nose, "Adult things."

You hum, "After some serious, adult activities?"

She rolls her eyes, "Is it serious when you fall off the bed?"

"Get movin', Maximoff," you pinch her side and steal one last kiss before you slink out of her bedroom. As you check the hallway before sauntering down the stairs, you hold onto the smile on your face for one moment longer.

No matter how hard you tried, that smile would find its way back on your face. Glancing across the room and crowd, you find that red headed witch in her own conversation. You watch how her eyes glowed as she laughs, the spinning of her rings when she stood and listened. When those green eyes finally found yours as you turned and found her already looking your way, your chest falls into itself. A tightening you had never felt before. A warmth throughout your limbs you wish you had felt sooner.

You both tried to keep your distance for most of the evening. Interacting with the rest of the team and the moments you did run into each other, it was a friendly conversation. A comment on a past mission or when the two of you were going to train again.

As you sit at the bar, you wonder if it was too nonchalant.

"So," a voice comes from beside you and you know it'll confirm your thought, 'You're in an interesting mood."

You glance up from your drink, "Is that so?"

"Yeah," the redhead settles into the stool next to you and holds up two fingers, "Curious timing with Wanda walking down those stairs. Hope you guys got to spend some time together since last mission."

Your brows clench as you take a long drink from your glass, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What it means is..." Nat slides the shot of vodka to you, "The way you act when she's away, it's something. Maybe that same something that has you giddy as a pig in shit."

A grin forms on your face, letting her go and have her fun, "Alright, well she is my friend,"

Nat scoffs but you point at her and continue pointing to the rest of the team that is scattered around the floor, "I act the same whenever any of you are out without me. I'm always saving your asses on mission."

She raises her brows and waits to sip on the vodka with you, "Friends don't do any of this."

You clear your throat, "Don't what? Protect each other?"

"They don't cancel plans to watch a stupid show," you clench your jaw slightly, knowing she said that to see your response, "Have conversations with nothing but their eyes or forget the world exists when you hear your name."

Your clear drink is warming in your fist as Nat finishes hers in a single gulp, 'How many times can you really take the scenic route?"

You shiver, downing the rest of the drink so you can get far away from this conversation. As you gag to your right, you see a blonde making her way to you. It was a trap and you figured it out too late.

"Look. From where I am," Yelena slides in next to you, cornering you, "Which is from the sidelines because someone hates family."

You glare over at the blonde, "I took your dumb vest didn't I?"

Her brown eyes roll, "You two make a lot of sense together. It'd be a shame if you can't see that yourself."

You flip over your empty glass and push away from the bar, Yelena quickly downing the shot she just ordered. She presses her hand against you, "Where the hell do you think you're going."

You look up at the Russian, the answer should've been obvious as you look at the time, "Out? With all of you?"

"Absolutely not, you have some things to take care of tonight," her eyes glance back towards a certain redhead that jokes with Barton, "Go show some of that sensitive side. Don't be so serious,"

"I hate you," you grimace as the refill on your drink is stolen and the two sisters take off to continue the night in the city.

You groan as the night finally reaches its end here in the building. You don't want to have this conversation yet. You were fine having fun. Having fun with her. But you wonder how much more fun it could be when you weren't meeting at different times to grab a cup of coffee together.

Or having Thor interrupt the two of you watching a movie together in the living room.

You wanted to blame all of this on your want to keep things casual and not put a label on any of this. But you know, deep down, that you are scared. Terrified, even. You are terrified of ruining her.

The world around you is lost as you get lost in your own mind. A cold chill brings you back to the world and the door you find yourself in front of, opens without a sound. You feel yourself shoved inside with a quiet giggle and tip over onto your bed.

"You're very distracting," she whispers against your lips,

You shrug, "You weren't even paying attention to Stark and his thrusters,"

Wanda smiles, placing her hand on your cheek, "The team's scattering. What're we doing tonight?"

You sigh as you breath her in, alcohol teasing your nose, "Right now? I don't know. But I bet Nat's cashing in on a bet,"

"Let her," she giggles as her lips brush against yours, a tense kiss relaxing with each moment.

Your hand cups her face, "Everything alright in that little head of yours, Maximoff?"

