#billowy clouds

[dwuerch-blog]

Billows of Love and Healing

“Billows” isn’t a word that I use in my everyday speech. But because on this day I take to the pavement for a morning walk, I can’t help but notice the billowy clouds. I take photos in the direction of the Texas Children’s Hospital, but I need to get to a spot that isn’t skewed with electrical wires and fences. I meander my way around to the hospital for better close ups of those clouds. Hmm! No…

[savi0rr]

Crystal Skies

Viktor x Fem! Reader

In which, the skies remained you of the Hextech gem. But Viktor’s eyes are locked on you.

a/n: i forgot to make the little summary part gradient and cute! also this is kinda short cuz i wanted to go play dress to impress…

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"You're still awake?" you called out softly, your voice breaking the stillness of the lab as the door creaked open. You stepped inside, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Viktor sat hunched over his cluttered desk, absorbed in his work, his pen moving in smooth, deliberate strokes across the paper. He merely nodded in response, his eyes glued to the dense text he was composing.

You frowned slightly, concern etching your features, and approached him. "C'mon, Viktor," you urged gently, your tone echoing in the quiet space that was filled only with the faint scratching of his pen and the occasional rustle of parchment.

"I can't. I'm almost done," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, still not breaking his concentration to glance at you. You sighed audibly, leaning against the edge of his desk, your eyes drifting over the sprawling documents littered with intricate diagrams and notes, before settling on the lone window. Through the glass, the night sky unveiled itself, a vast canvas of deep indigo strewn with shimmering stars. You noticed the clouds, soft and billowy, as they danced slowly with the wind.

"The sky looks just like the Hextech gem," you mused, tilting your head to capture the view better, the corners of your lips hinting at a smile. Viktor's attention momentarily shifted to the window, his brow arching slightly as he contemplated your words.

"I suppose they do," he murmured, his voice still low and contemplative, before returning to his meticulous writing, the pen gliding effortlessly across the paper.

"You have a unique imagination," he remarked without looking up, his focus firmly entrenched in his task.

"You say that quite often," you replied, keeping your gaze locked on the celestial display outside, enraptured by the beauty of the night. 

Viktor let out a tired, weighed-down sigh. Finally leaning back in his chair, he glanced at you, the shadows under his eyes revealing his fatigue. "Did you need anything else?" he asked, his stern expression faltering just slightly as he met your gaze for the first time, his sharp features softened in the dim light.

"What if I said I needed you?" you teased, allowing a playful smirk to cross your face as you shifted to fully face him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Viktor tensed visibly, his expression shifting to one of concern and confusion, brows knitting together tightly. "Don't say such things," he muttered, his eyes darting away from your gaze as if unwilling to confront the weight of your words.

You let out a soft chuckle, the sound light and carefree in contrast to Viktor’s solemn demeanor. "Just teasing," you reassured him, your attention returning to the wistful sight of the sky beyond the window.

He continued to watch you, an intense look in his eyes as he assessed your features illuminated by the soft glow of the lab’s lights. The warm light wrapped around you, creating an almost ethereal aura that made you appear otherworldly. His expression softened, though an unsettling mix of emotion battled within him. He glanced back at his desk, biting his tongue, unsure of how to process what was unfolding.

Just then, your voice broke the silence again, filled with excitement. "Did you see that?" you exclaimed, your eyes brightening as you watched the stars shimmering in waves as clouds floated by. "A shooting star!" you gasped, beaming with delight.

"Yeah…" Viktor replied, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, though he hadn’t seen any shooting stars; his vision was solely fixated on you. 

"Beautiful," he murmured almost absentmindedly, his voice thick with a mix of admiration and something deeper.

"I know, right?" you replied, enthusiasm radiating from you as you gazed adoringly at the window, missing the way Viktor's eyes traced your form, endlessly captivated by the light dancing in your eyes, his attention unwavering and utterly consumed by you.

[obsessedwithceleste]

Theodore Nott and the Fortress of Trust Issues: how to cast a patronus in 3 easy steps

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: Theodore Nott had never been able to cast a patronus. In third year, when dementors were swarming the castle, of course he tried, but was never able to manage more than a whisp of soft silver. Come seventh year, he was painfully unsurprised when his efforts were once again lack luster. Turns out, with the right tutor, casting the formidable charm might not be as impossible as he thought.

word count: 3.8k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Theodore glowered menacingly at the students below him chattering happily amongst themselves in the courtyard. A puff of smoke slipping through his lips as he leaned on the railing of the astronomy tower. Theo knew his life wasn’t exactly one that most would be envious of. Sure his family had money, power, but add on a mother who had died far before her time, and a death eater father whose attention it was far better to avoid? Theo laughed dryly to himself.

Theo knew he didn’t have many happy memories. Truly happy memories. He was painfully, excruciatingly, self aware. Still, nothing made it quite so glaringly obvious that his life was rather pathetic than broadcasting to his entire charms class his bitter inability to force even a wisp of silvery bloody smoke out of his bloody wand. Yes. Flitwick had finally found his weakness. That damned Patronus spell. Being one of the top students of his year, it was humiliating. It wasn’t even expected that most of the class would be able to cast a corporeal patronus, yet even Draco and Matteo of all people managed to produce soft billowy clouds of silvery magic.

Theo shook his head at the thought, trying to clear his mind. His eyes once again began gazing about the courtyard before landing on a lone figure sitting beneath a willow tree, hidden from view unless one was looking close enough. Theo brought his smoke to his lips once more, inhaling deeply as he watched a burst of silver leave the tip of the girl’s wand. His eyes darkened with envy, remembering the words of his professor from earlier that day.

“Wonderful, y/n. Just wonderful! A fox! Withdrawn when necessary, but natural adaptors. Embodying intelligence, independence, mischief, and beauty. A unique patronus indeed.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched the silver creature trot happily through the air before turning and dropping his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it harshly. With one last glance at the girl sitting awestruck with her silvery companion, he descended down the stairs, determined to spend the rest of his night, moping in peace.

Step 1: Find a Pretty Tutor (read: have a tutor forced upon you under the threat of a failing grade.)

“What do you mean a tutor? You of all people?” Matteo laughs mercilessly as Theo scowls at him. “Can’t believe I’m doing better than you in a class, you must be bloody miffed.”

Theo tuned out his friend’s laughter as he continued to glower at the floor in front of him. The two boys currently sat in the Slytherin common room as Theo hastily tried to finish up his ancient runes homework before dragging his arse to the library to meet his supposed tutor. Matteo was making this quite difficult however as he continued to poke fun at the boy, rattling on about how, for once, Theo had had the nerve to not be good at something. The horror.

Snapping his textbook closed and sliding it into his book bag, Theo began gathering his things, choosing to forego the blasted assignment.

“Aww, have fun with you little tutor Teddy. Maybe it’ll be that foxy Ravenclaw you’re always staring at. Bit ironic that her patronus is a fox innit?” Matteo teases as he watches his friend’s jaw clench at the mention of the pretty girl.

While perhaps Matteo wasn’t the most entirely perceptive of the bunch, it would take a blind man to not notice Theodore’s eyes flicker over to the group of Ravenclaws throughout their shared charms class.

“Shut up Matt. Shouldn’t you be shagging Astoria in a broom closet somewhere?” He grunts out.

Matteo smirks, knowing he’d found a tick, but deciding to leave it for another time.

“Not a bad idea mate, see you later. You’ll have to tell Enzo and I all about your tutoring session tonight,” he says with a wink before sauntering off towards the girl’s dormitories.

With a heavy sigh, Theo began making his way slowly towards the library, silently cursing Professor Flitwick as he recalled their conversation from earlier that day.

