#almond nips

[lagycart]

flower knows 花知晓 lip products.

i found this chinese brand through a beauty youtuber and the packaging of the brand is so extravagant that it caught my interest. i decided to buy some lip products to try out because there’s an official store on lazada and there was a sale.

the brand has many different series of makeup products and each series has a very different design and packaging, but all are so amazing though. i picked three from all the series, after a long time scrolling through the available products, everything is simply so pretty.

cherry love lipstick lip gloss liquid lip tint - G04 almond nips - the pick packaging is very pretty, love the heart thing on the top, this color is very wearable, more like mlbb color and it has a glossy finish. it is quite moisturizing and makes me dry lips look much healthier.

circus series matte lipstick satin lipstick - C05 black tea jelly - i chose a dark brick red color from this series, the pigment is quite beautiful with matte finish, however it works well on my dry lips as it feel moisturizing and kinda blur the lines as well. i quite like the overall look for this one but the lipstick is quite soft, so only gentle touch during application.

strawberry rococo series cloud lip cream lipstick - peachy milk - this is a matte finish lip tint, very fluid and the pigment is quite natural and again, very moisturizing finish so it works for my dry lips. i also liked the color that i choose, making my lips looks healthier even when i don’t wear any makeup.

i am quite impressed on how good quality the lip products are, because all of them doesn’t dry my lips out further, that’s a great thing for me. and just how beautiful all these are, it just look great on your vanity even if you don’t use it often. and the products are very reasonably priced with such good quality and packaging, and very easy to purchase and there’s always sales going on. i also got some free gifts - a eyelash curler and a very cute beauty pouch, just from this first purchase, which is a nice surprise and very kind of the brand. i am definitely getting more products in the future, simply because it is visually pleasing.

[kiwiplaetzchen]

And so the last drop has dripped

The tiny, little udders got plucked, got squashed, got squeezed and squished until the very last drop. Nice and warm. Fully organic. Fresh from the source.

Thank you, my dear Dairy Lovers:

💛 Elland 💚 Will 💙 Monty 💜 Theo 🤍 Allegra 🪻 Aileen 🍵 Hellendil 🖤 Sebastian 🦉 Alsius 🌷 Ada 💙 Wren 🐐 Felix

The almond got so excited to produce so much milk for all of you. You will never see a happier almond.

drip drip drip The disturbingly cute almond was glad to have served its duty.

🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛

[astralnymphh]

loser!ellie: who goes completely dumb when you kiss her. not a regular kiss—but one that clothes her skin in clandestine crevices. eating her neck, licking the skin fresh, pulling the hems loose on her. it all drives her pupils up inside her head and tends her to a state of scattermindedness, one where she minds the things standing outside of her head. “joel's gonna be wonderin' where i am if you don't stop..” mumbling against your ear, her eyes going as far as searching the room for spectators. that is, until you begin pricking the reddened skin too breathtakingly; with kisses that form deeper colors, and surface the most quiet-soft, long and delighted noises to the corners of her almond-shaped lips. it begins a requiem for her thoughts.

she is oblivious to how lost she gets. you nip her, and all the definition fades from her features; dope-faced. in fact, she doesn't grasp what you're really doing to that precious spot on her neck, and the sudden pressure there, until your lips have already left. hurried fingers flee and feel for her neck. “did you—you did not just do what i think you—” there is a smile playing on her face. however, it is hard-pressed. she rummages for her phone in the pillow cradling her head, and paints her neck with the illumination of the camera screen. “fuck, babe, really?” she drags, prods and palms at the scarlet-red blotch, wincing with her teeth bare. you watch her throat bob as it clears. “that high on my neck, too?”

you had no head for remorse; tonguing for the treat again. “you deserve it,” you whisper, the ends of it warming her skin. it flinches under your lips. “for being so cute all evening, huh? holding, and squeezing my hand under the table where your friends won't see?” a gulp plummets through her throat, and you taste it. some reproaching tension is building in there, too strung inside her feelings and sensations to let it become words, and furthermore too bashful to let them glance along your mouth, and potentially stutter. she imagines she will, and it restricts her. but the tight, skin-hot knuckles curling in your shirt are a clear representation of what she keeps in her throat. “got so red when i let them see, yeah?” something delicate along the lines of: “such an asshole.” perching there in phantom response, but she scratches the words into your back instead. your lips make her want to be obedient.

she is so distracted—from your questions, from your lips— that when her throat does loosen up, a roll of your hips on hers is all it requires to descend her opinion and forget about the movie she wanted to watch with joel. the warmth in her pants made mush of her mind. “fuck— more,” she shivers with a gaping breath. begs with her waist arching into you, inciting you to do what you just did again. the voice in ellie cracks. “i mean, joel can wait a second longer, right?”

a/n: apologies for the lack of blurbs writers block is hitting everyone atm i think..

[sugurizz]

(SMUT/NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭.: Joo Jaekyung x f! reader - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 , 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: '𝐉𝐨𝐨 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐒 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥' — The eventful match that could rewrite team BLACK’s history is nothing but a few hours away. But a sudden rush of adrenaline had his very assistant and physiotherapist Y/n acting out her own character. Unwillingly, her fiery lust unravels for the sadist athlete, leading to a torrid pre-match night.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: TOXIC! behaviour, dark content ahead!, explicit/ graphic content, power dynamics, authority, Dom/sub dynamics, masturbation (fem. receiving)/ blowjob/ unprotected/ vaginal sex, anal sex (rough), reader losing all sense of self-control and just wanting to be pounded STUPID, reader turning into a braindead romantic slut, heavy degradation, taunting/ teasing, rough/hardcore manhandling, pining/begging, heavy squirting, water stuff *Ahem* (just a hint, you’ve been warned :) ), creampie, reader clearly catching feelings throughout the whole thing.

𝐰.𝐜: 2,7k.

𝐉𝐎𝐎 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆 − 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

'What brings you here?'

He stood in the entrance, his thick dark eyebrows frowned upon the almond-shaped eyes.

‘I said to meet me at 10, didn’t I?’

'Sorry, I know. I'm way ahead of our… meeting.'

He let you in with a low grunt − a strong eau sauvage cologne scent filling his hotel room made you already more sensitive…

————

You struggled to sleep the whole night. The pent-up anxiety combined with the anticipation for Jaekyung's fateful match twisted your stomach into a million knots. Time trickled by painfully, waiting on his phone call to finally have you over.

You waited in your room, eager and in heat. Your little fingers fiddled with your pussy for minutes that led to hours. You figured pleasuring yourself to the thought of him would cut it off and finally offer you some relief, but the burning arousal between your legs dripping through and through put your efforts to shame.

Becoming jaekyung's personal slut within the first week you two met each other got your little inexperienced body so used to his. Nothing else but his strong scent, his bulky weight, his suffocating heat and his rough touches satisfied your cravings anymore. And it showed every time you tried getting yourself off on your own.

Your visual memory turned into luscious eroticas of the handsome man, fogging-up with vivid shots of him choking you out, groping your ass like a pervert and whispering the filthiest insults into your neck. And so came the moment where your own legs took you to his room, nerve-burning lust already clouding over your brain −

————

'Oh,'

He opened the door and stepped closer to the door frame, height difference soaking your cunt instantly.

'Well…I don't feel like it now.'

He smirked and looked you up and down, the upwards curl on his rosy lips paired with his thick adam’s apple tempted you to suck on, peck and nibble.

You hated to feel so small and needy, but you were soaking through your thong. His thick cock is all you had in mind all day, and the ache between your legs persisted, if anything it got worse now that you saw him in his black sleeve, his stomach muscles still contracting from his pre-match training.

'And you didn't bother putting something less slutty than that? How lewd of you…' He pinched your left nipple over your thin shirt, 'You walked down the hallway with your nips perked out. And showed up to my door two hours prior…

Have you lost it?'

'But sir…Please, w-what does it matter if we did it a bit…sooner?'

'So we asking for it now, huh?' He raised a brow, 'I'm so used to your bitchy whines whenever I lay a finger on you,

He stepped forward, closing the distance between your bodies as his beautiful black eyes stared you down

's not like you at all to be so eager, doc.'

'P-Please fuck me! I’ll take all of you, promise!' Your voice softens, legs almost giving in from lust.

'How shameless. begging me to run a train on you in a hotel room' He crosses his arms over his chest, giving you a better view of the inked dragon on his forearm.

'Go play with yourself for me, yeah? Take your time till I hit you up.' He coos, leaning down to reach your head level.

'But it's…n-not working!' You protested, eyes filling up with tears. There was clearly no waiting further, your poor pussy begged you to touch Jaekyung and your brain rotted away, picturing him thrusting in every hole you had on repeat.

You took a couple steps forward and propped yourself on his bed, sliding your hand beneath your underwear. Back arching and head digging into the matress, you pulled your thong to the side, giving him a perfect shot of your bare ass and slickened folds. His brows furrowed, curious at a slutty doc slowly losing all her shame.

You brought your middle and ring finger to your lips and coated them in your spit, shamelessly staring dead into his eyes as he watched with crossed arms. You thrusted your fingers into your hole with a loud ‘Oh gosh-‘, no thoughts left in your mind to care.

His pheromones took over your brain the moment he opened his room door. Or so you chose to blame them for slowly corrupting you. You hated to see yourself begging him, but pride be damned! Your pussy acted on her own free will, and you weren’t about to hold her back no matter the reason.

'You need cock this fucking bad huh, Y/n?’ He sneers, eyes glued to the lewd sight you just offered him,

‘You’re dying to take it, hmm?'

‘Mr Joo, please c-come closer to me,

‘C-Can’t take it anymore, mr Joo…please’ Your fingers sped up the thrusts, slimy precum dribbling down your thighs ‘Fuck me till I squirt! It’s so much better when it’s your cock fucking me!’

'Remember how much you begged me tonight, doc…'

He yanked a fistful of your hair backwards, lining your face lower with his throbbing bulge.

'Get my big cock hard for me and I’ll see if I can be nice to you, would ya?'

You shoved your face into his crotch, breathing in his slightly tangy scent as much as your lungs could take, muffling your nose into his freshly shaven pubes. You whine deliberately, sending vibrations through his shaft and squichy balls. The slit on his cockhead drips more cum, spreading the slight saltiness over your tastebuds.

‘Hey, look at me’

He stuffed his thumb into your mouth, slapping his flushed tip on your lips as you you planted a wet kiss right on his cockhead.

The feverish desire to touch him drove you insane, swirling your tongue over his tip and twisting your little fists all over his veiny length. you splayed your palms on his abdomen, fingernails tracing his strong V-line and groping his large pelvis for leverage.

‘mmh need it so much…’ Your tongue flattened, gliding along his thickest vein, that one that makes you moan in pleasure every time Jaekyung stretches your tight uterus.

He groans and falls back onto the couch, spreading his legs wider as you deep-throated most of his fat cock. You smirked and wrapped your lips shut, feeling proud of yourself as his thick base finally made contact with your lips.

‘Mmmh…look at you, Team Black’s sweetheart. Acting all nice and coy while milking my cock dry’ He falters and throws his head back, grunting louder.

His thick, toned hips clenched upwards as you hollowed your cheeks, letting go with a wet pop. You pumped him up and down, lips pleasuring his warm, fat ballsack. You suckled his left nut and softly fondled the right one in your palm, smearing it with his overflowing precum.

His fingertips dug into your scalp, messing your locks up and bobbing your head on his length. A deep crease formed between his raven thick brows, his plump lips forming a cute o shape.

‘You’re leaking so much precum, mr Joo..’ You coo ‘You shame me for wanting you…while your balls feel so full and heavy in my mouth’ You smirk and gently massage your fingers into his warm balls, kissing them even slower.

‘look…I made you hard… just as you told me’

You bat your lashes and stare into his eyes, leaning your head on his thigh and stroking his cock next to your cheek. You pump him faster, your free hand caressing his stomach and hips.

‘Ngh…you’re loud tonight, doc’ He shoved your head deeper in, gagging you till the fat tears came out. ‘But guess I gotta keep my promises huh?’ The two large hands held your head still, squeezing your already soaked chin. Your tears blur the sight of his reddned cheeks, hiccuping from how much your throat squeezed on his cock.

He props his hands under your arms and lifts you up. Noticing the spot of your wetness on the carpet. Your pussy throbbed from Jaekyungs raw groans. A clear puddle of wetness formed under you cunt, getting bigger and stickier the whole time you sucked him off on your knees.

'Did you cum yet, miss Doc?' he smirks and whispers into your neck.

The faux empathy in his voice struck a nerve. You shook your head no in frustration and turned around to face him. ‘You p-promised to make me feel good too!’

You straddled his thigh, small hands groping his hard pecs.

‘I don’t wanna wait anymoore..’

'I wonder what would you do without me, miss y/n.' He flicked his tongue, grabbing your waist firmly and setting you spread on bed surface.

‘Where do you want me, doc? which hole of yours wants me more?’ He stood over you and gave himself a few pumps, hand wrapped on your hip.

‘Whatever hole you want, I just want you!’