She nods, "It's just... we're so close to Strucker. You and I know more about him and his tortures than anyone. If we get caught, we know how unlikely it is we come back," Wanda presses her hands against your chest as she sits up, "Who thought now was a good time for love."

You raise your brows with a grin, "Who said anything about love? I'm just trying to get you back into bed."

She chuckles but her eyes stay glued on her rings, "Still an asshole,"

"Hey," you whisper, "I'm not going anywhere. I told you."

"Your thoughts were quite loud tonight," Wanda's eyes flash to yours, "You wanted to run,"

You wrap your arms around her waist and push yourself up from the bed, "I just... I'm scared,"

Her fingers rub the back of your neck, her body resting on your thighs, "Y/N, what could you be scared of?"

"I've never really been scared," you chuckle but it falls flat, "I was always faster or smarter but then... Then I met you," you play with the rings on her fingers and find why they calm her so much. "I wasn't faster or smarter when that bullet hit you or when I made you slam your head on those steps,"

"Hey now, you saved-,"

You don't let her finish, "I'm terrified. So terrified to lose you. Or to ruin you."

Wanda runs her fingers through your hair, you know what she wanted to say. To deny everything that you were saying. That you've grown so much from who you were when you first met in that HYDRA building. But she knew, your past wouldn't let you believe it.

"I don't feel so angry all the time when you're around. You shake the frost from my bones every morning you're next to me. But I..." you forced yourself to look up from her rings, 'I don't know where I'd be if..."

"Probably falling out of windows, "Wanda grins through her tears, "Getting your ass beat."

You click your tongue and feel her hands press against your chest. You listen to her silent commands, falling back onto the bed as her lips press against yours. You breathe in slowly, slowly filling your lungs, "There's no world in which I'm good for you,"

"You have nothing to prove, Y/N. It's you and me," Wanda whispers against your lips as her hands cup your face gently, "It was worth putting up with you. But even think about leaving," those soft hands squish your cheeks as she leans forward, "And I'll rip your limbs off,"

You move quickly, arms wrapping around her as you flip her over onto the bed. She giggles, sending your heart soaring as you peer down at her, "I love when your grin grows," your own lips tug upwards, copying Wanda. Every time you saw that grin, it made you lighter than air.

"Life gave and took so much from you," you sigh as your thumb runs down her jaw, "And that same one reminds me every day, I could never deal with me like you do,"

"You are a pain sometimes," she wraps her hand around yours, "But I still have time to fix you up. It's not like we're getting married."

With a grin, Wanda settles down into the crook of your arm, "Man, we'd never hear the end of it. Still, love?"

Wanda chuckles, "Who would've thought. I love you,"

Guiding your finger down her face, you push a strand of hair from her eyes. Her green eyes had never looked brighter than in this moment. Their beauty would never fail at blowing you away. The life behind them awoke the life inside of you, "Even when I snore?"

She gives a tight smile, "No. You really need to get that under control, actually. Like, that could end all of this."

"Oh yeah?" you laugh, rolling onto her and pinning her to the bed. She lets out a groan as she tries to push you off,

"Someone had a heavy breakfast," she jokes, straining to push you off still.

You rest your face in the crook of her neck, snoring loudly into her. She laughs, trying to get you off now with tickling fingers against your side. You fight against the panic in your body as you quickly pin her wrists to the bed. She cries out for mercy and with a long raspberry blown on her neck, you look down at her reddened face.

"You have all of me," your words are slow and firm, making sure she understands everything you're telling her, "I can't do any of this without you,"

You let her arms slide out from your hands and she curls up into you. Rolling softly and entangling her legs into yours, listening to the words that come from your lips, "I promise to take care of you,"

She smiles, her hand resting on your face, "I love you," the words are slow and drawn out. Everything you're saying in this moment that you're drawing out, she's saying it all in those three words. Three words you never thought would be uttered from you. Three words that feel like guiding a thread through a needle. As you stare at her, you know this should all be easier than it's feeling. It all feels so right and yet something still hods you back from giving her everything.

As you look at her, you see no malice in her eyes. No impatience to get you to step on the gas and repeat those words to her. You take in a deep breath, watching her bite her lip and hold back a smile.

"I have to say," she whispers, her breath washing over you, "It's kinda fun seeing you out of control."