Class was finally wrapping up for the day and Theo was about ready to bolt out of that blasted classroom, but Flitwick had other ideas.

“Mr. Nott? A word?” He’s called from his grand podium in the center of the room.

The summons had garnered a few raised eyebrows and surprised looks from his fellow classmates, and Theo had trudged solemnly up to the professor.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you appeared to have had some difficulty today,” the professor and stated rather bluntly after all the other students had shuffled out.

Theo blinked back up at his professor.

“You do understand of course, that I cannot grant marks for a spell you did not perform?” He asks finally.

Theo once again stares blankly back at the professor.

Appearing to grow uncomfortable under the boy’s steady, unwavering gaze, Flitwick lets out a deep sigh.

“Mr. Nott. I’m aware that you are quite the talented young wizard, and I simply do not want to have to give you low marks on an assignment I’m confident you could perform well on.”

Still nothing from the brown haired Slytherin.

“I’ve arranged for you to begin working with a tutor until you’re able to cast the spell.” He says finally.

Theo frowns. He’s never had a tutor before. Never needed one.

“Professor-“ he begins to protest.

“The two of you can begin later this evening. 8 o’clock in the library,” Flitwick interrupts before shooing him off to his next class.

Finally arriving outside the library doors, Theo made another look of distaste before pushing through the large double doors. His eyes gazed over the tables not entirely sure who he was looking for as the twat had never actually told him who would be tutoring him. He felt his body freeze momentarily when his eyes locked with another pair of bright eyes and he began silently cursing Matteo. The bloody fucking bastard had jinxed him.

You sat quietly at your table in the library, waiting for the clock to slowly hit 8 as you mindlessly worked away at your essay for ancient runes. During charms today, Flitwick had noticed one of your classmates have a particularly difficult time with the lesson and asked for you to guide them in the right direction. Not one to argue with your head of house, you’d easily agreed.

As the clock struck 8, you began casting quick glances every so often at the library doors, until suddenly you were locked in the gaze of none other than Theodore Nott. Surely he wasn’t the one you would be tutoring? You didn’t know the boy particularly well, but you did know that he was a fierce competitor for top of the class in most of your other lessons. You watched silently as he made his way over to your table, offering him a small smile.

“Charms?” He asks, tossing his bag onto the table with a gentle thud.

You give him a slight nod, eyeing his tall figure as he sat lazily across from you.

“Well I’m sorry to break it to you, but you’ll be wasting your time. Never been able to cast the damn spell. Probably never will,” he says, leaning back on the chair, eyes not wavering.

You purse your lips. Looking at the handsome boy in front of you.

“I suppose you’ll just have to trust me then, won’t you?” You reply, a challenging tone apparent in your voice.

The boy smirks at this, cocking his head as if really getting a good look at you for the first time before finally replying, “I’ve never been particularly trusting.”

“Well then I guess you’ll be learning all sorts of things.”

You take your charms book out of your bag, opening it to the reading you had been assigned earlier in the week. You glance up to see Theodore mirroring your actions silently.

“A patronus, is a concentration of pure happiness and hope, derived from the recollection of a single talisman memory which is essential in its creation,” you read, the underlined section of the textbook was one you had pre-selected as it was the concept most people struggled to grasp.

Watching Theo stiffen and clench his jaw slightly, you knew you were right.

“When someone is unable to cast a patronus, I’ve found it’s usually because they haven’t figured out yet how to focus in on their talisman memory,” you continue.

“And if someone doesn’t have a talisman memory?” Theo’s voice interrupts.

You glance up at him in surprise.

“Everyone has a talisman memory. We just need to find it.”

“I don’t have one.” He insists.

“Then we’ll make one.”

The boy sighs in frustration. Fists clenching as he glares at the textbook in front of him.

“It might not be as complicated as you’re making it. I know when Flitwick was in class, he made it seem like your talisman memory had to be a big, grande gesture, or a clear moment of inexplicable joy. But I think the little moments count too. Everyone has been happy at least once,” you say, watching as Theo slowly relaxes.

“What do you think about?” He asks, before quickly back tracking “You don’t have to answer that.”

“All sorts of things really,” you reply, offering another small smile. “When I got my first wand at Ollivander’s. Honeydukes with the rest of the Ravenclaws. Playing quidditch. Specially that time we beat Gryffindor.”

Theo snorts at that, a small grin reaching his lips.

“Point is, it doesn’t matter how small the moment is, long as it made you happy.”

You’re met with silence, as Theo continues to stare down at his textbook, a look a deep contemplation on his face.

“Think that’s enough for today. Flitwick said to keep up the sessions until you’re at least able to cast an incorporeal patronus, so, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Theo nods his head, still not meeting your gaze.

“Does 6 o’clock on the lawn work?” You ask, only to be met with another nod.

Sensing the boy needed a bit of space, you quickly gathered your things before leaving the boy to his thoughts.

Step 2: Accidentally Fall In Love with Your Tutor (if you weren’t half way there already.)

You sit staring out at the vast lake in front of you, watching as the breeze pushed against the water, forming rolling waves across the surface and taking a deep breath in. You had been meeting Theodore here every day at 6 o’clock sharp for almost two whole weeks now, but you honestly weren’t sure if he’d show up today. Not that you’d blame him.

You felt as if you’d really failed him as a tutor after so many consecutive days of work, with nothing to show for it. On top of that, the two of you had gotten into a rather intense shouting match yesterday, the stress of the whole thing really getting to the both of you.

You lean back, laying down on the soft blanket below you, knees still propped up, and close your eyes, thinking back to the first time the two of you had met out in this very spot. You’d originally picked the spot, because it helped you clear your mind and you thought it might help clear Theo’s too.

That first day had been awkward. Almost painfully so. You had simply wanted to talk. Get to know the boy, pick his brain for any source of happiness or joy he might get out of life. You didn’t get much, so instead you talked about your own life. What it was like living in Ravenclaw tower, the time you and Cho had tried out together for the quidditch team. You told him how you had gone to the Yule ball with a big group of friends, and how you thought it was much better than going with some stuffy date, and how your favorite candies were the purple taffies from Honeydukes, and your favorite flowers were deadly poisonous despite their pretty and innocent appearance.

The second day, you borrowed Cho’s cat and brought her along to the meeting, thinking it might help further relax your brown haired companion. It did, so you brought her along the next day, and the day after that. It wasn’t until the fourth day that Theo broke. Sure he had told you a bit about his time at Hogwarts. Playing on Slytherin’s quidditch team. Sharing a dorm with Matteo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire. But on the fourth day, he told you about his mother. You weren’t expecting it, and it honestly had caught you wildly off guard. Theodore’s mother had been the light of his world, and after she was gone, you could understand why he thought he would never cast a patronus.

It went on like this, the two of you gradually becoming closer, as you carefully began building a sort of trust between the two of you. You thought you might even be becoming friends; which excited you as you’d never been quite able to stop your eyes from wandering over to the group of Slytherins in the back of the class, and stopping on the tall, brunette boy with pretty eyes. You tried every couple of days to cast the spell, guiding him through different memories, trying to focus in on different experiences. But still nothing. You had even tried inviting Matteo and Enzo to a session, hoping they’d help lighten his mood, but it only ended in the four of you skiving wildly off course and getting nothing done. You and Theo had laughed about it the next day, but still not even a whisp of silvery magic.

It had all come to a head yesterday. You could feel the two of you beginning to lose hope, but you were nothing if not determined. The two of you were sitting quietly, skimming the textbook for what seemed like the thousandth time, when Theo suddenly stopped and looked up at you.

“I read something the other day. Bout patronuses. And being able to cast em.”