‘Both are damn tiny to me’ the cocky smirk on his face never falters, throwing you over his bed and pulling you closer by your ankles.

He flips you over and pushes your face deep into his sheets, pulling your thin T-shirt over your head. The soft flesh of your breasts tingles, nipples all raw and sensitive from the friction. His full weight pours onto your back, both your skins sticking on each other.

‘Want them both fucked loose tonight? I’m feeling generous’

You spread your legs wide, taking him past your puffy lips. His fists pinned your wrists to the bed, pushing a low curse under his breath.

He folded your legs over your head, pressing firmly till he shaped you in a perfect mating press. You gasped and clawed at the sheets, feeling the harsh push of his thick cockhead. You felt that puffy vein again, frotting in and out of you as your clenching got worse.

‘Fuck…mr Joo..feels so good- so fucking good!’

His steady pressure got heavier, ridged sides of his girth restlessly bumping into your cervix, ripping some of the loudest moans from your mouth. You locked him between your arms, pressing down on his back to keep him closest to you.

Taking him deep inside you did feel good, but the warmth his body covered you in got you to a different high, one that had you almost confessing to him mid sex.

‘I l-like it, mr Joo…I like you a lot-

'You're a fucking mess today, aren't you?' He grasped your throat tighter, slapping both your cheeks. You jerked away from the stinging pain, mouth opening to shamelessly ask him for another one.

‘I-I want more, want you…mr Joo..so bad’

'Hey, You're fucking wasted, are you?' He spits on your pursed lips and smears it, large palm hitting across your tender cheek again.

His stirred breaths ran heavier. The steamy air between you and him barely found a way, your skins sticking flush on each other, only separating to come back together with loud ‘plap‘ noises.

‘Mghh mr Joo…I-I’m close’ Your nails traced along his chiseled back, ripping your first orgasm for the night. The spasms coursed through your body as you creamed a frothy ring at the base of his dick. The blurry sight of his raven eyes turned you hungrier, babbling pleas in the crook of his neck,

‘Don’t stop, Joo…I want m-more, much more…please-‘

‘Dropping formalities now? Don’t recall you being so friendly, gross girl’

Your pussy flutters at his insults, He swept you off the bed with ease, hooking his thick biceps around your legs. suspending you mid-air with his fingers buried in your asscheeks. He lifted you up to his chest level, holding your legs wide open to the full-size mirror covering the wall.

‘If you want more you better watch every damn second of it, miss Doc’ His pearly teeth showed a cheeky smirk, ‘We look so good in this position, don’t we?’ He chuckles and bucks his hips up, thrusting again with a deep groan.

'Too much…I don't think I can..keep up− mmh fuck!..' He picked his pace up, his bulky thighs slapping yours senseless. The Room filled up with the lewdest noises as you grew worried about strangers on the other side of the wall.

You slipped a trembling hand into his hair, his smooth undercut and soft supple neck felt so pleasant to touch. He’s achingly handsome, crimson lips almost inches from yours. You seized your chance quick and slammed his mouth on yours, suckling his tongue like the lovesick mess you are…

A lovesick mess you’ve for a while now. You did hate him…almost to death. His demeanor, his bold advances, his rude mannerisms and even his mere presence were unbearable to you at first. And yet you opened your eyes to the intimate sight of him inside you. A sight that got you obsessing over for weeks before this night.

Suddenly being his slutty stress reliever felt so good to you. And the more he took it out on you the weaker your self control ran.

‘brace yourself, I’m making you face me now’ He flipped you around over his torso with almost no effort, your little hands holding still onto his shoulder blades. Your breasts pressed tight against his hard pecs, giving you a mini heart attack. You lost yourself on his cock again, amourously blabbering some lovedrunk nonsense.

‘F-Fuck…c-can we do it more p-pleasee, my pussy feels so good, I l-like it when mr Joo does it-‘

You stared at Jaekyung, eye to eye level. His thick baby-like lashes and the glossy sweat glittering on his skin had you all soft and fuzzy. You got so shy your stomach turned, realizing the tiny distance separating you two..

‘Mmh…still fucking tight’ He pants and bumps your foreheads together, teeth clenching the moment he slides into your tiny asshole.

You dug your heels into his firm butt, pushing deeper from the thick intrusion. And so he responded, smacking your ass a couple more times just to hear a few more cries.

You’re just about high on Jaekyung, he’s everywhere near and close to you, overwhelming your senses and taking over your trembling frame. His delicious musk got stronger, not only from his just ended workout session, but from pounding into you with a beast-like pace.

‘Fuck fuck it hurts…s-slow down, mr Joo’

‘Shhh…you’ve been a pain in the ass lately, making demands and being a brat as you please’

He chomps your neck, finding a better angle to viciously prod your G-spot from behind. Your bladder almost crushed with his heavy shaft weighing on it for long hours.

‘Joo…I feel like..peeing, m-my tummy-‘ You dragged your nails down his back again, bouncing your ass up and down his dick.

'Make a mess then, piss, cum, squirt-' He licks your cheek and grunts, hips still slamming yours ‘I’m curious how more gross you could get tonight, nasty slut’

A furious heat rised to your face. His rough words fueled the wetness between your bruised thighs and squeezed your tiny butthole tighter.

'Aww…such a weak spot ya got for me, doc.' He huffed, his sharp jaw clenched tight. Your pussy clamped around the emptiness in shame, legs numbly dangling over his burly arms, and heart palpitating as you finally sprayed your juices all over his abdomen.

You gush more, covering is lower half in your essence, seconds before Jaekyung busts between you two. He keeps it up, milking you both to the last bit of your pleasures.

His warmth pours loads into you, shaping your pussy walls to fit his dick once more.

‘I liked it so so much…mr Joo felt s-so good’

You panted, the wild orgasm lagging on your little head. The following minutes you spent cradled in his arms, legs folded around his sides and head resting heavy on his chest.

He held you closer for a moment and and you didn’t miss another chance. you nervously planted your lips on his own, feeling them instantly push back on yours…

his short embrace stopped time, blocked all your senses and swelled your little heart with euphoria. You felt so complete, almost as if you had a…lover..

————

You woke up to a bold fraguance filling the room. The joint white covered beds surrounded you, soft and empty. And so felt your heart, fragile and addicted to the champion fighter.

𝟐𝐤 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 −> 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒

𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 :)

[luveline]

steve!! i miss him too :( what about a cute kbd christmas fic?

kbd —the harrington's start preparing for christmas. mom!reader, 2k

When you get home to absolute silence, you assume your kids have been abducted and your husband murdered. When you find the laundry baskets have been moved off of the stairs and the mountain of little shoes by the door has been lined up neatly, you guess the killers must've cleaned after it happened. 

You forget the stiffness of your back and pinched toes. Arms full of grocery bags, you shoulder into the living room with your tongue between your teeth. “Oh,” you say, breathing out, “good. You're alive.” 

Your girls are sitting in a wavy row. Avery lays with a long leg hanging over one couch arm, littlest Wren by her side swaddled and propped with pillows. Dove sits at Wren's other side with her rainbow Teddy bear in her lap. Bethie, precious sweetheart, is sleeping smushed against the opposite armrest with Steve's sweatshirt over her lap.

“Hey, honeys,” you say quietly, so as not to disrupt their mild moods, “everyone okay?” 

“Yeah, mom,” Avery says without looking away from the TV. 

“What about you, Dove? You okay?” 

“Yis,” she says shortly. 

You turn to the TV, confused. What could be interesting enough to hook them both? Even Wren seems to be watching the TV, her tiny face demure. 

“What's this?” you ask, squinting, before a familiar white beagle takes to the screen. “Oh, it's A Charlie Brown Christmas!” 

“Mommy, can you please be bit quieter, please?” Dove asks. 

You snort and hurry past them to the kitchen. The smell of homemade cinnamon rolls envelopes you, the heat of the oven warming your wind-nipped nose. “Hey,” you say, though you can't actually see your husband anywhere. 

He pops up from behind the kitchen table with water dripping down one wrist, a rag in hand. “Hey!” he says, ditching the rag in a bowl of suds, quick to wipe his hands dry on his chest and stand. “I didn't hear you. You forget how to yell?” 

“And disturb the peace?” You sigh in relief as he takes the heavier bag from your wrist to push onto the clean countertop. “Thanks.” He takes the other bags. “Thanks, baby.” 

“Y'welcome,” he says easily. He looks like he's had a long day in that his shirt is wet in four different places and in three different colours, but he looks happy, cheeks a red hue and almond eyes creased with a familiar fondness. 

Steve's pretty much always happy to see you. You lay claim to at least two of his smile lines, and you love to feel them with your fingers to affirm that they're really there, he's really happy, in this life you made together. (An exhausting, lovely life.) You raise your hand to his cheek and cover one such wrinkle with your fingertips, tilting his face into one palm. “You've been busy today,” you say gently.  

“So busy. All the bedrooms, the bathrooms. Soon as I wipe down the baseboards in here, I'm done.” 

“Want me to do it?” 

“No way. You'll take all my glory.” He presses his smile into a flat line, though the love stays behind in his eyes. 

“I'm gonna look at everything just as soon as I put the groceries away, I can't believe it,” you say, kissing him chastely, then the corner of his mouth before pulling away. The soft brush of his lips lingers on yours, but nothing feels as good as the way he looks at you. “You didn't have to do it all, baby, I would've helped.” 

“Christmas will be here before we know it,” he says with an unbothered shrug. “It creeps up on us every year. I figured I better get the jump on it if I was gonna get it done, but then they've all been so weirdly well behaved. Dove hasn't cried once.” 

“Bethie's sleeping, you know?” 

He takes your arm before you can turn away and works you into a hug. 

“I know,” he says, cupping the back of your head. “Was Wren alright?” 

“Best big sister is looking after her.” 

“God, we don't deserve her. She's not stressed, is she?” 

Avery loves being a big sister, but you're both wary of how she might feel responsible for things she shouldn't have to be responsible for. “She looked fine. They were watching TV.” 

Steve gives you a steady, soft squeeze. You press your nose down into his shoulder with your arms curled around him to breathe him in. He smells of disinfectant, the sugary Christmas one that the girls can't get enough of. Avery begs him to spray down the bath before she gets in so it'll smell nice, and every time he promises her he'll buy her a bottle of bubble bath, but a little disinfectant isn't bad for her, anyways. From over Steve's shoulder you can see he's used it well, every surface sparkling clean, no corner or speck of grime left to survive. 

You kiss his shoulder. “You really didn't have to, Stevie, but thank you. It's amazing in here.” 

He hums into the side of your head. “I love you.” 

You totally, totally get it. You'd clean a hundred houses for him, even with four girls badgering you as you go. 

“Love you too. You finish the baseboards, I'll put the groceries away, and we'll sit down before they realise they're being well-behaved.” 

Steve likes your plan, leaving you with a last little squeeze to get done cleaning. You sort through what's in the fridge, throwing away stuff past due, noting on the whiteboard stuck to the fridge what's about to go bad soon, as well as the dates for the meat. What you've bought today should last for at least two weeks, but it never really does. 

You keep some of the Christmas goodies on the counter and hide the rest away atop the cabinets out of sight. 

Avery runs in as you're taking off your shoes. “Mom, Bethie's crying about something.” 

“Oh no. Thanks, babe, I'll be right there.” 

You sneak a peek at Steve before you go. His brow furrowed in concentration, the muscle of his upper arm tenses and releases with every scrub of the baseboard. It's… Well, you married well. 

Beth cries on the couch, she and Dove pulling at the same dark blob of material while Wren looks on in quiet confusion. She's too small to sit, laid on her back, but she's started turning her head, following people and their movements, and when she sees you, she smiles. It's a very Steve-like expression. 

“Hello,” you say, picking her up carefully, kissing her little head. “Let's get you out of the splash zone, sweetheart.” 

“Mom, she took daddy's hoodie!” 

“I want it!” 

“What if I go get another one of daddy's hoodies?” you ask, attempting a swift defusing. “How's that? We can all have one.” 

“I want this one,” Beth insists. 

“I want it,” Dove says, glaring at her older sister. 

Bethie is a gentle soul that won't pull it out of Dove's hands, even when she maybe should. She cries and balls her hands into the fabric to stop from losing it completely, sending you a desperate frown, “Mom, please, I had it first.” 

“Yes you did, honey. Dove.” You look her straight in her little face, knowing this won't end well. “Bethie had it first, okay? You can have it later, but until then, I can go get you one for yourself.” 

Dove hates that. Wren hates that Dove hates it, and everybody starts crying. Avery didn't follow you out of the kitchen, likely kept behind by Steve to save her from the coming massacre, but she'd probably start crying too from the sheer overwhelming volume. 

Can't have everything, you think. 

“Dove, don't make me call daddy in here. Take your hands off of daddy's sweatshirt. Now, please.” 

Dove shrieks and lets go of it, throwing herself down off of the couch to cry into the beanbag instead. She kicks her legs, and Beth looks shocked at the outcome, any victory overwritten by guilt. She climbs off of the couch with her arm already held out to give Dove the sweater, but you stop her. 