You let out a hearty laugh and roll onto your back and pat your stomach as she gets as close as possible to you. You draw her even closer and press your lips atop her head. She rests her head on your chest, breathing in deeply as she feels your heartbeat.

You both lay there in silence. Your hand subconsciously runs through her hair, feeling her body relax into you with each passing moment.

She sighs, her telltale sign that she was moment from falling asleep.

As you glance down at her, you see everything in her. Your past, your present and all of your future. Even if you wanted to fight against Nat and Yelena about how wrong they were about anything between you and Wanda, it was impossible. Your entire world is merging with hers and you were doing nothing to stop it. You want nothing to stop it.

You press a soft kiss against the top of her head.

"I love you, Wanda," you whisper as her breathing turns quiet and deep, "I... am so in love with you."

Resting your head back onto the pillow with a soft grin, you feel a pair of lips press under your chin, "I know,"

You look down at her, a smile that nearly squeezes your eyes shuts on your face, "I really fucking love you,"

Her lips plaster to yours before you can gather a breath. You pull her into you, each of your movements so slow and your breaths so deep. You just want to be one with her, just together.

As her lips move with yours, you feel a sharp pinch, "Ow! What was that?"

"Can't let you get complacent," Wanda's smile presses against your lips,

You hum, "Funny, we've done that a few times now,"

She chuckles, remembering everything between stolen kisses, quick peck and long lazy kisses the past weeks.

"It felt like our first kiss to me,"

"I've heard that once you say, 'I love you,'" Wanda's thumbs slides across your hand, "A kiss tastes differently."

You hum, "Maybe we oughta test a few other things out? I think Stark has a cabin tucked away somewhere,"

Wanda's fingers climb up your chest, "Not so fast. We'll have plenty of time to visit cozy cabins," you pout a little but she kisses your chin and watches the frown disappear, "But... I doubt the world will end if we sit here a while,"

____________________________

You hum to yourself as you clean your room. Snatching up clothes thrown around and making sure your bed has fresh sheets on it. Wanda was away on a mission and all you can think about was the quiet moment shared between the two of you. The moment the two of you admitted just how far you had fallen into each other. 

As you pick up the papers that litter your desk, your eyes fall on a torn piece of paper. In it, you see Wanda’s handwriting. A small note to you so you wouldn’t forget how much she’d be looking forward to coming back to you.

And an even smaller reminder to not watch any of the show’s episodes without her. Sticking the note onto your laptop, you shuffle your files together and decide to get to them at a later time. A later time as in, when Nat smacks the back of your head with them. 

Tying the garbage bag off, you start to make your way towards the trash chute down the hall. Whistling the theme of the show you’re dying to watch, your flat notes are deafened. A blaring alarm explodes throughout the Compound and there isn’t a single thought in your head. 

The bag tumbles to the floor as your feet are whipped around and back into your room. Your thumb presses against the small box on your bedside table. A quick scan, a click and the box door shoots open. You reach inside, your hand wrapping around the grip of the gun inside. 

As you walk, your hand slams the magazine into the grip. Rising up to yank the slide back, listening to it click as it settles forward with a bullet resting in the chamber. You peek subconsciously already around the corners of walls as you make your way down the hall, swiftly bypassing rooms. You don’t hear any fighting inside so you’re wondering if it’s a break in. 

Peeking over the edge of the stairs, you wait and listen. Besides the blaring alarm, there’s no crashing or shouting. Light comes from underneath the doorway that leads towards the garage. Adjusting how you hold the gun, you cant the pistol as you wait for someone to come through that door. 

The alarm is silenced. You clench your brows, no one breaking in would know the code or certainly wait that long to silence it. The alarm leaves a deep ringing in your eyes and it only grows in pitch as the scene in front of you slowly plays through that garage door. 

First, Steve limps into the safety of the Compound. He drags a half conscious Sam through the door and towards the infirmary at the end of what must seem like a never ending hallway. Banner jogs past them, calling out to FRIDAY to start turning on the machines that might be needed to save Sam’s life. 

You stand there. Staring at the blood that is dragged and smeared across the floor. Remembering the tears and burned portions of Steve’s suit, half of his helmet missing and his unprotected face covered in dried blood. The whole side of his face was red and the whole front of Sam’s suit was red. Head hanging limply as his feet stumbled over themselves.