You looked up from your reading, intrigued.

“Said that there’s a widespread, and justified, belief that witches and wizards who aren’t pure of heart can’t cast a patronus.”

Your mouth slowly formed an O shape, and the book you were holding dropped to the ground, completely forgotten.

“Theodore. You don’t honestly think. That’s ridiculous.”

“It makes sense doesn’t it? Why I can’t even cast an incorporeal charm. Why nothing we’ve tried works. There’s no point,” Theo had said, growing frustrated.

“Theodore stop. That theory is all nonsense. There isn’t even any evidence really to back it up,” you reply.

“Why else would nothing be working?” Theo asks, slamming his book on the ground.

“Theo!”

“No, y/n, honestly. What other explanation could there be. We’ve been doing this for weeks.” Theo’s voice began to rise.

“And we’ll continue until you’re able to get this.”

“What’s the bloody point? We’ve tried everything!”

“And we just need to try a bit harder!” You respond.

“You think I haven’t been trying?”

“Of course I know you’ve been trying! And I’ve been trying to do everything I can to help you succeed!”

“And everything I’ve been doing is for you! I don’t care about the bloody charm, I don’t want to disappoint you!”

Theo’s outburst had shocked you, and your breath hitched as the two of you stared at each other, Theo’s words sinking in.

Then he was kissing you. Hot lips working against yours as he pulled you onto his lap. Your fingers worked their way up to his hair, relishing in how soft his brown waves were as you tugged at them gently.

You let out a soft moan as you felt his tongue glide gently across your bottom lip before diving in at the opportunity you had provided him.

You seemed to get lost in the feeling of his soft lips and large hands around your waist holding you firmly in place. You had no idea how much time had passed by the time you were both panting for breath, foreheads resting against one another.

Seeming to really realize what he’d done, Theo looked down at you, eyes beginning to widen slightly.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he’d said before promptly rising and hastily making his way back to the castle.

Now, your finger tips softly brushed the soft leather of Theo’s book bag that he’d abandoned yesterday in his hurry to leave. You thought that maybe, if for no other reason, he’d perhaps come to retrieve it. Not that he needed to you thought dryly, knowing that with his Gringotts account, he could’ve easily already replaced it and its contents.

Sitting up, you glance at your time piece showing a quarter after 6. With a deep sigh, you fish your transfiguration textbook out of your bag, flipping it open to begin your assigned reading. You’re only a few pages in when a twig snaps somewhere behind you. Whipping around, you see him standing there, handsome as ever, looking down at you.

“Sorry I’m late. And, sorry for yesterday,” he mumbles, dropping down to sit next to you.

You eye him warily as he refuses to make eye contact with you, eyes appearing to be glazed over as he gazes out at the lake like you had been earlier.

Slowly, and ever so carefully, you shift next to him so that your arms and legs brush softly, and you gently lean your head against his shoulder as you join him in looking out at the water. You feel him tense initially before slowly relaxing, leaning in as the two of you sat in silence.

“I won’t give up, if you don’t,” you say finally as Theo’s hand finds yours.

Step 3: Trust

It had been a week now since that day at the lake, and you weren’t quite sure where you stood anymore with Theo. You still met each other everyday by the lake, slipping easily into your usual banter. But now it was eyes meeting from across the classroom and slips of paper making their way back and forth. Your fingertips would brush softly in the hallways, and sometimes, you’d feel a hand reach out, pulling you into a hidden nook, and warm lips would meet your own. But you’d never actually, talked, about it.

You shake the thoughts out of your mind, a shiver running down your spine, as you focus in on the present. That all wasn’t the reason you once again found yourself lying out on the lawn, Theo’s head resting comfortably in your lap.

“Can you cast it?” Theo asks, looking up at you.

“Hmm?”

“Your patronus? Can you cast it? I know yours is a full, corporeal form.”

Looking down at the boy, your fingers weave slowly through his hair as you reach for your wand.

Closing your eyes and taking a breath, you focus in, memories flashing through your mind, a sense of warmth overtaking you.

“Expecto patronum.” The spell falls from your lips and you open your eyes to see a silver fox tumble out of the tip of your wand before trotting through the air around you.

You really did love the spell and it amazed and intrigued you every time. A reflection of someone’s soul, your textbook had said. It could change throughout one’s life, should they experience a shocking event, grow more mature, fall in love. The last one had always been the most curious, the idea of someone loving so much, that a piece of their soul reflected that of their loved one.

You watch as Theo’s eyes follow the the creature in awe.

“You know this is hopeless right?” Theo asks softly, your hand in his hair freezing.

“Theodore. We agreed that-“

“But really what’s the point? So I get one poor mark. When am I ever going to need to use the spell really? No point in wasting time on something that’s hopeless.”

You carefully mull over Theo’s words in your head. You supposed that realistically, he wasn’t necessarily wrong practicality wise. But if you both simply gave up, would he ever want to see you again? You knew in your core that it was selfish, but the last three weeks really had been some of the best during your time at Hogwarts. Which was saying a bit considering you’d been there for almost seven years. You supposed you’d just hoped- hoped. Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. Hope. A concentration of pure happiness and hope.

“Theodore?”

“Amore?”

“When you’re thinking of your happy memory, why did you choose it?”

Theo gives you a strange look.

“Because it made me happy at the time, and the talisman memory is supposed to be a happy.”

“Good. But can you tell me why it’s so important to focus on a happy memory?”

Theo blinks.

“Because the spell says so.”

You let out a small laugh.

“Because the whole point of the charm is to create protection from the dark. Something that will keep you safe so that you can continue to feel that happiness. To give you hope.”

Theo furrows his eyebrows and frowns.

“This feels emotional.” He says, his face distorting in disgust.

“Sometimes magic is.”

Theo’s frown deepens. “It shouldn’t be. I’m perfectly content being apathetic and emotionally detached thanks.”

You let out a small snort. “Come on Theo. Try it again. But this time, think about your memory and why you want to feel that again.”

Theo’s face scrunches up in distaste before he sits up lazily, picking up his wand. You watch as he closes his eyes, pausing. His chest slowly rises then falls, once, twice.

“Expecto patronum.”

Nothing. Theo let’s put an annoyed sigh.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can try again. Think about something that you love, make sure you can picture it clearly. Something that made you so happy that you would relive it over and over.”

Theo’s eyes flick over to you, a brow raised before he closes his eyes once again. You watch him closely, perhaps too closely, as a minute passes. Then two. You’re almost worried he’s fallen asleep sitting up when the words fall from his lips.

“Expecto patronum.”

A burst of silver flashes out of his wand, and your jaw drops as your eyes follow the silver creature that had emerged, gracefully moving across the lawn.

Your eyes dart over to Theo, and you reach out to grab his arm seeing that he’d not yet opened his eyes again. When his eyes finally open once more, his gaze immediately falls on the whimsical creature, eyes widening slightly as he stares at his patronus in disbelief before looking at you with bewildered confusion.

“That’s not mine.” You tell him with a small smile, giving his arm a squeeze as you both look up at the silver fox dancing through the air.

[daycourtofficial]

It’s all in my head but I want nonfiction

Pairing: Lucien x reader | WC: 3.7k | warnings: suggestive language, groping

Summary: emboldened by an accidental love potion, you speak your crush on the Day Court heir to him

Author’s note: happy (late) birthday @tsunami-of-tears no one loves a love potion as much as we do 🫶🏻 lowkey hate this ending but whatever it is what it is ❣️

The Day Court Palace was, in your opinion, the prettiest place in all of Prythian. Large archways led the way to wide open rooms, beautiful columns stretching towards the mural painted ceilings. Every room had a skylight, even rooms with floors above them. Moving through the rooms felt like you were on a cloud traveling through the sky, a chariot pulling the sun through its cycle.