“That's yours, baby, you keep it. Daddy gave that to you.” 

“I'm not being a good sharer,” Bethie says. 

“There's enough to go around,” you promise her. Dove's just showing off ‘cos you've said no, not because there's something special about that sweatshirt. Sure, it has a reindeer on the chest, but Steve has tens of Christmas sweatshirts. 

You get to a point as a parent where the crying becomes white noise, and you can manage one at a time or none at all. Bethie nods, and you lean down to give her tearstained cheek a kiss before turning to Dove with Wren grizzling in your arms. She can't decide if she's upset or not, it seems. 

“Dovey, don't be angry at me, please? Let's go get you another one. Okay? You could even have one of mommy's, if you wanted.” 

Not good enough. She cries and cries and cries until Steve enters the room, his confusion dramatised as he holds out his hands to her. “Dove! What's wrong, sweetheart?” 

“Mom won't– mommy won't–” She sobs. “I want that one.” 

“Mommy's just doing what I asked her to,” Steve says, bending down at the waist to meet her eyes. “So be mad at me, okay? Mommy didn't do it, I told her that that one's for Beth. How about we go and get you another one?” 

Dove immediately takes his hand, appeased now she has someone on her side. You flop down on the couch as they walk away together with one last child to soothe. Wren goes down easy. All she wants is some shushing and back patting. 

“Is it over?” Avery asks, tiptoeing back into the room. 

You laugh. “Yeah, it's over. Sorry.” 

“I'm sorry for hiding,” she says. 

“There's nothing wrong with sitting somewhere quiet when things are too loud, bub. You gonna come and finish your movie? We can get dad to rewind it for us.” You hold out an arm. She sits in front of it with a smile like she's been given the world. 

You really don't deserve your girl. 

Steve and Dove return changed. Steve's in clean pyjamas with wet cheeks, Dove drowned in one of Steve's snowman sweaters. He rewinds the movie without being asked, and he squeezes in beside Avery, and everyone lets out a simultaneous sigh of relief. 

He finds your shoulder across the back of the couch, feeling along it like he knows every curve and divot. It doesn't take long for you to settle in and relax, soothed as the girls had been by a touch of comfort. Your attention flickers between his peaceful face and the baby as she snores on your chest. 

“Snoopy is sooooo bad,” Bethie whispers happily, looking to her big sister for an agreement.  

“He's mischievous,” Avery says. 

“That's a big word,” you say, “where'd you learn that one, honey?” 

Steve pats your arm. He doesn't say anything, just lets you know he's there with you. 

“We're reading a book about Santa at school and they said all the mischievous kids end up on the naughty list.” 

“That's not necessarily true.” You kiss her forehead. “You girls are mischievous, but you're still good girls.” 

“I'm not mist-jiv-us,” Beth denies. 

“You're the most mist-jiv-us,” Steve says, “I know what you're up to, Bethie bear. I always know.”

“I'm not up to anything!” she denies, giggling at his accusatory tone. 

“I am naughty,” Dove says. 

You and Steve laugh at the same time. “Only a little,” Steve says. 

“A lot!” Avery says. 

Dove just laughs and lays back against Steve's chest. Avery languishes between you and Steve like a princess, propping her leg over your thigh, and Beth snuggles into your arm. You breathe in the smell of Wren's hair, totally relaxed in the squeaky clean depths of the living room, your family finally in one place. 

Steve deserves a great, huge, heaping thank you, but you don't have anything to give him. You turn to him over Avery's head, trying to think of what to say to him to express how grateful you are for all that effort and love, years of it, but when he meets your eyes you know he already knows what you want to say. 

“Can we pretend there's mistletoe or something?” he asks, looking down to your lips, his own pursed into a longing pout. 

“Yeah, Stevie,” you say, lifting your chin invitingly. “Wow, look, there's mistletoe! You know what that means.” 

You can feel the shape of his smile when he kisses you, and though he keeps it short and sweet, that evening his hand stays on your arm for hours drawing hearts between iterations of your name, one loving letter at a time.  

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ WRONG CHOCOLATE, DUMBASS! ❞

— poly! stsgverse, sfw biting, explicit language, sassy man suguru, jealous! gojo if you squint, geto + reader banter

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ there’s one line (at the end) that implies reader is black, other than that it’s fair game :3

“i knew it was too quiet in here.”

two heads tilt to rest on the back of the couch, four eyes watching geto lean against the living room doorway. you giggle in his direction, breaking off another piece of the candy bar to nibble on.

“yeah, he offered me his silence in exchange for some of my chocolate.” you gesture towards the large, half-eaten symphony bar. “staying true to his word, too. i thought he was bein’ a big, fat liar.”

you’d know those blues were glaring even without turning around, or suguru’s lighthearted snickers. the dragon is appeased with another square of almond and toffee-riddled chocolate, and gojo makes sure to nip at your fingers as he takes the candy into his mouth; your pointed look goes ignored before you give his pale nose a flick and gojo yelps like a hurt dog; it’s a scene straight out of a sitcom, suguru thinks.

“he’s lucky he’s cute,” you huff towards geto, “can’t eat shit around here for somebody always begging.”

geto laughs aloud at that. “you’re an enabler. just look what you’re doing now, you’ve trained him to be that way.”

“what i’m doing now? and what’s that supposed to mean?”

you glance between him and gojo, whose long arms are wrapped snug around your waist, cheek resting on your chest and white bangs tickling your skin as he’s practically trapped you beneath him. pouting his toffee-tasting lips at you because you’re not hand-feeding him sweets fast enough.

maybe you get what suguru’s saying. but that doesn’t mean pride will allow you to admit it. “i don’t see the issue.”

geto just shakes his head and he disappears into the kitchen. “and that’s your problem, right there.”

you take another bite of the chocolate, gojo’s attention-seeking groan falling on deaf ears. “i’m so sick of you and that attitude, suguru.”

“oh, are you?” his taunt is shortly followed by the fridge door closing shut. “you gonna fight me about it or what?”

“and will.”

the broad man reappears in the doorway, cracking open a bottle of water. he doesn’t say a word, though the arch of his brows and the way his eyes narrow as he looks you up and down does all the talking for him.

“oh shut up.” you feel soft lips brush against your arm. the tingling sensation causes you to fidget, inadvertently moving the chocolate bar just as gojo moves in for a bite—a shark losing its prey. he gives out a loud sigh in another effort to be noticed, though it’s a noise that is overlooked.

“why, i haven’t said a word, darling.” geto snorts before taking a few sips of water. “i just…find that threat…a bit interesting coming from you.”

“see, now what is that supposed to mean?”

restlessness shoots throughout gojo’s limbs as his eyes follow the candy bar back and forward. you’re too busy returning sassy gestures to suguru, and he can’t find a good opportunity to take another bite with you moving so much. this was not a part of the deal he made with you.

“you just wait til I get up, i’m gonna beat that a–ow!”

water spurts from geto’s lips as he fails miserably at holding in his laughter; he slaps the back of a hand over his mouth before scurrying away into the kitchen for a paper towel. meanwhile, gojo meets your wide-eyed gaze with an unimpressed frown, blinking as you rub over the fresh teeth indentations on your forearm.

“you—!” satoru scrunches his face, drawling out an ‘owww!’ as you shove two fingers into his forehead. “that’s the wrong chocolate, dumbass!”

tagz: @staryukis @anthoosies @hellkaiserinphoenix @astral-hydromancy @flvffybunny @exinqiu @luvr-exe @reallifepearl @purplegemadventures @roseqzpd @sataraxia @trafalgarrattata @snackeyalleyjuice @apatauaia @leilalilox @getouolgy @elleflying07

[bavariansugarcookie]

By the time Jason realized he was down bad for Tim it was already too late.

It was a typical patrol – Poison Ivy had been spotted in the business district, so they spent a couple hours clearing out a particularly nasty batch of carnivorous plants.

Personally, Jason would have been fine with a bunch of C-suite execs getting eaten, but he knew they would just take a work from home day and leave the interns to fight off the giant mutant plants.

He pulled up the last carnivorous seedling, holding it gingerly so it wouldn’t nip at his fingers. He turned to Tim to see if he wanted a new office plant – it might be helpful for the suck-ups at WE – when he saw Tim pull a granola bar out of his boot, unwrap it, and take a bite.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked and Tim looked up, like a deer in the headlights, if the deer had a mouthful of granola bar.

“I’m eating a granola bar,” Tim said with his mouth full, and Jason felt his eye twitch.

“It was in your boot.”

“It was wrapped!” Tim protested. “And I didn’t have room in my utility belt.”

Jason suddenly vividly imagined Tim reaching into his belt for batarang and whipping a granola bar into some goon’s face instead. “Doesn’t the suit have pockets?”

Tim gestured at the red spandex. “Where would I put one?” he asked, and that was – fair. Jason was all-too-aware of the way Tim’s suit left nothing to the imagination. “Can I eat my granola bar now, before my blood sugar tanks?”

Jason squinted, and sure enough, Tim’s hands were shaking a little. “Alfred’s been pestering me about eating before I’m about to pass out,” Tim grumbled.

“I have a better idea, little birdy,” he said. “Let’s get you some protein.”

“It has almonds!” Tim protested again and Jason shook his head.

“You just burned at least a thousand calories and that tiny bar is gonna fill you up for about ten seconds. Come on.”

And that’s how Jason ended up sitting on a rooftop eating chili dogs with Tim, like it was normal to hang out without a case or a debrief.

Tim closed his eyes and moaned at the first bite and Jason blushed, staring at his chili dog. Luckily Tim was too busy eating to notice – he proceeded to eat three chili dogs so fast that Jason wondered when the last time he had a real meal was.

Tim smiled at him, an errant smudge of chili on his lip and Jason felt his cheeks flush. Fuck.

He should’ve known better, but it was too late now. Now he kept beef jerky in the pockets of his leather jacket and took Tim out for chili dogs, or pizza, or the halal carts life-changing gyro after patrols. 

It was embarrassing. Jason was too old for a stupid crush on the one person who had the most reasons to hate his fucking guts.

That didn’t stop him from giving Tim a knife “because that’s what you hide in your boot, Tim,” trying to ignore the swell of satisfaction in his chest when Tim laughed and tucked the knife into his boot. 

“Do I even want to know how many knives you’re hiding?” he teased and Jason winked.

“More than you could ever find, baby bird.” Tim laughed again and Jason pulled a switchblade out of (one of) his secret pockets, twirling it around while Tim watched, his mouth curving up in a small, fond smile.

(Here's a link to the fic on AO3 btw, ok byyyyyyye!)

[ponder-the-orb]

Choose me

Pairing: Fem Tav/Gale, (Named draconic sorcerer tav)

Tags: 18+, smut and angst, post/during Act 2 romance scene, non-astral scene

Word count: 4.5K

Trigger warning: brief mention of cutting (as it's used in the Gauntlet of Shar)

Read on AO3 or below

♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥

‘Even if we were to find another way, perhaps this is the right way. The end that fate wishes for me.’

Gale’s words curdle inside Ciri. She tries to forget them, focussing instead on the sea of light drifting above her. She’d thought the Shadow Curse impenetrable, every glint of her fire eaten by the darkness if it strayed too far from her palm, but tonight she stands unharmed within it, the evil veiled behind a painting of colours and stars– a magic just for her. For them.

‘I wanted to spend it under a canopy of beauty and wonder. And with company to match.’

Her lip bleeds as she bites it. They were such soft words, sweet words, drenched in ardour like he could dull the razor’s edge of his decision if his tone was gentle enough. Perhaps what stings that most is that it worked. Her protest had been lost to the kiss that followed, then again when he’d sunk to his knees in front of her and slowly worked his hands under the edge of her robe.

She shivers slightly as he cups her bare calf and pulls it free. His fingers quickly unlace one boot, then the other, trails of warmth flushing under her skin as they map a path back up her legs. Dozens of times she’d found herself studying those hands of late. She’d watch him stand his ground in battle, trying not to wonder if the way he moulded the weave between his fingers was how he’d touch a lover. And sometimes, when the shadows grew long and the evenings cold in her tent, she would wonder again and again atop her bedroll until she was coming fast, her wet gasp caught in the palm pressed over her lips.

A hand slides under the bend of her knee and urges it forward. He pauses there, his thumb tracing a soft pattern over the skin before his lips follow. Her breath wavers like a hummingbird's wing as he shifts higher, pressing a firmer kiss to the plush of her inner thigh.

Her hands find his head.

There’s nothing rueful about the way his eyes catch hers, no hint of the death warrant all but signed by his goddess as he nips the skin, then rubs there with his cheek until it blooms a rosier pink. She wants nothing more than to lose herself in that look, in the blush dusting his nose and the heat smouldering like burnt almonds in his eyes. She tugs his hair, bathes in the answering gasp but can’t loosen her grip on his words. 

He’s choosing to die. He loves her and he’s choosing to die. She can fight until she’s bloody and burned, until the fire within her has all but withered into ash– and he’s still choosing to die.