Your eyes rose back up to the door another straggler makes their way inside. 

Nat drops her bag of equipment in the threshold, pressing against her bandaged side with a tight grimace. Slowly, you raise the pistol up towards your chest, the muzzle pointed towards the wall. The magazine dumps out and tumbles down the stairs with echoing thuds as your stomach flips just like it.

The slide cracks backwards as you lock it in place, a single bullet following after the magazine. Wrapping your hand around the slide, you rack the slide backwards once, twice and three times before locking it again, feeling it pinch the skin of your thumb. Feeling something.

You moved slowly through the process. Usually it took you less than three seconds. But you were deliberate in each movement you made. Your eyes never leaving the door in front of you. You were waiting and you wanted a pair of feet to come through that door by the time the bullet reached the last step. 

You stare down into the empty chamber. You’re not sure why you wait to look up again. Everything is finished. Inside you though, you feel like you might be finished too.

“Y/N,” Nat groans out, stopping the rolling bullet with her torn up boot. 

You don’t look at her. If you don’t look at her, she can’t tell you why that door isn’t being shoved open and that bag being thrown across the Compound in a hazy red cloud. 

“Y/N,” Nat tries once again to get through to you, “She isn’t coming.”

The plastic of the gun snaps in your hand as the metal of the frame is slowly bent out of place, “What happened?”

“Please,” her eyes are red and now you know it’s not from exhaustion. They complement the dried blood in her ears and the tears that stain her dirty face. You watch her limp her way into the conference room, holding open the door for you.

You follow her inside, dropping the twisted metal and plastic that was once a gun. Your next victim is the chair you stand behind as she tells you everything. The ambush and betrayal. How Yelena’s contact had been bought out for twice as much by Strucker.

Using his own home as the fallout zone of a huge explosion. He played all of you like a damn fiddle, thinking Strucker would let his location get out that easily. And you learned how easily it was for him to take back one of his prized possessions. 

Yelena was already on her way to help, taking care of this loose end before coming here. She recognized the group that became involved when Nat contacted her on the Quinjet. Nat pulls out a tattered patch from her belt pouch and drops it onto the table. You glare at the black circular patch, red outline of a skull with six tentacles and a red star inside the skull. You have a stack of these patches hidden in your belongings and you hoped you’d never have to see it again. 

A special Hydra division you had been a part of. The same division that nearly executed you in a warehouse. You surrendered to them and all their experiments to save your family and now, you were going to have to make sure no one ever wore this patch again.

You narrow your eyes, lip twitching in rage as the chair creaks. Everytime you thought their head was finally chopped off, it always came back. This time though, you were coming back. 

“We’re gonna hit these fuckers where it hurts.”

“Hey,” Nat calls after you as you slam the chair into the table and walk to your locker, “I think you should wait,”

You open your locker, swinging the door slowly until the metal just clangs against another locker, ‘What are you talking about,”

Shuffling through your gear, you pull out your empty magazines and place them on the bench behind you. You’d go down to the armory and start to load everything up. And you’d unlock a part of your past that you tried to bury away, even hide from Wanda. 

Nat sighs, “When was the last time you conducted a ‘brunch chit chat’?”

You glare over at her, “Are you thinking I’ve gone soft?”

“No, no, quite the opposite,” Nat takes the keys to your past and yanks them slowly from your finger, “I don’t want you killing them before we learn anything.”

“I’m not stupid, Natasha,”

“But you’re angry,” your finger loosens on the key ring, “I haven’t seen you this angry in a long time.”

You sigh, gripping your locker and talking more for yourself than to Nat, “We just follow a trail. Soldiers, general then Strucker. And then we all come home, right?”

Natasha looks at how you try to hide the shaking in your hands, an itch you’ve always had starting to surface, “Y/N…”

“Right?” you plead, her eyes widening as she sees the terror in your eyes. It’s stronger than the anger that rages through your body, a chill that settles into your bones. 

Nat closes your locker slowly, “I’m not asking you to do any of that,” you watch as the key she took is hidden away in her gloves, “Let’s just start up a plan and wait for Yel to get here. Okay?”

But you knew it wasn’t going to be okay.