Everything looked so beautiful in the sunlight, and you felt like a reptile lounging in the sun whenever you were in the heir’s proximity. You had hardly spoken to him - he was your High Lord’s son and you were just a librarian in the ‘botany and related subjects’ library, however you had seen him on the rare occasions you had been in the palace, and more recently, whenever the redheaded heir made his presence known with his barking laughter through the shelves.

How you dreamed of making him laugh.

As if the Mother were listening directly to your thoughts as you shelved books away, you turned to find him standing next to you, the suddenness of his presence causing you to almost fall from your ladder. His hands shot out, one steadying the ladder, the other steadying your back. You weren’t sure if the heat on your cheeks was from being startled or from the heat on his hands.

Once he deemed you steady, he held out a hand for you, helping you down the ladder. You moved down it before you stepped off the last rung, face looking down to help stabilize your footing.

You looked up, finding you were much closer than you intended to be, your body a few inches from his body. From afar, he was beautiful, but being this close to him - he was gorgeous. His long red hair looked as if it were glowing, and all you wanted was to reach out and run your fingers through it before braiding it. His canines peaked out from his lips, a small smile on his face. His face was the perfect combination of sharp and soft - making him both stunning, but giving him a kind appearance.

You had watched him slowly get used to Day Court attire, incorporating different aspects over time. He began slowly with wearing more loose, billowy clothing, golden rings on his dark skin. Now he stood before you in a white braided toga that left his legs on full display, golden strapped sandals adorning his feet. Golden cuffs adorned his biceps, making the muscle even more worthy of your gaze.

“Hi, Lucien.” You nodded slightly with your head, the customary greeting in Day for nobility. Helion preferred more subtle ways of respect, once telling you, “I prefer if I’m going to be worshiped to be worshiped properly”. You extended the greeting to Lucien, and to your surprise, he returned the small bow back.

“May I be of any assistance?”

He peered down at you, his russet eye roamed over you, the golden one clicking taking you in. You swore the whirring picked up in speed as it roamed your body, your temperature rising a few degrees at the attention.

“Yes, you may. I actually was wondering about your knowledge on teas. It is a fascinating subject, is it not?”

Your face couldn’t contain your shock at his question. Teas? Why tea?

“Well, I quite enjoy various teas and different court traditions around tea.”

You eyed him, his nonchalant demeanor giving nothing away. The High Lord’s son wanted to talk to you… about tea?

You blinked and suddenly you had spent over half an hour blubbering about what kinds of teas are popular in which court, and you came back to your body to find yourself telling him about the Autumn Court’s tradition of spiking their tea with whiskey.

“Naturally, you might know about that. Not because of the alcohol, surely you don’t have a problem or anything like that, but you’re from Autumn, so surely you know about their traditions and such.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, but you couldn’t stop talking, your mouth incapable of offering you reprieve from how poorly you’ve handled this. “I’m sure you drank a lot of tea in Autumn. Not just the spiked kind, or maybe that’s how you were able to get by all those years - through alcohol.”

Your cheeks were blazing with heat, your bottom lip caught in your teeth, eyes stuck on the floor in hopes it would open a hole in the ground for you to fall through. “Um, my friend- colleague over there needs me. So um, good day, Lucien.”

You bowed quickly to him as you ran past him, not allowing time for him to bid you farewell. You spent the next few hours flitting about the library, recataloging academic texts on botanical reference guides in an attempt to stop your mind from replaying the atrocious conversation you had had with Lucien just hours prior. Each time you remembered it, you lightly hit your head against the shelves.

A few hours of mind numbing work later, your mind still possessed with thoughts of the redhead, you eventually were able to go home, spending most of the evening in your bath reading, any attempt at getting the redhead off your mind failing.

Your mind was just as preoccupied with Lucien as you walked into the library the next morning, taking the final sip of your coffee as you passed by the circulation desk, when a note on the counter piqued your interest. The note sat next to a cup of tea, the drink steaming in invitation. The envelope had your name on it with the royal seal on the back of the envelope. You opened it, careful not to destroy the beautiful seal. Neat handwriting in red ink covered the parchment in a simple note that left your heart fluttering.

After our discussions yesterday, I had some unresolved curiosities. Can you meet me in the courtyard behind your library this afternoon?

- Lucien

Your eyes danced across the note, reading and rereading it to make sure you hadn’t imagined it. He wanted to speak to you again? Despite your terrible attempts at conversation previously, he didn’t find your company appalling enough to talk to someone else in your stead.

You sipped the tea as you read the note - the warmth trailed down your throat, your stomach buzzing as you took in the bergamot flavor. You tried to figure out what tea this could possibly be, perhaps Lucien found a new flavor of tea he wanted you to try.

You smiled, tucking the note into your pocket as you spent the rest of the afternoon floating on the air around you, unbelieving of your luck. As the day went on, your head grew a subsistent ache, worsening by the hour until you were set to leave to meet with Lucien. Your head was pounding beneath the lights, but you wished one of the other librarians, Sara, a good evening, telling her you had a meeting. She giggled as you retreated away, her voice soft through the stacks, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You rolled your eyes, throwing behind you, “sure, because what wouldn’t you do if Helion asked?”

You laughed at her squeaked response, but continued down the hallways and down the stairs, having to lean against the wall to steady yourself on occasion. You took deep breaths, trying to silence both the dizziness and the butterflies in your stomach. Once you were close enough to smell Lucien, the leather and bergamot scent filling your nose, the pounding in your head lessened with each step closer, instead your body grew warmer and warmer at his proximity.

You stopped at the sight of him, his back to you allowing you a moment to ogle unnoticed. He wore trousers today, slight disappointment at his legs being covered quickly corrected by how plump his ass looked in them.

Your tongue was fat in your mouth, and your thoughts stumbled through your mind in a drunken haze.

“You’re s’pretty.”

The words rolled off your tongue, a drunken slur to them. Were they your thoughts? Did you say them out loud? You couldn’t tell as you approached him, trepidation in your steps. You watched him turn to greet you, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Is that so?”

You were slow to react, your hand just now reached up to cover your mouth as if it could take the words back, your eyes wide as you looked at him. It was then that he took you in, his eyes roaming up and down your body, assessing if he could see anything wrong.

“Is everything alright? You’re swaying.”

Your cheeks heated at his concern, some tiny part of your brain chastising you for being so responsive to the bare minimum. You nodded, your hand still over your mouth. His arms stretched out on both sides of you, hovering around you to catch you.

“S’okay, you just make me feel good.”

Your words came out mumbled through your hands before Lucien gently pulled them from your face.

“Sthanks, I wouldn’t have gotten them off myself.”

Your words were drawn out, each syllable taking its time to be heard. His face grew more concerned, but you paid it no mind.

“You wanted to see me?” You had tried pointing to him and yourself respectively, however your motions were flipped, pointing at yourself and then towards him. You giggled as if you were a schoolgirl speaking to your friends. His sharp canines peaked beneath his top lip, his smile wide but predatory.

He nodded his head, “yes I wanted to speak with you some more, but now I’m-”

His words were cut off as you moved forward, hands producing a tight grip on his jaw. “I like your pointy teeth, they look like they could bite me.”

He smiled as you inspected his mouth, relishing in the squeal of delight you let out when he moved his lower jaw, allowing the tips of his canines to be seen. You tried pulling his lips down even more, but his hands grasped yours, placing them gently on his chest. He held your hands over his heart, looking into your face, his voice soft, “what happened today?”