He squeezes her hips and gently pushes her onto the summoned bed behind them. It’s comfier than anything she can recall sleeping on, the ache that flared in her limbs each morning finally quieting a little. Her immediate question about why they’ve been suffering in the dirt this whole time quickly vanishes as he makes his way on top of her. 

She leans up to meet him, sighing against his lips as one leg slides between hers.

Gone is the tease of his earlier kisses. He’s insistent now, pressing his desire into her lips, then her neck, mouthing and tasting until she can feel the cherry-bruises forming there. She knows that fervour, equal parts desperation and desire, how he’s losing that meticulously manicured composure and trying to commit everything to memory before he makes his choice.

‘This might be my last night alive.’

Her fingers dig into his back. No. She won’t let him, she can’t. 

She grabs his chin and pulls them apart. She’s wild and bright in his eyes, every want, every piece of her need for him reflected back. She cups his cheek, stroking the handsome curve of his face as she tries to find her scattered words. “I want you, I want this, all of it, more than anything.”

He smiles, leaning down to kiss her neck until the second half of her thought almost flies away.

“Of all the verses I’ve had the pleasure of perusing in my time, none have sounded quite so sweet as that.”

Ciri’s eyes flutter as the knee between her legs spreads her wide.

“Gale. Wait.” She guides his head up. “I want you, but you need to do something for me first.”

“Anything.”

Ciri takes a breath. “Choose to live." 

Gale’s smile falters, the embers of his gaze cooling. 

She grips his chin as he starts to look away. “And don’t you dare tell me that it isn’t a choice, because it is. I know it is. Dress it up as fate, as your own terms, whatever it is that you’re going to tell yourself because you think it will bring you peace– it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to resign yourself to this. Not now. Not with me.”

The words ache in her throat. She watches the play of emotions run over his face before he twists to kiss the palm of her hand.

“What I would give for such an adventurer's determination,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. “There is no peace in this, I can assure you. If I were still sequestered in my tower, perhaps it would be easier– being offered a way out that guaranteed my mistake could do something truly good? It’s too much to wish for. But now, I almost want to damn this group for giving me so much to care about. For making me doubt. Making me hope.”

She brushes her hand through his hair. “Then let yourself hope.”

“You truly think I wouldn’t choose another way if I could? If there were any other path that means I would not hurt anyone else?” His lips touch her palm again. “Hurt you?”

“You leave finding another way to me. Just tell me that you’re choosing to live. Not that you want to. Not that you wish you could, that you will. Say that, and I’ll be yours.”

It’s a plea masquerading as a promise, firebolts thrown blindly in the dark like the offer of her body is enough to shake his devotion.

He drops his head to her shoulder, quiet for a while. “Once I would have said that was quite impossible. Months studying this blasted thing in my chest and no answer was kind enough to present itself.” When he lifts his head, the tiniest smile flickers across his mouth. It sears straight through her. “But have I not seen this ragtag party of ours pull off at least half a dozen impossible stunts already?” 

She tugs him closer. “Say it then. Please.”

“Alright. If there is a way, if you do pull some kind of miracle out of your pocket, of course I will take it.”

The words are barely free of his mouth before she’s reclaimed his lips. She swallows his laugh, ecstasy singing through her veins as her answer is swept up into their kisses. 

“Then I’m yours, all of me.”

Choose me. That’s what she doesn’t say. Choose me over your Goddess. Choose me over the entity that made me turn down your illusion because I want to make love to you as far away from her bloody hands as possible. Choose me.

But for now, she can pretend that’s what he’s promised.

There’s something almost reverent about the way he strips her bare. Impatience shines in his eyes but he makes no move to hurry this time. His tongue follows the seams between blush and burns, lingering over her breasts until her back arches into the warmth. She lets herself fall, melting into his caresses until all she can do is wonder if this is what it feels like to be loved as a God.

It’s a new kind of want for Ciri. Something deeper, redder, almost ugly. She wants to break him down, fuck him, love him until she’s unwound every last thought of following Mystra’s command. She bites his neck and digs her fingernails in until she’s sure the meaning behind those crescent marks will linger.

Mine.

She cradles the back of his head, her breathing pitching to a sharper gasp as his lips touch her ear. She feels him smirk.

“I had wondered if there was truth to the rumour about how sensitive elven ears are.”

She shudders as he kisses harder. “I think… you have your answer.” 

He strokes the point with his thumb and she mimics the movement, grinding her swollen clit against his knee until the skin shines with her impatient desire. He presses it forward, sipping her answering moan before sliding his mouth down her body.

“Not quite yet.”

She finds her pleasure twice, once as his tongue circles her clit, then in his lap as he thrusts inside her. She feels his uneven breathing on her cheek, his nose mashed slightly awkwardly there as he chases his own pleasure. She holds him as he does, making a memory of the smell of sweat and dirt and the melody of his cry as he finishes inside her. Messy. Mortal. Perfect.

Choose me. The thought stays as they lay tangled together, his hand slowly mapping the length of her spine. He suddenly pokes the crease between her eyebrows, chuckling at her answering pout

“Whatever thought you’re pondering there is obviously wriggling around more than any parasite. Care to offload it?”

Her mouth hangs open. The words dance on the tip of her tongue, bright as canaries desperate to be free.

Choose me.

She rolls over and presses a soft kiss to the orb in his chest.

“Just that… I love you too.”

***

If misery were a place, Ciri is sure it would be the Gauntlet of Shar. It’s not merely the visage of the dark goddess poised with her blade around every corner, nor the old carrion stench of bones littering its corridors. The air here is wrong, even more so than in the cursed land outside. She feels it black and heavy in her lungs, sees it cling to the shadows appearing under everyone else’s eyes. Even Shadowheart’s fevered devotion has faded to near-silent prayer. 

Ciri had heard her once through the dark, thanking Shar over and over for the opportunity to realise her dream of being a true Dark Justiciar. Watching Shadowheart rub the fresh cuts on her arms after each trial, it’s getting harder to hold her tongue about whether this is truly a dream or some twisted nightmare.

It’s a different kind of darkness that weighs on Gale. Ciri had seen Mystra’s command swimming in his eyes when they’d found Ketheric’s army, then again between frantic kisses when she’d tried to make him forget. She’d dreamt of after. Her trance had slipped into visions of the orb bursting free, his face twisting in pain and then eclipsed in cold netherse magic. She’d jerked awake in a sheen of tears and sweat and buried herself into his side, murmuring over and over again until her voice was hoarse.

“Please don’t do it. Please.” 

The feelings are a gift and a curse, ones she once thought too broken to actually have. Lovers were a tool, something fun on the road or after a few glasses at an inn. She’d take what she needed and then be off: new city, new adventure, that name and face already forgotten. It’s not this, something flushed so deep inside her that it aches with each heartbeat.

She loves him. Loves him in a painful, stupid, storybook kind of way that makes her want to burst into song and to break things. 

Tendays she’s known him. It’s barely a few grains in the hourglass that could be her life. So why can she feel each one burning so brightly? Eclipsing everything else until the fifty years that came before seem so grey in comparison? It’s a question she doesn’t want the answer to. All she knows is that he has her heart cupped in his hands and she is not ready to let it shatter between them.

The night after the final trial she seeks him out by the campfire. The space is quiet, just him staring into the light and periodically waving in extra kindling. She bumps his shoulder as she sits down. 

“You’re quiet tonight. Either something is very wrong or you’ve finally exhausted the list of anecdotes to tell me.”

He offers her a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Neither. I’ve just found that silence seems to hang heavier here, like weight in the air. I’m sure you’ve noticed even the weave seems distant.” He snaps his fingers but the sparks that fly are a dull shower. He shakes his head. “I’ll be more than happy once we’re away from Shar’s influence. One step closer to stopping Ketheric, hopefully stopping everything.”

There’s a thread of resignation woven into his calm. She feels it wrap around her throat.

“Tell me about home,” she says quickly. “About Waterdeep.”

His eyes grow glossier by firelight. “Did my illusion not do it justice?”

“That’s just one room in your tower. Tell me more. Tell me everything.”

He throws the remainder of the wood on the fire, a more genuine smile growing in the brightness. “Well, only if you’re prepared to sit here all night. There is quite a lot to cover.”

She shifts closer, resting her chin in her upturned hands. “I am.”

And so he talks. Talks and talks and talks until she doesn’t understand how his throat isn’t cracked as sandstone. She’d been on the receiving end of at least a dozen of his orations before, but this is altogether different. His words are fireflies in the darkness, flecks of paint rendering Waterdeep in fantastic colour around them. She sees the arcanists’ towers shining in vivid cuts of crystal by the harbour, the puddles of spilled ale as people gather to stare down into the abyss within The Yawning Portal, the gravestones falling over each other like shifting teeth in the City of the Dead– everything.

His face grows more animated as he moves through each area, arms gesticulating wildly like he’s conjuring the city itself over the shadows in front of them. She’s enraptured, clinging to each word, then to his hands as she shifts closer.

“... and then after Auril's Blesstide, there’s the Solstice. It’s not exactly a Waterdhavian exclusive holiday but I’m not sure I’ve seen any other city produce such an exorbitant amount of decorations for the season. Once upon a time I adorned my own tower as well and it always caused quite the stir. I somewhat regret not putting in the effort last year but, as you can imagine, having a city-levelling orb in my chest did not exactly put me in the most festive mood. Tara was ever insistent though, nagging me to visit people given the nature of the holiday. ” He turns and softly brushes her chin “- spending time with those you care about.”

The screech of a whetstone suddenly cuts him off. They turn to see Lae’zel outside her tent and holding her greatsword above the spinning rock. She glowers at them both. 

“If you two insist on continuing this mind-numbing foreplay rather than keeping watch, I suggest you do it somewhere else. Sharpening my blade can only drown out so much. This wretched place echoes.”

Ciri stifles her giggle and quickly pulls Gale into his own tent. She sits down amongst the growing collection of pillows and starts to unlace the back of her shirt. He sits behind and takes over like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Come to think of it, you’ve never really spoken about your home,” he says.

She shrugs. “That’s the life of an adventurer. No home to speak of really, just whatever inn or camp I’ve found for the week.”

He tugs the final fastening and her shirt falls down to her waist. “You’ve never thought about settling down anywhere? None Faerǔn’s great cities ever tempted you?”

She sighs as his fingers trace down her bare spine. “And give up adventuring? Never.”

“You can do both, you know. Head out each morning to slay or burn or pilfer– whatever it is you feel most inclined to do that day, then return to the same bed. You’d probably save some of that hard-earned if not slightly bloody gold if you didn’t have to pay for a new room every tenday.”

She considers his words. In her decades travelling she’d seen almost all of the major cities on the Sword Coast: Fandelin, Neverwinter, Everlund. None of them ever made her want to stop moving forward. Once the coin was in her purse and the job torn from the notice board, all she could think about was heading out and filling in the blank edges of her map. 

“I don’t really know what home is supposed to feel like but… I know it’s none of the places I’ve travelled to before,” she admits.

“Home.” He draws out the word in a slow hum. “It does not have to be a place– not a house or a tower, or a city. It can be a feeling.” His hands spread over her chest. “Or perhaps a person.” His lips touch the back of her neck. “Perhaps a person with an excellently stocked wine cellar.” He kisses up to that spot on her ear he’s grown annoyingly fond of. “Not to mention ocean-views, a crackling hearth and a very carefully selected mattress.”

She leans back as he starts to circle her nipple. “That does sound nice.”

She yelps when he pinches her. “I was aiming for exquisite, but I suppose nice will do for now.”

She spins in his arms and presses him down into the blankets below. His hair falls in a dark mess as she settles over his thighs. “Asking me to visit? You must be feeling better if you’re already thinking about the future.” 

He leans up to trace the corner of her mouth. “Dreaming about the future would be a better description.” 

Their eyes linger on the orb as she unwraps his shirt. She presses her hand over it and feels the gentle thrum of the magic—  the noose around his neck she won’t let him tie. 

She tilts his face up. “Leave it to me, remember?”

He rests his hand over hers. “I do. Though I am still holding out hope that your plan has evolved beyond throw a fireball at the problem.”

“Name one time that hasn’t worked.” 

There’s ice under the joke. She’s a fraud and a fake, no plan beyond the claws of her anger and a hope that grows shakier with each passing day. She knows he can feel it as he kisses her. It’s still desperate, his mouth clinging to hers like she could disappear at any moment.

So she lets him explore, revelling in the growing familiarity of his mouth on her body and his hands in her hair. His breaths become poetry against her skin, whispering that her lips are like the reddest wine and the gold in her eyes a sunrise. She tries not to think if he wove such sweet musings for his goddess too, or what she might have done for him in return. Ciri certainly cannot picture her as a giver. All she’s heard of Mystra is what she demanded. How loving could those lips have ever been if they were capable of commanding death with little more feeling than a debtor collecting their dues.

She flips them over, dragging her own mouth down his body until it’s firmly wrapped around his growing hardness. The curse that drops from his lips burns with pride into her mind. She moves faster, urges him to take what he needs because she can– because she wants to.