[strange-and-off-putting]

Smegtober Prompt 17: Derelict

“You find anything?”  He calls over the two-way radio.  He steps carefully across the debris strewn floor, and picks gingerly through the piles of decaying trash.  The radio beeps in his hand, the voice on the other end speaking in an eerily similar cadence.

“No,” it says, crackling intermittently.  “But we thought as much, aye?  They’d have been up there in years in the best case scenario, and that’s not even accounting for God only knows what other sort smeg they might’ve gotten into.” “Yeah, true enough.”  Bexley sighs, carefully lifting the edge of a decrepit old comic books from the corner of the bottom bunk.  The paper crackles and practically falls apart in his hands.  He shakes his head and turns to start scavenging through the lockers. “Hey,” his brother pops his head around the doorway, now permanently propped open, the pneumatic compressors having burned out long ago.  “You looking for anything in particular, Bex?” “I dunno,” he says.  He fumbles with the padlock on the locker nearest him, and gives it a swift yank.  The shackle pops open with satisfying "tchk."

“Guess I’m just curious,” he says, discarding the lock, “what they were like.” He pulls open the door and pulls back in surprise before bursting out in laughter.  “Jim, man, get over here,” he says, pulling the door wide open and gesturing inside with a grin as his brother sidles up to him.  “Who’s locker do you think this is?” Jim grins broadly. “Well, what’d you expect,” Jim sighs fondly, reaching out to finger the cuffs of one of the dozen pairs of identical, starched, ship-issued uniform slacks.  “Remember what mum always told us about parallel universes, yeah?  They were basically the same people.” “Yeah, but they weren’t though, were they?” Bexley murmurs, slamming the locker and opening the adjacent one.  His eyes light up at the familiar hodgepodge of ratty t-shirts and old biker jackets.  His eyes fall onto a picture stuck on the inside of the locker; a familiar young man, holding two fussing babies, wrapped in thermal mylar.    He plucks it down, the photo yellowing with age, it’s edges brittle.  He thumbs over the still glossy surface thoughtfully. “They weren’t the same,” he says, “because of us.  We were the wildcard, see?  A variable in play in our universe, but not theirs.”  He leans heavily against an old, slanting desk, the surface warped and bowing with age. “What if we’re the reason they’re gone?” he murmurs.  “If they got into whatever smeg they got into, because we weren’t here, 'cause the didn't have tend to us?” Jim plucks the photo from his brother’s hand, examining it closely. “Well, then by that same logic, maybe we’re the reason mum and Arlene are still around,” he says, looking up and smirking.  “Tottering and bickering and belligerent, but still smegging kicking.  He stands hip to hip with his twin, resting his weight equally against the desk and his brother’s side.  They bow their heads instinctively together, practically temple to temple, and gaze at the photo. “It’s not like we had a choice,” Jim says at last.  “But isn’t it something...?  To know that you made a difference to someone, somewhere.”

“Mmm,” Bexley hums.  “Just wish it could have worked out for the both of them. For all of them." “Mmm.  Yeah.  But that’s just not how the universe works, Bex.  Someone somewhere gets the short end of the cosmic stick.”

“Yeah.”  A beat.  “Like you.  Smeg, look at you.  Sweet Christ, you were an ugly ass baby.” Jim slaps his brother roughly on the back of the head, standing with a groan.   “Shut up.”  He twists left and right, bones popping and cracking.  Bexley checks his watch.

“Guess if there’s no one here, it doesn’t make sense to stay,” he sighs.  “Not good for our health.”

“Yeah, I don’t need anymore grey hairs,”  Jim says, casting his eyes around the room.  He pauses at the doorway, eyeing the bunks; the empty top bunk sans bedding, the bottom one fully made up, two mismatched sets of blankets enveloping one another.  He turns to his brother.

“You think they ever figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“You know,” he says, eyes darting about, color rising to his checks.  “Like mum and Arlene.”

Bexley wrinkles his nose.

“Smeg, man, I don’t wanna think about that,” he shudders, mostly performatively.  He puts a hand on his brother’s back and guides him out of the room, pulling the quantum skipper out of his pocket.  He casts one last glance behind him, and breathes out, long and deep.

“But I hope they did,” he murmurs.  “They deserved that much, at least.”