You got lost in his eyes, getting lost in thought about the prosthetic one. Something in the back of your head kept yelling at you that it sees lies. “Well, I um,” a hiccup sounded from your throat, disrupting your train of thought momentarily. “I woke up, I walked by that coffee shop I like, got a cup to go. Then I continued walking to work - here - and then I got here. Well, not here, here,” you gestured around the room, “but over there,” now you pointed in the direction of the library.

“And then I got your note and I read it lots of times and I even checked the signature because surely you wouldn’t want to be subjected to my rambling again and then I drank the tea you dropped off with it and then I thought about the note while I restocked-”

He shook you lightly, one of his hands cupping your face. The action startled you, not having heard him calling your name. “Sunflower, what was this tea I dropped off?”

Your face lit up, remembering the way it felt going down your throat. “It was so good. You have great taste in tea.” You nuzzled your face into his hand, nodding profusely. “It did make me dizzy, though.”

You couldn’t for the life of you get your eyes to focus on him, the male before you appearing more like an impression of himself. His red hair and golden prosthetic were the only things you could really make out, and even then it was mostly colors.

He studied you for a moment, leaning in closely to examine your face. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

His hands supported your shoulders as you leaned into his chest, the two of you making a slow walk through the streets of Day. If you were in your right mind, you would be absolutely mortified at the way you were snuggling your face into his chest, obscene moans coming from you as you inhaled his scent.

“At least buy me dinner first, I am no common whore.”

Your laugh was delayed as you moved to be directly in front of him, your arms wrapped around his slim waist.

“Y’smell good.” Your words were muffled through his shirt, but the vibrations from his laugh extended to you, making your body shiver.

“I think your moans were more than enough proof of that. I was getting concerned you might get off on my scent alone.”

You giggled, not really understanding what he said, but enjoying the amusement in his voice. “I’ve had my fun, let’s move at a regular pace, shall we?”

You squealed as he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. Your hands moved to his trousers, grabbing the fabric to help stabilize you. You pushed your elbows into his back, trying to lean up a bit.

“Where are we going?”

Your hands moved around his back, trying to find stability when your hands sink into the skin of his ass. You giggled as you pinched him, causing his steps to falter briefly.

“Getting a little handsy back there, are you?”

You answered with some giggles and squeezing him, only causing him to laugh again.

Lucien carried you to the outside of the library before winnowing you into the palace. You babbled from behind him as he strolled through the halls. You had given up trying to see your surroundings, leaning your head into the middle of his back. The white and gold marbled floors moved beneath the two of you, Lucien only butting into your rambling occasionally.

He expertly moved the two of you through the hallways, going deeper into the palace than you had ever been before when Lucien pushed open a door, leading the two of you inside. He slid you down from his shoulder, flopping you onto the bed. You landed in a massive bed, swimming in a lake of a deep brown duvet.

You giggled as you bounced across the bed, “Lucien, at least take a female out to dinner before you bed her.”

He stood before you, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I have to go speak with someone, will you stay here? Can I trust you?”

You nodded enthusiastically, bouncing a little in excitement. His hands came down onto your shoulders, causing you to stop your movements. “I won’t be long, I’ll come back with food.”

He ran a hand over your hair before walking away, disappearing through the door. You laid down on the bed, stretching your limbs out as you basked in Lucien’s scent.

Being in his room, surrounded by his scent for the thirty minutes he was gone did something to you, sending you into a state of utter euphoria that caused the rest of the night to go by in an utter blur.

-

You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. It was too bright, the sun was too much, your head was killing you. The door opened and you instinctively pulled the duvet up to your shoulders to cover yourself. Lucien’s head popped through the door, carrying a box of some kind with two steaming mugs on top of it. He set them down on the nightstand next to the bed, crawling on top of the duvet covers next to you.

You eyed him curiously, clutching the duvet tighter. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? This is my bed.”

You moved your head around the room, finally realizing that it was not your own. Your eyes moved about the space, taking in how odd it looked. It was an array of colors - the brown duvet, the green curtains, the red tapestry on the wall. Next to the tapestry hung several maps of Prythian, including markers filling certain areas. You moved closer, attempting to crawl off the bed, but your legs got caught in the sheets, causing you to slump back onto the bed.

Lucien laughed, causing your head to throb again.

“Why am I in your bed?”

“Do you not remember?” You shook your head, the action making you dizzy. You opened your eyes just slightly, scowling at the amused look on his face.

“The healer said you had had a love potion. After some questions, we found out one of the other librarians was trying something new with her husband and left the potion to cool. It seems she left it to steep it for too long, and it was less arousing and more drunken.”

You nodded, looking to the floor, feeling so small in his bed. Thank the Mother you weren’t rubbing against Lucien as if you were in heat.

Your eyes widened, remembering how you did rub up against him, clinging to his body the whole night. Lucien’s voice picked up a lilt to it, his amusement growing as last night came back to you in bits and pieces as he spoke.

“I brought you food because you refused to eat last night. I was only able to get a small piece of cake in you. You are quite afraid of being poisoned.”

A brief memory flooded your brain, making you feel even worse.

Lucien stretched his arm out, offering the piece of cake to you. “Will you please eat something? It would make me feel better.”

You shook your head furiously, making yourself slightly dizzy. “You’re trying to- to tie me to you. The food’s been-” a hiccup broke up your words, “poisoned for me to fall madly in love with you and spend my days gazing about your pretty face.”

He raised his hands, glancing around the room before his eyes settled next to him. “Fine, I poisoned it. But this chalice,” he raised a glass, sloshing the liquid around, “is also the antidote to this yummy cake.”

He held a bit of the piece out on his fingers, waving it in front of your face before you took the piece into your mouth, licking his fingers as you did.

Your face heated as you remembered that was how he fed you the rest of the cake. You slipped under the cover even more, hiding your face. “Excuse me, I have to.. die.”

His laugh was loud in the room, and you felt his body weight shift on the bed. “I would prefer if you could die elsewhere other than my bed. I am quite fond of it and I worry you may haunt the room.”

He laughed, poking your side. “Don’t worry, sunflower. You were incredibly endearing all night, even when your hands were a bit.. Adventurous.”

You shot up, the duvet coming off you as you looked at him. “Adventurous how?”

“Well, at one point you insisted you could only sleep if you could be touching my ass.”

You moved to get out of the bed, “that’s it, does this room have a balcony I can fling myself from?”

He reached out, grabbing your wrist stopping you, pulling you back into him.

“Would you really be so dramatic? I didn’t even mention the biting.”

“The biting?” You screamed out before putting a hand up, “no, don’t tell me. I can only find solace in death now.”

“You have quite the powerful bite.”

“Lucien, stop.”

“I have a chunk missing from one of my legs.”

“Lucien.”

He gazed about the room, his finger on his chin as if in contemplation as he leaned back against the headboard. “I suppose it’ll match the prosthetic eye. Perhaps I could have another eye placed there…”

“Is my mortification amusing you?”

“Greatly.”

You slumped back onto the bed, rolling over to hide your face in the duvet. You could hear Lucien nibbling on something before saying, “I am quite flattered at how pretty you find me.”

“I hear Winter’s great this time of year. Perhaps I’ll trek the continent for a beautiful lake to drown myself in.”

“Are you always this dramatic when you wake up? I’d like to be aware for future endeavors.”

You sat up quickly, situating yourself to look at him, your legs tucked beneath you.

“What future endeavors?”

“Well, if I have any luck, this won’t be the last time you slept in my bed.” He bit off another piece of cake, paying no mind to the short-circuiting happening in your brain. “Unless you’d prefer your bed. However, last night you proposed marriage to my bed, so…”

He trailed off, but you were stuck, mind reeling with his words.

“Why would I sleep in your bed?”