Choose me.

She won’t say it out loud, but with her touch, her tongue until he’s red-cheeked and gasping. She thinks it again as she holds him, naked and slick, wiping those messy strands of chestnut and silver away from his forehead. 

He knows. He has to.

Choose me.

***

Ciri rubs her eyes but the sight above her doesn’t change. Hanging in the wet, sinewy air of this cavern is their true enemy, the Heart of the Absolute: an Elderbrain. The vastness of the space barely contains its massive size, easily the width of Moonrise itself, perhaps larger, she can’t be sure. It pulses and twitches above the raised platform, a mess of feelers moving jerkily as the figures below seem to guide it with three curiously glowing stones.

Ciri’s hands slip over her staff as she retreats back into the shadows. Her shock is laced with ire– mostly at herself. It was obvious. What else would be leading the illithids other than the eldritch horror that commanded them? And now the four of them have to fight it. 

She takes a breath and tries to afford herself a better view. It doesn’t help– looking closer at its glistening surface, she’s suddenly not sure if she’ll even be able to burn it.

She seeks out Gale’s hand behind her but meets only air. Turning, she sees his gaze is fixed to the pointy black crown fused to the top of the brain. There’s no terror in his expression. The quick intake of breath and the sparkle in his eyes speak of something altogether different– wonderment. It makes Ciri’s skin crawl.

“Look at that crown. It radiates with power unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs to himself. “To have it, to hold. If only I could.” 

There’s that wizard energy she remembers, like a magpie circling some shiny trinket. She fights the urge to slap him with the end of her staff.

He suddenly shakes his head, eyes refocusing. “No, I can’t. This is it. I must do as Mystra commands.”

His words are a slap to her face. They’re firm as an oath, like his promise to her meant nothing.

She whips around completely. “You can’t.”

“Look at that monstrosity, Ciri. More than just a Goddess counts on my courage, whole worlds hang in the balance. What more can I do? Can any of us do?”

Biting anger roots her to the spot. She hates that he won’t believe in her, hates the sound of her name in his mouth, hates that he’s right. She still has no plan, nothing that could possibly make a dent in that being. Their world does hang in the balance… and she doesn’t care. Not one bit. She’ll let it all turn to ruin with a smile on her face if it means she can keep him safe.

There’s only one thing she has left, a final phrase left unsaid. She puts both hands on his chest until she can feel the wild pulse of netherse magic. 

“Choose me, Gale. The one who loves you, the one who needs you to live. Choose me.”

His reaction is instant. There’s no hesitation in his eyes as he pulls her closer, nor in the smile that breaks over his face as he speaks. “I love you too. Much more than myself, more even than Mystra. Very well, whether I condemn this world or not, I choose you.”

Her heart cartwheels in her chest as his words sink in. All her thoughts vanish under the weight of love in his eyes except for one.

There is no way in all nine hells that she is dying today.

“Ahem.” She follows the cough to meet Shadowheart’s pointed gaze. “While I appreciate that we are not suddenly dying in a fiery explosion, do you think you could share your plan B?”

Ciri turns back. Relief washes through her as the brain floats away, leaving just Ketheric seething on the platform below. She grips her staff again, adrenaline pumping like firewine through her veins. “Same as always. Sweat, swords and sorcery.”

***

It’s almost strange to see the Shadow Curse start to break away. Ciri stands on the very edge of their camp, watching as pieces of the bile-black sky melt into the first sunrise she’s seen in almost a month. The trees shiver and stretch towards the light, soft pink shadows caressing the broken streets and the long, now silent, reaches of Moonrise towers. The land is still ripped open like an old wound, but now it has the chance to finally heal. That’s what Halsin had told her at least.

She couldn’t have fought her answering smile even if she wanted to. For once they were leaving somewhere better than they found it and they finally have a clear path to Baldur’s Gate. 

She feels the lightness in everyone as she strolls back through camp.

Well, almost everyone.

She quietly ducks around a corner and into Gale’s tent. He’s lying on their bedroll and staring at the ceiling with a hard blank expression. It’s the same place she’d left him four hours ago when he said he’d wanted to be alone. This time, he doesn’t protest as she sits next to him, nor when she gently unhooks the staff that’s still clamped between tense, white fingers.

She kisses each one as his eyes finally drift down to hers.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks.

“I was ready end it all, my life, yours, everyone’s. In that moment… they were nothing. Only her command mattered.” His whisper catches on the final words, like a splinter of glass stuck in his throat.

She rubs the back of his hand. “But you didn’t.”

He exhales but his face doesn’t relax. “I had never felt so certain. And yet...” 

He trails off. She can feel that there's more, like the reality of Mystra’s demand and Ciri’s confession still press with the weight of the Elderbrain on his chest.

She lies down next to Gale and waits for him to look at her again. “You chose life. You chose me.”

His expression finally cracks. Slowly, the hint of another smile quirks there, enough for that final whisper of doubt in her mind to flutter away. “I did.”

“And do you regret it?”

He rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around her waist. Tugging her on top of him she feels the rapid beat of his heart thrumming through his robe– her reminder that he’s here. Alive. Always. 

“Not for one moment,” he murmurs into her cheek. “I choose you. I’ll always choose you.”

It’s the full stop to a sentence Ciri had written weeks ago, something now inked indelibly over her own heart. She doesn’t care how little time they’ve spent together. From now until the long years of her life finally end, she is never letting him go.

♥・。.。*♥*。.。·*♥*·。.。*♥*·。.。*♥*。.。·*♥

Yes I have now written this exact romance scene 3 times. Yes I will probably do it 3 more times because it just DOES things to me.

This is a drabble from my ongoing fic Broken Horizons that you can read here.

[mintmatcha]

thinking about how obi responds when he actually sees reader wearing his scales as earrings for the first time.

he thinks he's not good enough for her- so, to see her so casually and proudly wearing his scales around like that? feelings.

Obi slides a small box across the lacquered table. You had almost forgotten your request since the months had passed, but the memory is fresh i. your mind when he flips the lid and presents two polished scales, shining in the morning light.

"I'm sorry for the delay," he smiles, "I wanted you to have only the best."

His nose crunches as he talks, an extra wiggle that not usually there.

"I made sure they were for the same spot, so they'd be similar sizes." His voice is bright yet nervous as he clings onto the box, rounded claws out and digging into the velvet sides, "I'd you find any imperfections, let me know. I'd be happy to find a better shed-"

You slide your hands over his and ease the box from his grasp. The familiar glean catches the light and you can't help but smile; it does feel like you own a piece of him now- something you can hold forever.

"These are perfect," you say.

"You-" he swallows, "I'm sorry, my dear, you have to say you accept them. It's silly, I know, but it's tradition, so-"

"I accept, Obsidian." Agreeing doesn't fill you with butterflies the way it did with Adam. Instead, it fills you with a sense of bliss, a calmness you've never known, "I accept these and you and whatever comes with that."

"My fawn. I-" he stumbles over himself, trying to find words that just won't come. "Thank you. I promise to court you properly and truly."

You marvel at them for a moment longer, a hum on your voice. Courting: it's official.

"Don't feel obligated to display these," your partner says suddenly, "Our relationship is still strange to a lot of people - Men and Dragonborn alike. I don't want you to put yourself into an uncomfortable situation just for my benefit."

.

That night, it takes only a little work to string the scales into metal hoops. They hang slightly uneven, but you barely care; they catch the firelight so beautifully that you can't stop looking at yourself. Ego has never been your strong suit, but these make you feel gorgeous. Upon further inspection, they are scales from his nose; small and absolutely perfect ovals, you recognize the spot that you kiss every day.

You can barely sleep that night; you scramble to the door the second day the sun begins to crest, hoping to beat Obsidian downstairs, but instead you find him in the hall. The dragonborn is shirtless, towel in hand as he notices you.

"Is my fawn looking for a morning dalliance? I would be happy to -" Obi freezes midsentence, struck. You can't hide your smile; you erupt into giggles as you prance over to him, cupping your new jewelry in your palms.

"Do you like my earrings?"

Obsidian drops his towel to reach for you. The Draconic rolls off his tongue so quickly that you can't even try to keep up, the rolling peaks and clicks nonstop. The almond pupils of his eyes are blown out, wide and swallowing all light as he pulls you close against him. Kissing is a bit difficult for him, so he resorts to the traditional dragonborn act of bumping his snout into your neck. He pushes and kneads and nips, too overwhelmed to stop.

"Obi!" you whisper-yell, trying to avoiding waking the other Inn guests, "Obsidian! I can't understand you!"

He quiets then, but continues purring.

"I am so lucky to be yours, my dear," he whispers, "So, so, impossibly lucky."

[starogeorgina]

Killer queen

Warnings: Incest, sexual content

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.02

The north was far better than you imagined; the feeling when your feet sank into the snow for the first time made you feel ecstatic; and although not all the Northerners liked the Targaryens, they were fascinated by your dragons, and most were welcoming, although you suspected many acted that way out of fear.

As it was an unpolitical visit, you rode on horses to Winterfell to get a glimpse of the castle you’d heard so much about; it was just as you imagined. The outer wall was at least eighty feet high and surrounded by a large moat. Growing up in the red keep made you appreciate the beauty of the castle complex being covered in snow.

During the days, you and Aemond wore cloaks to visit bars and various other locations on horseback to try and blend in without being spotted while Aelora, your emerald giant, and Vhagar flew freely without disturbance.

The nights were different; Aemond took you whenever and wherever he could with his mouth and fingers. With your back pressed against a tree, he’d ignore the sting of the cold nipping at his knees as he kneeled on the ground in front of you, worshiping you with his mouth. Or toy with you by rubbing his hard on against you in a public place, causing you to become hot and flustered.

Aemond insisted it was impractical to have sex knowing there wasn’t a way for you to get moon tea while staying in the north.

“I don’t think Aelora likes the cold,” you state, watching as the dragon you bonded with curls herself into a ball on top of a small hill. Aelora was known for her gorgeous emerald green scales that glimmered under the sunlight. She didn’t hatch until your fourth name day and was the smallest out of all the Targaryen dragons, but she was fiercely loyal to you; she even hissed at Aegon the one time he accidentally pushed you to the ground while drunk.

“Perhaps she misses the heat of the king's landing.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon's feast should have ended a week prior; you hoped they would have returned to Dragonstone by the time you returned. “Maybe we should wait a couple more days before leaving.”

“Two more days, then where are we going?”

You feel yourself melt under Aemond’s gaze; the looks he gives you are always so full of love and admiration, even when he’s in a bad mood. You rest your head against his chest and say, “We can go wherever you want. It's up to you if we fly back to King's Landing or follow your heart’s desire to Dorne.”

Aemond didn’t answer. He kissed the crown of your head, keeping his attention on the two sleeping dragons in front of him.

—

Sitting in a chair by the fireplace Aemond watches as a pretty bastard called Iris Snow kisses your collarbone while straddling you. The idea of another man even looking at you with lust in his eyes was enough to drive Aemond into a jealous rage, but a woman... When you first said you were attractive to other females, he was happy for you to experiment, as long as he got to watch and occasionally join in.

When you first laid eyes on Iris two days prior, Aemond saw the devilish glint in your eyes and knew what you wanted. The brunette made it obvious that she was intrigued by you both, but only you got to play with her.

One of Almond's favorite sights was your legs spread wide open, giving him or whatever maiden you chose for the night access to your most sensitive area. Goosebumps spread across your body as the front of your low-cut dress is pulled down. Immediately, Iris attaches her lips to your breasts, sucking on them. You make eye contact with Aemond and say, “Not getting enough attention, my love?”

He doesn't take the bait and says nothing.

You let out a small moan as her teeth nipped at your skin. You look over again, expecting to see Aemond’s lilac eye clouded with lust, but it wasn’t; his whole demeanor was overshadowed by a stillness. You pull back and kiss Iris one last time, then whisper that you are sorry but she needs to leave. She looks disappointed but goes without argument.

When she’s out of the room, you walk over to Aemond and sit on his lap, your head resting against his chest. “What is wrong ñuha jorrāelagon?”

He doesn’t answer. You feel his arm tighten around your waist, his breath tickling the back of your neck, and his hand resting on your thigh. Something was gnawing at him; it had been since before you left home. That was two weeks ago. Every time you asked him previously, he just said he was distracted, but you weren’t going to let it go this time.

“Aemond,” you cup his chin, forcing him to look at you. “You’ve been dis-” You cut yourself off, scared you’d sound desperate and pathetic, but the truth was you were. Aemond has always clung to you; he’s never withheld a part of himself. The thought of losing him terrified you, “whatever it is, just tell me.”

He kisses the back of your hand and says, “My love, I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to ruin your fun. Before we left, Mother informed me that my grandsire had started to look at possible suitors for your hand in marriage.”

You don't dare move. That knotting in your gut reminds you of the feeling you had when it was announced Aegon was to be wed to one of his sisters, and for a split second you thought it was you and not Helaena, and the feeling of your world crashing around you reappeared. Finally, you find your voice again. “I will have no other.”

“It is known in the realm that any man who asks for your hand in marriage will face the wrath of Vhagar,” Aemond kisses your cheek. “Although we should expect a battle when we return, convincing our mother we should be married won’t be easy.”

“We don’t need their permission,” you spin around on his lap so you're now facing him, your lips ghosting his. “We should just get married, here in the snow.”

He gives you a warning look and says, “Ashara.”

You lean into Aemond, capturing his lips with your own. “Nobody would ever come between us. No suitors. No men courting me. No women staring at you. I will be able to stop drinking that horrid tea and swell with your seed.”

A look you’d never seen before flashes across Aemond’s face; he looked like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. He grabs you, but the hips pull you in closer, “Tomorrow night, we will become husband and wife.”

Grinning, you wrap your arms around his neck. “In that case, I want you to fuck me like a whore one last time before making me yours forever.”

—

“Can I ask you something?”

Aemond raised his brows, sighing. He wasn’t one for talking after making love, but he nodded regardless, “Anything, my love.”

Caressing his face, you gently brush hair out of his face, your thumb gently stroking over his scar. “When did you know I was yours?”

“You’ve been mine for as long as I can remember.”

You lick at your dry lips staring up at the ceiling, “the night you lost your eye….I knew I’d never leave you again. I've always regretted leaving you to drink with Aegon, things could have turned out so different if I’d stayed by your side.”

“I would never have approached Vhagar with you by my side.”

“You never would have lost an eye.”

Aemond sat up right, looking at you with a stern look on his face. “I told mother it was a fair trade because I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon but that’s not all I gained that night. Watching you cling to Helaena, crying, with a murderous glare in your eyes, I finally realized I was yours just as much as you were mine, even if I was too young to know what that meant.”

“Avy jorrāelan.”

“I love you too, my sweet Ashara.”

Avy jorrāelan - I love you

ñuha jorrāelagon - my dear

[lee-aveyourmark]

sunday morning

In which you warm up a cold Wonwoo.

∘.∙°. masterlist Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x reader Genre: fluff domestic fluff Wordcount: 517 A/N: ik ik, this is not the sunday morning that maroon 5 was talking about but it is what i envision a sunday morning to be :)

"I told you to wear a t-shirt underneath your sweater, Jeon Wonwoo."

"Okay, ma'am." He mocks you with lips turned upwards. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to hide the trembling which you were always a little too concerned of.

Wonwoo clearly overestimated the ability of the sun that shone through his windows earlier to warm him up now when strolling through the aisles of fresh produce that stood at the heart of the Sunday market. He partially blamed himself for forgetting to check the weather before leaving the house. (Okay, so maybe he didn't need to check the weather to know that an early winter morning would be nipping at the tips of his nose and fingers.)

However, he also attributed his oversight to how distracting you were, humming your way around the kitchen in those adorable fluffy socks of yours and peppering the most loving of kisses all over Seol's face. Indeed, the way that you greeted him with a firm kiss on the corner of his lips was likely the reason why all sense of logic had disappeared that morning, leaving him to dress only enough for a spring afternoon. And now, he's pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands as much as possible to trap out the cold.

"Give me your hands."

Wonwoo reluctantly obeys your command with a light scoff in disbelief of how you were treating him like a dog, but treated Seol the exact opposite.

Any sense of spite, however, dissipates as your warm hands firmly embrace his cold ones. As he watches you lean in to blow warm air on his hands, he already feels the effects of the frosty winter wearing away.

Wonwoo will never understand how you always manage to stay so warm. Maybe you were just that good at dressing appropriately for the weather. Maybe you're just built different. Or, maybe, it's a physical manifestation of your warm heart. Wonwoo would never admit the last reason though. No, because he doesn't believe it to be true. Your hands would be burning hot instead.

"I can't hold hands with you if your fingers are icicles."

"But the only way for my hands to warm up is if you hold them."

Yep, all sense of rational thinking really had flung out the window when you'd kissed him good morning.

You're blushing now, avoiding eye contact with him but still grasping his hands within yours. Pride blooms within his chest upon sight of the rose adorning your cheeks.

He takes the opportunity of your flustered state to lean down and connect his lips with yours in a kiss that reminds you of how much he loves you. His lips are soft, tasting sweet like the almond croissaint that he sampled not too many minutes before the cold got to him. When he pulls back, the glaze over your eyes makes him plan the quickest exit route out of the market and back home.

"You truly are something."

Wonwoo kisses you again, his lips finding your forehead this time round.

"I'm yours is what I am."

[avastrasposts]

Six and a half minutes - Frankie's version

In honour of Frankie Friday, I've repurposed a short little smutty thing I wrote back in January (I think) and changed it around a bit. So some of you may already have read it, but I think it's probably new to most of you. Please enjoy Frankie interrupting you in the kitchen.

Buen provecho!

The holidays were just around the corner so you’d decided to get a head start on making your favourite Christmas cookies and pies, reserving an entire weekend for the project. You'd been at it since Friday afternoon and today, Sunday, you’d started to regret your decision to cram it all into one weekend. You're tired, warm and sweaty in your hot kitchen, shedding your sweatpants and opting for just knickers and a t-shirt under the apron. But you’re finally down to your last bake; saffron rolls. Delicious and soft, golden in colour, and filled with almond paste, butter and sugar. The smell that wafted through your kitchen was heady and rich as you pulled the first batch from the oven and slid the second tray in. 

You’d placed the hot ones on a cooling rack and just gone back to the dough, when you heard the key in the front door, glancing over your shoulder. Frankie stepped over the threshold and shrugged out of his coat, pushing the door closed behind him. You saw him lift his head at the smell of saffron and butter and sniff loudly, looking into the kitchen. 

“You’re looking very sexy, bebita,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice, “kneading that dough, cute butt on display for me.” 

He stepped up behind you and his arms went around your waist, pulling you into his body, his nose grazing across the back of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“You smell very sexy too, saffron, sugar and butter, good enough to eat, hermosa” he growled, his hand coming up and cupping your breast through the apron. 

“Hands off, Frankie,” you ordered, “the next batch of rolls are coming out in,” you looked over at the timer on the oven, “six and a half minutes and you’re not making me burn them.” 

“Six and a half minutes?” Frankie grinned into your neck. “That sounds like a challenge.”

He sunk his mouth to the soft skin on your shoulder, kissing it and moving his tongue across as he worked his way up towards your ear. 

“Seriously, Frankie, do not make me burn the rolls!” you exclaimed as you felt his teeth nip at your earlobe, sending a little jolt down to your core. 

“I promise, I’ve got six and half minutes to make you scream my name, cariño,” he mumbled as his hand left your breast and grabbed your jaw, pulling your face round to his mouth. You felt his tongue, licking your lips and making you open them with a moan. 

His other hand had left your waist and trailed down the back of your naked thighs, his big hand warm against your skin. You shivered as he moved it in between your legs, his rough fingertips caressing up along the smooth skin of your inner thigh and you felt a familiar heat build up inside you. Frankie’s hands and mouth always made you wet when he wanted it and he knew the effect he had on you. Now he grumbled into your mouth. 

“Are you wet for me already, bebita? Want me to check?” 

You moaned and moved to pull your hands out of the dough as his words made you ache to touch him, pull him closer. 

“No, no,” he grinned, pulling away from your mouth. “Keep them there, I’m gonna make you come right here, no need to clean your hands, no need to touch me.” He gave you a wicked grin and pushed his open mouth on yours again. 

You felt his hand cup the fabric of your pussy from behind, his fingers sitting right over your clit, it had already started to ache for more. He pressed a finger against it, soaking the fabric with the slick already building up inside. 

“Hermosa…dripping wet for me already, I knew it, such a needy girl,” he breathed against your mouth as he felt the wetness stick to his fingers. 

He pushed the fabric aside and his finger moved through the wet folds, edging up towards your clit and he started to circle it. Ordinarily he would tease you, just edge around the clit, moving back and let his fingers play around your entrance before he went fully to work, but now he was on the clock. 

The sensation of his fingers made you gasp into his mouth, stifling a moan as he gently rubbed the calloused pad of his finger over your clit, creating friction that sent jolts of electricity into your core. 

“Fuck…cariño…if I knew baking made you this wet I’d come back earlier,” Frankie mumbled, he’d pulled away from your mouth and was watching you gasp as he pushed you further toward the edge. One hand was kneading your breast, fingers pinching your nipple when the fingers on his other hand pushed down on your clit, it made your nerves scream every time. Through half open eyes you saw him watch you intently, turned on by the ecstasy visible on your face as he caressed your pussy. 

“Frankie, “ you moaned, “how much longer?” You're panting out the words and he chuckles, amused by the effect of his fingers on your clit. 

He glanced over at the oven, “Four minutes, hermosa, I best get to work.”  

With swift hands he hooked his fingers into your knickers and pulled them down before he grabbed your hips and pulled your butt towards him. Your hands were still in the dough and when he pulled you back, you stretched out and rested your chest on the flour covered surface, back arching and opening you up for him. 

Frankie’s hands left you for a few seconds and you heard him undo his trousers and push them down.

“Bebita…if only you could see what I’m seeing,” he groaned, “this dripping wet pussy of yours looks more delicious than anything you can bake,” his voice low and dark as he ran his hands over your behind, kneading the flesh before running the tip of his cock along the edge of your pussy, making you spasm and shiver, pushing up against him.

“Please, Frankie, please fuck me, the time,” you whimpered as you felt the tip of his hard cock drag over your clit. 

“Are you worried about the rolls or do you just really need my cock in you?” He was chuckling but you heard the strain in his voice, the need in him to sink himself into you and feel your pussy clench around him. 

“Frankie, please,” you moaned again, your pussy aching to feel him inside you, that thick cock filling you all the way up and straining your cunt wide. 

With a groan, he did as you begged, and pushed himself inside, grabbing your hips and pulling you on to him, his cock sinking deep. You gasped, the force of his thrust pushing you forward, making you sink your fingers into the dough, grabbing on to it for any kind of support as the heat inside you started to build. 

“Fuck, bebita, always so tight for me, like your cunt is trying to choke me,” Frankie moaned as he pulled out to the tip. You looked over your shoulder and saw him looking down between you with lust blown eyes, seeing the way his cock was coated in your juice. “So fucking wet for me, hermosa,” he groaned and with a tight grip on your hips he pushed himself in again, slamming against the back of your legs, and you felt him bottom out inside you, making you cry out as he hit every nerve ending inside, making you spasm and convulse around him. 

Frankie set a fast pace, no time for gentle love making as he’s chased both your release and his own. His thick hard cock filled you up, the hard ridges and veins of it created friction deep inside you, making you moan every time he pulled out and slammed back in. He was breathing hard, his fingers sure to make bruises on your skin from how tight he was holding on to you. 

He bent down, circled his arm around your waist as his hand settled between your legs, never missing a beat thrusting into you. Rough fingers started to roll over the centre of nerves between your legs and your breaths stuttered and became ragged. Moaning his name you clenched the dough and pushed hard back against his cock as it slammed into you. 

“Bebita, I need you come for me, I’m not gonna last,” Frankie panted, “I need your tight little pussy to come on my cock,” he groaned, a deep rumble in his chest, “squeeze me real hard, and then I’ll fill you up with my cum.” 

He slammed his cock into you, your pussy started to convulse around him as his fingers rolled across your clit. “Gonna fill you up,” he pulled out and thrust back in, “and then watch my cum drip from your pussy as you knead that dough.” 

His cock bottomed out and hit new spots deep inside as his words pushed you over the edge. With a strangled cry you felt your pussy cramp around his hard cock buried deep inside and Frankie growled loudly behind you as his rhythm faltered. The climax hit you hard, making you arch your back into him, trying to push him even deeper in as you moaned his name and his fingers dug into your hips. He thrust himself onto you, collapsing over your back, his hips moving slower, milking every drop of himself into your pussy as he groaned into your hair. 

You leaned your head on the kitchen table, the dough sticking to your hands, as Frankie’s hot breath flowed over your neck. From the oven you heard the timer start to beep and he chuckled. 

“Right on time, cariño.”  

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday: Grey Sweatpants

NSFW images below the cut, 18+

“Munson! What the actual fuck are these?” Robin yells from the kitchen, and Eddie can’t help giggling to himself as he swings his body through the doorway.

“Those are a suggestion for Steve.” He waggles his eyebrows, tongue out. “I get that you are uninterested in the male form, but you’ve seen how Steve fills out his jeans.” Eddie hums, eyes closed as he thinks about his boyfriend in his acid-washed Levi’s.

“And I just want to encourage him to be comfortable. Let ‘Little Stevie’ stretch out.”

“And you’re doing that by giving him cookies with little dicks on them?”

“Yep!” Eddie says, popping the P. “I just want my baby to wear his sweats around the apartment so I can watch it swing.” He picks up a cookie, nibbles at the cuff-end.

“I live here too! And I very much do not want to watch ‘Little Stevie’ swinging!”

Eddie holds up three fingers. “It’ll only happen when you’re out. Or if we’re in our bedroom. Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout.”