“Has no one told you?” He smirked at your quizical look, his tone growing serious as he said, “when two people are attracted to each other-”

His sentence was cut off by the pillow colliding with his face. “That’s not the part I was confused about.”

He cleared his throat, dusting away any crumbs before turning toward you, his gaze focused solely on you as he said, “I thought I made it fairly clear I wanted to speak to you because I found you beautiful and I have always had a thing for librarians.”

You blinked at him. “I thought you were merely interested in tea.”

“I don’t even drink tea. Can’t stand it. You happened to be in the tea section when I found you.”

As if your brain shut down at the information, you just looked at him, brain clearly still foggy from the potion you drank.

“Then why were you-”

You thought towards occasional bits of that discussion, how he had spoken more than you remembered, his words teasing. “Were you flirting with me?”

“That was my intention, however you hardly stopped for breath when discussing tea. I was so caught up, I had to run off to meet with an advisor in the nick of time.”

“Are you flirting with me now?”

“If I were flirting with you, surely you would know. Perhaps I’ll warn you in advance next time, so you can prepare yourself.”

He stared out the window, his eyes bright in the morning sunlight. “May I flirt with you in a moment’s time, or will you merely attempt to curl up and die again? Perhaps you’d prefer official correspondence with my flirtatious intentions?”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites

Thanks for reading ❣️

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

white wine | f. odair

(part two of red wine)

part one

summary: another celebration in the capitol leaves you and finnick in an argument that threatens to strain your friendship.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: reader’s pov, flirting, angst, argument, struggling finnick :(

notes: i don’t know if i like this, let me know what y’all think! final part will be out in a few days.

word count: 1.6k

A Sphynx cat dressed in a white suit scurried beneath your feet, disappearing around a vine-covered pillar in the courtyard of the Presidential Palace. Fairy lights were hung on every tree, bush, and pillar, providing light in the growing darkness of the evening. Orchestral strings played in a small band off to the side, so beautiful that it sent goosebumps prickling across your entire body. People were dressed to impress, though to you, they looked more ridiculous than impressive.

The 72nd annual Hunger Games had come and gone, and a tour was held for the victor whose name you had not bothered to learn. At last, the infamous grand celebration in the Capitol had arrived.

Months had gone by since your night of red wine and white cats. Parties had not been in short supply since then, meaning your meetings with Finnick remained regular. But something was off about him. Something you couldn’t place no matter how hard you tried.

Winter snow was beginning to stick to the ground, blending with the pure white gown you were wearing, gifted by the generous president. If purity and innocence were what he was going for, he probably should’ve chosen a dress without a plunging neckline. The proof was in the pudding. Or rather, the voice of the heartthrob from District Four.

“That dress is quite distracting.”

Sauntering toward you came Finnick Odair, a playful grin plastered on his face. Just like you, his outfit only consisted of white. A billowy V-neck that dipped down to his navel, paired with white dress pants and a golden netted belt.

“Finnick.” You smiled, your dull mood lifting from his presence. “So, he got you too, huh?”

“What? You don’t think I look dashing in white?” he teased.

“I think you look dashing in anything.”

The words just slipped out, supposed to only remain a thought. Finnick was a flirt, through and through. You hardly ever entertained his flirtatious manner; rebutting with either attitude or timid silence was more your style. So, the last thing you needed was for him to take your words to heart, however genuine they might be.

He blinked in surprise, only to quickly laugh it off. “Thank you, but I don’t think the spotlight will be on me tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning your dress from head to toe, then settling back on your face. “I hate to admit it, but Snow knows beauty when he sees it.”

“Snow knows everything,” you replied sarcastically.

And there it was again. That out-of-character shift in his demeanour. Like a storm cloud had suddenly rolled over head, dampening the mood with its gloomy presence. This was becoming a more frequent occurrence each time you saw Finnick and you were desperate to know why. What had changed?

Sunshine broke through the clouds again in the form of a splitting grin. “Unfortunately, so,” he said, brushing the topic aside as though it were nothing. “Would you like to dance? Give them a taste of real beauty?”

You couldn’t say no.

The instrumentals had slowed to the tempo of an assumed waltz. Although you had been trained in social etiquette, dancing was not your strong suit—unless you counted drunk dancing. With this knowledge, Finnick took the lead, his hand gently cupping your waist, another interlocking your own, and you followed his simple steps until you found a comfortable rhythm.

“I have got to know who your dancing instructor is,” Finnick quipped, his tone full of jest. “He’s got to be pretty talented to be able to teach you how to dance. Undeniably attractive too, considering your incredibly vain nature.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “I can’t seem to recall his name. Not very remarkable. Phineas was it? Or maybe it was Finnley.”

“That hurts, sweetheart.”

“Truth hurts, Odair,” you said, sending him a teasing smile.

He chuckled, the dance continuing smoothly. “You’re getting better,” he said, his voice now sounding sincere.

Before you met Finnick, fitting in with higher society was a struggle. All of their customs and etiquette seemed so foreign to you, especially since you came from a lower-ranking district. But as he meticulously wound himself into your web, he brought with him an abundance of knowledge which he happily shared with you.

You had spent countless hours together, learning different subjects such as how to keep conversations going, the art of seduction, and even dancing, even though you never quite got it down.

Times came when dangerous situations arose—conferences with President Snow, meeting obsessiveCapitol citizens, and being given unreasonable demands. More than once, Finnick saved your life through his guidance. You owed him everything and more.

Heat spread in the places his hands touched you, subduing the slight chill of the winter air. You would expect someone from District 4 to be cold, as the ocean was like a second home to them, with their days spent fishing, swimming, and collecting underwater vegetation in the cold depths. Despite this, everything about Finnick radiated warmth. His bronze hair was like the embers of a dying fire; his skin was fiery upon touch. Even his smile was sunny, always beaming like a golden ray of light.

Slowly, the fairy lights transformed in colour, highlighting the luxurious scenery and both yours and Finnick’s clothing. White turned to green, accentuating the striking colour of Finnick’s eyes which gazed down upon you as your bodies swayed together. After green came a colour that turned your dress a deep crimson.

“This one’s my favourite,” Finnick said, his voice so melodious it sounded like a part of the orchestra.

“Why is that?”

You felt his hand glide to your lower back and your knees almost buckled.

“Because—” The music swelled before its end and he gracefully dipped you as if to emphasise his answer— “you always look stunning in red.”

Everything went quiet. The music had ended and all you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears. Beautiful sea green washed over your body, enveloping you in complete serenity that resembled the feeling of floating beneath the ocean’s surface. Finnick was there with you, holding you in his arms, his eyes penetrating deep into your own—sea-green serenity.

You lowered your gaze to his lips, admiring the pink colour and velvetiness. It was a dilemma you constantly struggled with—having a crush on the Finnick Odair. The Capitol’s Darling. Everybody wanted him; some actually got him. You heard whispers of his little adventures in the Capitol, how a select few would get to spend the night with him whenever he visited.

There was no judgement on your part; Finnick was your closest friend. And that was all he would ever be, making you the most envious of them all. Condemned to forever wishing to be something more than platonic. Always being the one watching from the sidelines. That was the singular thing you had in common with the people of the Capitol.

But in that fleeting moment, you were undeniably certain no one had ever yearned to kiss anyone more than you yearned to kiss Finnick. Your heart lurched when his eyes flickered to your lips and suddenly, you were questioning whether or not he felt the same. When he started to lean in closer, your heart just about exploded.

But before anything could happen, you realised that the waters were infested with gossip-hungry sharks, waiting for their moment to strike.