“It’s about the intention.”

“But grey sweatpants? Seriously? Why not just get him naked?”

“Anticipation! Think about Chrissy wearing an oversized t-shirt and sometimes you can see her panties when she raises her arms.”

“It’s more about seeing her nips through the—Ohhhh. Yeah, got it.”

Just then, the door to the apartment swings open. “Babe! I’ve still got another bag of groceries, come grab these!”

“Coming,” Eddie shouts, shoving the remains of the cookie into his mouth.

Eddie jogs to meet Steve, taking the bags from him, chewing even as he leans in for a kiss.

Steve laughs and leans away. “You’re covered in crumbs!” He uses his thumb to wipe at Eddie’s mouth, finally kissing him sweetly.

“I got cookies from the bakery you like.”

That earns Eddie a second kiss, this one deeper. “Almond sugar?”

“Always.” One more fast kiss. “Anything in here that I should worry about melting?” Eddie asks, gesturing to the bags.

“Actually, yeah… And I need to get that last bag. Oh, hey, Robbie.”

“You two are so gross. Did you get more peanut butter? I wanna make a pb&j before I have to leave.”

“Yeah, it’s in one of those,” Steve says pointing to the bags in Eddie’s arms. Then he runs out the door and back down to his car.

Robin steps up and takes a bag from Eddie and struts back into the kitchen. Eddie follows, and together they put away the groceries. 

When Steve returns with the final bag, Eddie takes it from him and shoos him off to go get comfortable. “I’ll bring you a cookie in a minute.”

Steve smiles, kissing Eddie slowly, hands migrating down to cup his ass. “Thanks, babe.”

Eddie puts the remaining groceries away while Robin eats her sandwich. “Best of luck in your weird sex endeavors,” she says with. salute before popping the last bite in her mouth.

She pats him on the chest, then grabs her backpack and heads out the door.

Eddie salutes back, picking up a cookie and walking out to the living room. He stops in his tracks, eyes zeroing in on Steve, sitting on their squishy couch, changed into his sweats.

“Oh my god, it’s happening,” Eddie breathes, freezing in place.

“Ed? You okay?” Steve asks with a gentle smile, spreading his thighs as he leans forward.

“Yeah… Feels like I might have predicted the future.” Eddie shakes his head and hurries over, dropping next to Steve.

He holds out the cookie, and Steve takes it, a little confused. “What are you talking about—oh, okay. That’s a penis. On my cookie.”

“I like when you wear sweats. I like your dick.”

“I am very aware of that.” Steve grins and lifts the cookie to his mouth, biting it in half.

“So, now I’ve got a dick in my mouth, maybe you could…” Steve hooks a thumb around his waistband and tugs it out, showing off the trail of hair down from his navel and the complete lack of underwear beneath his sweats.

“Yeah, yes!” Eddie blurts dropping to the floor.

He kneels between Steve’s legs, hands on his thighs. “You sure you just want that tiny cock in your mouth? Or something a little bigger?”

“How about you blow me, and then I’ve got somewhere else to put your cock, baby,” Steve says, stroking his cheek.

Eddie nods enthusiastically. “Please.”

“Good boy.”

[kometqh]

ᵀʰᵉ ᴺᵒᵗᵉᵇᵒᵒᵏ

BTS Jungkook x F!Reader

Living in the real, normal world, Y/n comes across all kinds of creatures in her daily life; demons, sirens, protective spirits. The list could go on, but the main point is that she does so unknowingly.

That is, until she is caught in the clutches of death, icy cold water battering her lungs as a Grim Reaper awaits her death, his pitch-black eyes hungry, desperate for her death.

So what happens when a Demon and a Siren come to her rescue?

The sound of coffee beans being grounded and the smell of fresh pastries being put out filled the busy interior of the café, wafting amongst numerous conversations between people, numerous songs being played, numerous stories being exchanged.

The rather large space was engulfed in a warmth that came from two fireplaces, as rain eagerly pattered against the tall, clear windows.

There was one particular man who stood out amongst the others, dressed in a fluffy, knitted grey sweater, a black blazer and jeans. His hat was placed on the side as he sipped on his coffee, finger lazily turning a page in his book. Though his appearance was so unusual, he went by completely unnoticed. Not a single eye caught the sight of him.

He went by the name Jeon, leaving his first name to be a luxury known only to those closest to him.

Although his nose seemed to be pointing to his book, his eyes were observing elsewhere. Scanning, searching.

He noticed the way a woman's lips became redder after sipping quietly on some coffee.

The way a teenagers eyes skimmed over words rapidly whilst reading a mahogany leather book.

Those were just minor distractions, though.

His main focus was the young woman sat at the faraway corner of the café, in the company of a young, red haired man. Her lips, tinted a darker pink, were moving fast, head dipping lower as her eyes stared into her companions, almost pleadingly.

The chime of bells drew his attention away; the woman wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

A young couple entered the café, their eyes set on the seat that Jeon occupied. They skimmed over his figure, just about to place their bags down. He muttered something, his lips barely moving an inch.

The air grew colder, nipping at the couple until they moved away, shaking their head, muttering that it was too cold in that specific spot. Jeon's eyes lingered for a few minutes on the young woman, and, with a sigh, he snapped his book shut.

Gripping tightly on it, he made his way over to his target.

He stood just beside her, watching the man opposite her. He had a heart-shaped smile, almond eyes and ruby-red hair. He often let out an almost intoxicating laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as his smile widened, mirroring that of the woman's.

Jeon leaned down, hands clutching his book behind his back. His nose just barely brushed against the woman's cheek, eyes boring into hers, though she couldn't see him, couldn't feel him. Maybe a small breeze or a shiver, but that's it.

"Y/n L/n." He spoke softly, hand caressing at a loose lock of hair on her head. "22 years old... Female." He continued, this time moving away as he moved to her other side, fingertips leaving featherlight touches over her shoulder.

"Has a family; mother, father, older brother. Single." That last part he had said with an amused huff, his chest raising up and down, heart beating just the slightest bit faster.

He turned his gaze away, looking out through the window.

He could see the waves crashing against the beach perfectly, though the weather was not doing anyone any favours that day. The sky was grey and cloudy, not allowing a single ray of sunshine to pass through.

The water was murky, dark, clawing at the sandy beach below with a spine-chilling fervour. An image flashed through his mind.

The waves, the wooden, soaked dock. Water splashing against it, creating a slippery step. White sneakers stepped over it, a soft voice carried by the harsh winds.

A scream.

Followed by a splash.

Hands thrashed around, reaching out to him from the murky seawater, calling for help.

"Date of death; 15th March 2024." He clicked his tongue loudly and shook his head. "Time; 15:24, died by drowning."

Suddenly, the woman looked at her phone, noticing the time. Her eyes widened in panic, and as she abruptly stood up, she almost spilled her coffee. Slinging her scarf over her neck, she muttered apologies to the man opposite her.

"I'm so sorry Hoseok, I have to go, I'm meeting someone in about half an hour." She said, slinging her hand bag over her shoulder, shoving her phone into her pocket. "It's for my class project, you know, the fish one." She continued, shrugging her shoulders, a tight-lipped smile plastered on her face.

Hoseok's eyes looked up at her, slightly widened, lips parted. Then, he nodded his head in recognition.

"Ahhh, yes. That's fine love, but do you want me to walk you there? I wouldn't want you to slip or something." He said, getting up from his own chair.

"Oh, no no, it's okay! I'll be meeting with Seokjin." She exclaimed, waving her hands in protest. "He collected some statistics from the fishery, so I'll only be getting those and heading straight home after." She said, this time moving around the table to stand by Hoseok's side, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

"I won't be long, I'll be home before you know it." She said softly, a small smile on her lips.

Hoseok nodded, though his eyes had a suspicious glint in them.

"You better text me as soon as you get home, alright?" He asked, bringing her in for a hug. Y/n exhaled into his shoulder, her hands wrapping around his waist, nodding her head.

"Of course I will. You do the same, okay?" She looked up at him, a quirk in her brow, and with that, the two bid their goodbyes and Y/n was on her way, with a dark, shadowy figure looming over her shoulder.

The walk itself didn't seem to take too long; before she knew it, it was almost half past. The ocean breeze blew past her mercilessly, dragging a strands of hair behind, tangling them into a mess of nightmares.

A strong shudder travelled down her spine, though she downplayed it to just the weather being cruel.

She couldn't see the dark cloud looming over her shoulder, checking the time on his wrist every so often as he stalked after her, black irises growing desperate, hungry. The more souls he collected the better.

The reaper almost wished he could speed the process up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up on the ends, his body experiencing a new kind of static excitement. He was so close, so so close to-

His eyes widened, feet coming to a stop as he was greeted with a familiar face.

Golden hair glinted even on the murky day, the grey clouds not dimming the glow that surrounded him. His almond eyes travelled to Y/n's, a dimpled smile appearing on his cheeks as he extended a pair of muscular arms out for a hug.

For a moment, Jeon felt a false sense of security; the man couldn't see him.

But that feeling was shattered like a porcelain doll when the man's piercing gaze stabbed right through him. Eyes narrowed like that of a fox, the man's eyebrows furrowed in a fury.

What was the Reaper doing with his precious, little human friend?

Kim Namjoon wondered, his hands rubbing comforting circles over Y/n's back, his grip tightening ever so slightly. His gaze never left Jeon, observing the unmoving figure.

Was Y/n going to die? 

How? 

Why and when? 

Now? 

Like hell he was going to let that happen. 

He was ripped from his spiralling thoughts, Y/n having pulled away and now gazing at him, a look of adoration swimming in her irises. She admired Namjoon, not only for his brains, but also for his kindness.

He was her senior by a year, always busy with new modules and projects set by their shared professors, but he never failed to lend her a helping hand, guiding her in the right direction study-wise.

A lot of her work had also referenced his own research; which was beneficial in many ways.

"Namjoon! I haven't seen you in so long, what are you doing here?!" She asked, a wide grin stretching across her face, her hands rubbing up and down his arms in an attempt to keep him warm.

"I was just coming back from meeting Jin, we were working on collecting some statistics," He paused, moving to walk alongside the young woman, her hand linked around one of his arms.

"Isn't that weird? I was on my way to see him," She responded, turning to give Namjoon a raised brow, "Did he ask you to help him out?"

At that, Namjoon nodded his head, a laugh escaping his lips. He let out a sniffle, his long strides keeping Y/n on her toes as she made an effort to keep in pace with the male.

Jeon followed them like a gloomy cloud, occasionally noticing Namjoon sending daggers at him, a dangerous furrow between his eyebrows. The demon wasn't happy about the threat to his favourite human's life.

He'd do anything to protect her, to keep her by his side.

Jeon knew that the demon was one born of jealousy and greed, but that hadn't phased him. He had met far too many dangerous creatures during his long lifespan, eventually becoming immune to their negative auras and murderous thoughts.

He himself was repenting for his past lives' sins, so it wasn't like he was a saint himself.

It wasn't long before the three met a third creature; a siren, the so-called Seokjin. Though this one couldn't see Jeon, he could feel his presence, Jin's ears peeking up at the unfamiliar tension lurking around Y/n's shoulders.

Just as he was about to ask, Namjoon shot him a death stare, Jin understanding immediately.

'I'll explain later'

The three talked for a while, a few gasps and laughs escaping the conversation. As promised, Jin had collected the data Y/n had requested, his chest puffing up proudly as the woman flicked through the pages eagerly.

"This is amazing Jin! Where the hell did you find all these people?!" She had exclaimed at one point, bringing him in for another hug as she nuzzled her nose into his neck, just beneath his jawline.

"Y'know I've got connections, Y/n/n," He chuckled, sending a cheeky wink at her, "I'm glad I could be of help to you sweets."

The conversation carried on for a little while longer, Y/n parting from the two as she insisted she had to be home early, or else Hoseok would go insane.

With a quick goodbye and hug, she left through the door of the fishing hut, walking along the deck.

The sky was much darker now, and the waves murkier. She couldn't even see her own reflection in the water as she leant over, feeling her sneakers getting soaked.

Water licked at her shoes, aggressively staining the material. She'd have to battle out the salt later on.

Soon, a big wave had made its way towards her, the current almost swaying her off of the deck, tugging at her body. That itself was scary enough for the young woman to hurry her pace, hands stuffed in her pockets as she wearily eyed the water.

The sky seemed gloomier, greyer, more dangerous. Her hurried steps could barely be heard over the splashing of waves against boulders and deck, her heart rate spiking up.

The wind pulled at her hair and scarf, blowing cold wisps of air into her ears and eyes, almost blinding her from how much she needed to blink just to remove the stray sand Pericles from her waterline.

Her hand came up to rub at her eye, thumb pulling at the sand grains. And that was her mistake.

On unsteady feet, a distracted mind, and cold hands, a wave larger than the previous one had smashed against the shore, the draft pulling her backwards as the woman fell, her temple hitting the side of the dense, slippery green wood.

The water engulfed her body completely, dragging her back and forth, the coldness invading her nostrils and wind pipe.