Soft murmurs were echoing around you, reeling your harsh reality back into existence. Finnick too noticed and pulled you back into a standing position. His hands dropped from your body and without a second glance, he took off in the opposite direction, leaving you momentarily in shock.

“Wha—Finnick!” you exclaimed, trailing after him.

You weaved through the crowd of engrossed bystanders, ignoring their hushed whispers and unwavering stares. Finnick had climbed two of the marble steps leading up to the mansion before you reached out and grabbed his white sleeve, forcing him to face you.

“What, Y/N?” he snapped, wearing an expression that was a mixture of frustration and hurt. The usage of your real name took you aback. He would always call you ‘sweetheart’ or some other term of endearment. Hardly ever your name. “What do you want?”

You shook your head, confused as to where his sudden hostility had come from. “What’s going on with you?” you asked, searching his eyes for anything that would help you understand, but there were too many emotions for you to decipher. “Whenever we see each other it’s like something is weighing you down. Sometimes you can’t even look me in the eyes and then other times you’re asking me to dance with you and flirting with me. I don’t understand, is it me? Have I done something?”

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he averted his gaze. You let out an exasperated breath, lowering your gaze to his chest in frustration. The brilliance of his white shirt caught your attention and a troubling thought popped into your mind. “Has Snow done something?”

His eyes snapped to yours, a silent command to lower your voice. Descending one step, Finnick leaned down, towering over your body. His voice was low, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

In one last attempt to break through his barrier, you slid your hand into his. “Then explain it to me,” you pleaded. “Please.”

The inner turmoil was evident on Finnick’s face. His gaze softened but the deep worry lines were still etched into his skin. For a moment, you believed he was finally going to lower his walls. However, your hope was diminished as he exhaled a long, weary breath and said, “I wish I could.”

And then his hand slipped out of yours, disappearing entirely as he ascended the stairs and left you at the bottom, defeated.

tags: @bellamybellamyblake @teigo-the-explorer

part three

[etherealeowyn]

"It's going to be okay" - Elrond (Rings of Power) x Fem Reader

When taking a walk in the woods surrounding Eregion, Elrond and Y/n come face to face with danger.

Angst + Fluff

Word Count: 863

My requests are always open, so feel free to message me if you have an idea! I'll write for any character from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Rings of Power!

As the sun regressed behind the dark, billowy clouds, the once-vibrant hues that decorated the lands appeared dull. Everything was still, unnaturally still. It was bizarre for a riparian environment, such as the one the elves were occupying, to be so devoid of life. The birds were not chirping, and Elrond noted there wasn’t a single fish that could be seen in the river as they had followed it to their destination.

“Something is off,” Elrond spoke, turning his head towards Y/n. “I’m sure of it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she responded uneasily while moving closer to him.

Just when those words had escaped her lips, the heavens decided to open and drops of rain began to fall upon Middle Earth. Briefly, they stopped in their tracks and gazed up at the overcast sky, feeling the sensation of the cold droplets hitting their faces. Elrond gently pulled Y/n’s cloak over her head, preventing her hair from getting soaked, before raising one of his hands and wiping the water off her face with the pad of his thumb.

Interrupting the moment, the cacophonous cawing of a crow cut through the silence, making Y/n tense up and stare at Elrond with worry prominent in her eyes. Similarly, he looked at her, both aware the crow was a sign that orcs would be there sooner than they would like.

Distorted voices began to sound from the tree line, and an arrow whistled past the couple, lodging itself in one of the oaks behind Elrond. He didn’t get the chance to say anything to Y/n, rather he just grabbed her hand and began to run with her through the forest. She didn’t hesitate to follow Elrond’s lead, for she trusted him with her entire being, and she knew he would do everything in his power to keep her safe. Y/n would certainly do the same for him, though her skills with the blade were considerably worse than his.

Suddenly they stopped, and Elrond pulled her underneath a fallen tree that he prayed would be completely and utterly invisible to the orc’s eyes. He grabbed his sword and tightly gripped it, desperately hoping that the orcs wouldn’t get close enough where he would be forced to use it. Elrond attempted to push away the guilt that was currently rising within him, when he had first embarked on this walk with Y/n, it didn’t even cross his mind that they would come face to face with danger.

Though she was filled to the brim with fear, she knew good and well that the more afraid she appeared to Elrond, the worse he would feel about the situation. The last thing that Y/n wanted was to be the reason why his mind was clouded and unable to function to the best of its ability in the case of an attack.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, reassuringly placing her hand on Elrond’s thigh.

“Yes, it will,” he responded, his voice sounding shakier than he had planned.

She grabbed his free hand and began to rub it with her thumb, and she could see the elf become visibly less tense. Y/n didn’t say anything else, fearful words would only worsen the situation. Plus, she didn’t want any orcs to hear them and find their location.

A mixture of harsh voices and footsteps could be heard semi-close to where the pair were hiding, and neither made a single sound. Even their breaths taken were hushed fearing that the orcs' ears would be attentive enough to find where they were even from that slight sound.

Elrond watched as Y/n’s eyes fluttered shut, blocking the unfolding situation from reaching her. Instead of closing his eyes, he stared at her, tracing every inch of her face with his grey eyes, knowing that it was the best distraction in Middle Earth.

When the rustling of leaves and other things around them had stopped, Elrond figured that the orcs had left, but just in case they were still close, the pair sat under that fallen tree for about an hour. Verbally they didn’t say anything, but the way their bodies were pressed against each other said more than words could convey.

When the rain had lightened, Elrond felt as if the coast was clear to try and escape back to the city of Eregion.

“Y/n, it should be safe to head back now. I haven’t heard anything in a while,” he whispered, watching as she opened her eyes, relief replacing the fear that was once hidden within them.

She nodded in response, still nervous to speak, since they weren’t certain that all the orcs had retreated from the area.

Elrond got up and scanned the tree line around them, not seeing anything unusual. He let out a sigh of relief before stretching his hand towards Y/n, who immediately took it and let him pull her to her feet.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his body, nestling her head into the crook of his neck, deeply thankful for all he had done for her. He returned the hug, letting some guilt he carried dissipate now that they had made it through the worst of the situation.

[desertskiespodcast]

I like the desert at night. It’s so loud and alive. It’s so dark and mysterious. I got so many good and harsh memories of it. And the daytime and morning and sunsets too. It’s all glorious. It’s the place where death and life meet in the most abundant of terrible and remarkable ways. You got buzzards flying over roadkill while roadrunners cross the highway like a raptor. You got these big beautiful saguaros looming over you like old bored gods while seemingly open to little wrens living inside it because that’s what you do for the little guys. There’s these mesquite trees that have the skin of someone who’s been smoking for 89 years but still manages to audaciously pull off the wearing of green leaves in the middle of a 20 year drought. You got lizards who do pushups and all these spiders and snakes and tarantulas and centipedes and fire ants. Little warriors everywhere. And then, just when you wonder how the desert could survive another day you see a giant mess of dark billowy clouds roll in and they pour out their rain like a sponge being wrung out in ferocious fashion. You find me another place as magic as that and I’ll eat my damn hat.

[brotherwtf]

could we maybe get Christmas eve by the fireplace sex with Gale and John? Like with red wine and the Christmas lights twinkling in the background? Like the snow falling heavily outside or something EEEEE

AGGHHH CLEGAN BEING SOFT OH MY GODDDDD brb crying rn

----

Christmas wasn't anything special to Gale. It usually came with increasing nightmares and promises that were all for naught, every night leading up to the "happiest day of the year" made him itch with the cold and fear. He never got any presents, not for Christmas or his birthday, and so he didn't expect anything when he and John were finally together after the war.

Because to him, being with John was better than anything he could wish for.