It prickled at her fingers like a thousand tiny blades, but burned her from the inside out like an uncontrollable wildfire. She tried not to panic, she tried so hard. But when your senses are screaming for you to breathe and to get out, it's difficult to stop thrashing around; like a canary in a small cage.

She couldn't see anything, the scalding, salty water forcing her eyelids to close, to seek some form of comfort as she blindly swam through the water, her lungs burning with an unknown agony. 

Her screams occasionally reached her ears, as the waves sadistically teased her, allowing just enough air to enter her lungs before it was deemed enough, and that's when she inhaled what felt like a bucket-full of salty, scratching sea-water.  

Her nose burned, her eyes burned. 

Her throat was on fire, her lungs fighting to push the water out.

Her body was scalding hot.

Her arms thrashed, attempting to form some sort of swim, her legs kicking up as the pounding in her head never eased. 

She fought and fought, forcing her body back to the top, until her limbs grew too tired, until another current swayed her further and further away, until the remaining oxygen had been emptied from her lungs, escaping in small bubbles that slowly floated upwards.

The tips of her fingers prickled, her hair tickling the tip of her nose as it swayed gently, the current becoming calmer the further she sank. The cold enveloped her in an icy embrace, freezing over her skin, tainting it the colour red, her cheeks having lost their usual warm hue. 

Her body hit the sand, small particles lunged upwards, dancing around her grimly. 

The cold was like a blanket, chilling through layers on skin, blood and muscle, finally coiling around her bones like a desperate, starving snake, squeezing tighter and tighter, crushing any feeling she had before she had fallen. 

Her consciousness fought, and the little survival instinct and adrenaline that circled within her body, had all but made the tiniest of twitches prance all over. The quickest flex of a pointer finger, a sudden kick of her foot, or the spasmed leaps of her chest and shoulders.

How much time had passed? Only those above knew. 

Did anyone hear her falling in? Possibly.  

All she knew was the indescribable burning sensation in her chest, the suffocating inability to breathe.

Her vision was pitch-black, her surroundings turning into nothingness as her body slowly caved in, almost curling in on itself. 

She then, suddenly, felt a soft touch on her arm. It tugged at her body, swaying it through the water. Was she dead already? 

It wasn't until she felt a chilling breeze gush past her, her mind empty and blank, unable to tell what was happening. 

The scalding burn that enveloped her body had turned into the most painful coldness she had ever felt. What was happening? Hasn't she had enough? 

But it was too late, as a pair of hands pumped against her chest, another pair stuttering around her face, a soft touch stroking the icy skin of her cheek. She was swallowed by darkness, her mind going numb, body limp, and consciousness far away.

Jeon tutted to himself as he watched the scene unfold, the sight of a half-naked demon trying to resuscitate you, shouting for you to stay away. 

It was ironic, really.

But Jeon knew, that in just a moments time, you would be stood by his side, clawing at your face, pulling your hair, screaming hysterically at the sight of your long-dead body, pleading for one last chance.

Namjoon's hands continued pushing against your chest in rhythmic beats, his breathing laboured and short. Water dripped down the sharp tips of his soaked hair, down onto the muscular, naked expanse of his back. 

Goosebumps run rampant across his sun-kissed skin, though it wasn't because of the cold.

Oh no, Jeon knew exactly what those shivers were.

Excitement. Elation. Pride.

Defiance.

That greedy demon wasn't worried nor was he cold, he was happy!

Jeon squinted his eyes at the creature, knowing he took pride in what he was doing.

With a soft sigh, he inched closer to your body, until he became an eclipse above the demon's shoulders.

He didn't feel an ounce of joy as previous records of numerous deaths unfolded before his eyes, his fist always clutched tight at his side as he half-reminisced, his pupils clouded over, an all too familiar memory coming to flood his senses.

His breathing laboured, pupils blown wide, throat sore as an inaudible hurdle of screams erupted from within his chest. 

The fear he felt, the guilt, the pain. It had all shook him to his core. 

He remembered it so clearly, as though it happened yesterday. 

The way her eyes clouded over, a gasp escaping from her gaped lips.

That day.. That day she left him, clutching the arrow that had been impaled into her chest, the day he lost the love of his life.

Right through the heart.

His frown remained, his chest tightened, for another two or so minutes, before confusion washed over him. Where was she? Wasn't her spirit supposed to appear before him by now?

Slowly reaching into his notepad, the tips of his fingers had just barely brushed against the tip of his Notebook, when the sound of suffocated coughs and gurgles filled his ears. 

She's alive?

How?

What did that stupid, ignorant demon just do?

He could feel his blood begin to boil, the sight of Namjoon's cheery grin and Seokjin's laughter as they had managed to successfully revive you.

[deadgirlwalking91]

can i come up with a scenario idea?

Let’s say that Lute is at work, (Adam is late) and out of nowhere a girl approaches her, asking for Adam so she can talk with him.

Lute knows Adam fucked the chick, and as the jealous girl she is, Lute first stares at her, then she kicks her ass out of her office.

and ofc in that moment Adam shows up and starts teasing her about it

Hey, Anon,

I hope this is what you had in mind <3

As per usual, Adam was late to work.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Lute - in fact, his tardiness never did. Yet whenever she arrived at work just before nine o’clock, her heart always sank at the sight of his unoccupied desk.

For once, just once, she wanted to walk into their shared office and be greeted by his irritating yet charming smirk and those beautiful, piercing golden eyes. Hell, she’d even settle for a, ‘sup, bitch!’ if it meant he looked at her like she was the only person that mattered - even if only for a fleeting moment.

Perhaps someday that would happen. For now, she’d settle for the lopsided grin that he tossed her whenever he crashed through the door, balancing some gimmicky, sugar-laden drink and a pastry to wolf down before they headed to the training centre.

Once, he’d bought a chocolate eclair for breakfast, and Lute felt it prudent to gently remind him that desserts were not a breakfast-appropriate food. He’d grumbled, and for the next week he’d surprised her by bringing in yoghurt, fruit and muesli. Then, his favourite cafe decided to run a special on almond croissants, and that was the end of his healthy breakfast era.

She slid her bag off her shoulder and placed it in the bottom drawer of her desk. There was no point in getting upset dwelling on what might never eventuate. Sighing, she turned her computer on and began reviewing the to-do list she’d made yesterday afternoon.

A gentle, polite knock at the door tore her attention away from her work. “Come in,” she called begrudgingly, trying to guess which Exorcist was coming to bother her with their minor inconvenience.

Possibly Peaches, trying to sell another misguided Extermination Day battle plan. Bless her enthusiasm, but the girl had simply no idea. Or maybe Cinnamon, hoping for more one-on-one coaching. Lute didn’t mind this as much - shel was only newly created for battle, so she needed a little extra help, but she was determined and had a good head on her shoulders. Promising. Heaving for-fucking-bid it was Coco and Candy, hoping Lute would settle another one of their inane arguments. She eyed Adam’s liquor cabinet, wondering if he’d notice if she’d take a pre-emptive nip of one of his expensive whiskeys.

She decided against it - after all, if dessert wasn’t a breakfast food then neither was alcohol.

To Lute’s surprise, the woman who entered wasn’t any of the Exorcists that she had predicted - nor was she an Exorcist at all. No, this woman was a Winner. Tall and slim, with long, silvery-blonde hair, she practically glided into the room.

She made Lute want to vomit with how perfect she was.

“Can I help you?” she asked icily, lacing her fingers together on the desktop.

“Oh! Hi. Um,” the woman glanced around the small office, frowning. “I… was wondering if Adam was here, please?”

Ah. There it was. That awful, familiar feeling of a knife being twisted into Lute’s chest. It occurred whenever a gorgeous woman came floating into their shared space, asking for Adam. Which usually meant one thing - they were a recent conquest, and he’d ghosted them, or hadn’t indicated that he wanted to see them again.

“Clearly,” Lute said dryly, raising a hand to gesture carelessly around their office, “he’s not here.”

“Well, I kind of need to talk to him,” the woman said, pursing her lips. “We’re… old friends, and haven’t spoken in ages. Could you maybe leave him a message to give me a call as soon as he can.”

Lute stared blankly at her. “Do I look like his fucking secretary?” she snarled, her wings flaring slightly behind her. “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

The woman had the audacity to look perplexed. “Are–aren’t you his secretary?” she whispered, frowning. “I mean, you have the mean haircut, and you’re kind of unfriendly, so it would make sense if you were–”

“Get the fuck out of my office!” Lute shouted, feeling her face turn gold with fury. If only this bitch knew what her sword could do. Sure, she was pretty, but she’d look even prettier with her head lopped off and mounted on the office wall, like a hunting prize.

“Lute, calm your tits,” a familiar drawl sounded from the doorway. “I got this.”

Adam was leaning against the door frame, the yellow features of his mask twisted into an amused grin. He held a cardboard tray with two coffees in one hand, and a paper bag in the other.

Probably he had a late night the evening before and needed extra caffeine to start the day. He walked over to his desk and sat the bag and tray down before turning his attention to the mystery woman.

“Let’s chat outside, babe. I can’t believe you tracked me down at work!”

“Well, I texted you but–”

“Look gorgeous, I’m a very busy man. I can’t read and respond to every text that everyone sends me!”

He put an arm around the woman’s shoulders and guided her towards the office door - but before he did, he glanced over his shoulder and gave Lute an eye roll.

She responded with a one-finger salute before turning her attention back to her work, muttering under her breath about how she’d rather deal with dumbass Exorcists than Adam’s revolving door of women.

He re-entered the room moments later, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

“What?” Lute scowled. 

“She called you my attack dog,” he said, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Said that you were mean to her.”

“I wasn’t mean, she was stupid,” Lute argued defensively. “Maybe she shouldn’t have been a giant twat. Where’d you find this one?”

He shrugged, taking the coffees out of the tray. “Some bar, months ago. I don’t even remember her fucking name.”

“You’re a dog, sir.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous, Lute.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she muttered. She bent down to pretend to rummage in her drawer for something so he wouldn’t see her blush. “I have to deal with this bullshit all the time. You know I don’t get jealous.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, walking around to perch on the edge of her desk. He handed her a cup. “I dunno about that, Dangertits. Anyway, I got you a coffee. Black, like your soul.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said sarcastically. Still, she accepted the drink and wrapped her hands around it, savouring its warmth. “How kind. What are you doing, practising your moves on me?”

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she could have sworn she caught a glimmer of something in his eye.

“Yeah,” he mused, lifting his own cup to his lips. “Something like that.”

[ponder-the-orb]

WIP Wednesday: Choose Me

Dragon age hasn't cut into all my editing time so here's a sneak peak at the next interlude of Broken Horizons: ***

‘Even if we were to find another way, perhaps this is the right way. The end that fate wishes for me.’

Gale’s words curdle inside Ciri. She tries to forget them, focussing instead on the sea of light drifting above her. She’d thought the Shadow Curse impenetrable, every glint of her fire eaten by the darkness if it strayed too far from her palm, but tonight she stands unharmed within it, the evil veiled behind a painting of colours and stars– a magic just for her. For them.

‘This might be my last night alive. I wanted to spend it under a canopy of beauty and wonder. And with company to match.’

Her lip bleeds as she bites it. They were such soft words, sweet words, drenched in ardour like he could dull the razor’s edge of his decision if his tone was gentle enough. Perhaps what stings that most is that it worked. Her protest had been lost to the kiss that followed, then again when he’d sunk to his knees in front of her and slowly worked his hands under the edge of her robe.

She shivers slightly as he cups her bare calf and pulls it free. His fingers work quickly to unlace one boot, then the other, trails of warmth flushing under her skin as they map a path back up her legs. Dozens of times she’d found herself studying those hands of late. She’d made a memory of the way he moulded the weave between his fingers, summoning miracles on the battlefield and in her heart with such deadly precision. Sometimes she’d find herself wondering if it was the same way he would touch a lover. And sometimes, when the shadows grew long and the evenings cold in her tent, she would wonder again and again atop her bedroll until she was coming fast, her wet gasp caught in the palm pressed over her lips.

A hand slides under the bend of her knee and gently urges it forward. He pauses there, his thumb tracing a soft pattern over the skin before his lips follow. Her breath wavers like a hummingbird's wing as he shifts higher, pressing a firmer kiss to the plush of her inner thigh.

Her hands find his head.

There’s nothing rueful about the way his eyes catch hers, no hint of the death warrant all but signed by his goddess as he nips the skin, then rubs there with his cheek until it blooms a rosier pink. She wants nothing more than to lose herself in that look, in the blush dusting his nose and the heat smouldering like burnt almonds in his eyes. She tugs his hair, bathes in the answering gasp but can’t loosen her grip on his words. 

He’s choosing to die. He loves her and he’s choosing to die. She can fight until she’s bloody and burned, until the fire within her has all but withered into ash– and he’s still choosing to die.

***

Yes I have now written that exact romance scene three times. No I don't think it will be the last.

Read the rest of the story here.

Tagging (no obligation but feel free!) @mellybaggins @senualothbrok @alpydk @weaveandwood