The snow was falling in beautiful billowy clouds and flurries, piling up on the windowsill as the fire crackled before them. Gale and John sat on their shag rug, one John had pawned off of a neighbor, hands linked together in the soft material. Gale didn't drink, but he had an almost full glass of wine with dinner and another half glass sitting on the coffee table behind them. John's already three glasses deep and he's leaning into Gale's space, pressing his nose against his temple and smiling, muttering incoherently to himself.

"John... what's going on, baby?" Gale hums, hand coming up push John's hair back, smiling at him gently.

John hums again, caressing Gale's cheek with his hands and pressing a kiss to his nose.

"Just happy... so happy to be here with you, in our house, getting ready for Christmas, can't wait to show you what I got you, baby," John says, kissing across Gale's cheek and nose, looking into his eyes loopily when he pulls away to just hold his face.

John looks at him like Gales his everything, like he hung the stars and created the world, and Gale finds himself almost squirming under his gaze.

"Lemme kiss you, Gale. I wanna kiss you so bad," John says and he almost sounds like he's begging.

Gale could roll his eyes but he finds the glass of wine has softened him almost, made him less anxious and keyed up and he smiles, eyes crinkling as he leans in and takes John's lips, hand coming up to his cheek and running his thumb over his cheekbone.

John sighs into it and holds Gale's head in his hands, tilting his head so he can almost immediately deepen the kiss. Gale breathes heavily against him, opening his mouth for John to slide his tongue inside, easily moving against Gale's as one of his hands slides down to Gale's waist, a thumb pressing into his hip. Gale sighs and lets himself be touched by John, lets John push him down onto the shag rug in front of fire, lips never leaving his.

Gale's warm, and he can't tell if it's from John's body heat or the lapping tongues of the fire, but he lets out another sigh when John slides his hands underneath Gales shirt and lifts it above his chest, moving his lips from Gales and trailing them down his neck before pressing kisses on Gales chest, worshipping it like he would an idol. Gale squirms, a hand tangling into John's hair as he huffs, his own hand creeping under Johns shirt so he can try to desperately pull it off.

"Off, come on John, want this off," Gale almost begs, pushing John off of his chest and tugging on it himself.

John chuckles and easily takes it off, Gale following suit before running his hands up John's stomach and chest, pulling him by his neck back to his lips and kissing him deeply. John's deft hands easily flick open Gales belt, pushing his slacks down, urging Gales hips up with his hand so he can pull them off. John pulls away and looks down at Gale in awe, a dumbstruck expression flicking across his face.

"Fuck... Gale... you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, like a damn angel sent down from the heavens, just for me. You're all mine, right baby?" John mutters and Gale nods, nods desperately closing his eyes and moaning high in his throat when John's hand finds his aching cock.

His hips buck up into John's hand and John bites his lip, watching it spring back into place as he takes Gale's cock in his hand and tugging it on a few times to make Gale whine even more.

"Please, John, I need you, please..." Gale pleads and moans open mouthed when one of John's fingers circles his hole, pushing in oh so gently.

John's so gentle with Gale, and Gale could cry, he does start to tear up when he thinks about how softly John is holding him. Holding him like he's something that could break, oh so tender in front of their shared fire. Tears start to stream down his face when John presses another finger in, his cheek pressed to Gales as he slowly fucks his fingers into him, unclasping his own belt and shirking his pants and boxers down.

When he takes his fingers from Gale he turns to look at him and kisses the tears away, pushing his hair back and pressing kisses to his cheeks and forehead.

"It's okay... it's okay baby," John whispers, taking his cock in his hand and pressing into Gale, groaning as Gale clenches down on him and sobs gently.

It's so warm and safe, here with John, even as he starts to grind gently into him all Gale can think about is being here with John in front of their fire, snow falling quietly outside but not penetrating their walls, Christmas lights that John insisted hanging up twinkling above him on their mantle when he throws his head back. John's chest is pressed to his and he wraps his arms around John's shoulders to hold him even tighter as he fucks into him.

His cock is trapped underneath John's stomach and he keens in his throat when it rubs against John's stomach, tears continuing to stream down his face as John's lips press into the hollow of his neck. John's hands are bracketed around Gale's head, fingers tangled into his hair as his thrusts get slightly faster, shifting Gale against the rug beneath them both.

He can feel heat roiling in his gut as he approaches his orgasm and his moans get louder as John's thrusts get deeper, thrusting up into that spot that makes Gale's jaw drop open and a long litany of sweet and beautiful noises coming out of his mouth.

"I'm close, doll, come on, come for me," John groans and Gale nods breath coming in short gasps as he comes on his and John's stomachs.

John comes shortly after, arms shaking as Gale feels himself get filled with John's come. They both pant and Gale finds himself smiling even through the tears and he runs his hands across John's shoulders when he finally collapses on top of Gale.

"Was that your gift, John? Not very original, are you?" Gale teases and John lifts himself up just so he can playfully glare at Gale.

He pushes a wayward strand of Gales hair off of his forehead and just smiles at him, something loopy and full of so much love Gale finds himself dizzy with it.

"Nah, but I can't tell you yet, it's not even Christmas," John whispers and kisses Gale gently.

Gale's about to protest when their little clock above the mantle dings it's melody for midnight and Gale just raises his eyebrows at John.

"Not Christmas yet? I think it's Christmas now, baby," Gale says and John pretends to be exasperated.

John kisses his forehead again and smiles cheekily down at him.

"Well I ain't telling yet, besides, what did you get me?" John asks and Gale pantomimes zipping his lips closed.

"If you won't tell me until the morning, then you don't get to know my gift either," Gale whispers and finds himself giggling when John sighs and hangs his head onto Gale's chest.

"You're no fun, you know that, Gale?" John says and Gale can't help but smile.

"But you love me anyway, right? You're stuck with me," Gale mutters and smirks when John just rolls his eyes and pushes Gales hair away from his face again.

"I love you more than anything in the world, helps to be stuck with such a pretty face, I guess," John jokes and Gale's cheeks hurt from how much he's smiling.

They don't get much sleep that night, too busy lazily kissing and finishing their second bottle of wine to even get up and get back to their bed. But it wasn't so bad, here in front of their fire, together.

goodness gracious this one got away from me

[randomluck-ofthe-universe]

"Did he not remember Billowy, or was he too modest, too cautious, to show he knew exactly what I was referring to? He resumed staring into the offing.

He had come on the right day. Not a cloud, not a ripple, not a stir in the wind. "I'd forgotten how much I loved this place. But this is exactly how I remember it. At noon it's paradise."

I let him talk. It was good to see his eyes drift into the offing. Perhaps he too wanted to avoid the face-to-face."

🥺❤️

cr. IG cmbyn.corcordium

[eijirousbestie]

“I want you.”

requested pt 2 of “I’m done talkin”

________________________________________

Talking wasn’t always easy. Sometimes it straight up drains the life out of a person. And you could understand that. You could understand him. Could understand that when life gets to be too much, he’d need the time away to sort things out.

It was only a matter of time before he felt comfortable enough to even be in the same room after what had happened. So he makes his way to the one place he can think.

The rooftop is wide and about ten stories up. The perfect view to overlook the city. The perfect view to think. The area is littered with thriving plant life and budding flowers alike. The rooftop garden is home to the Botany Club at the university but also open to the community.

He’s not crazy about flowers but he doesn’t necessarily hate them either. After all, this is the only place on campus where he could get some much needed peace and quiet. The library was suffocating, the dining hall was a mess and the dorms were a definite no.

You were there. It was Monday. You always got back to the dorms early on Mondays. So he made sure to be gone before you came back. It confuses him really, why he’s so avoidant with you. It’s not like he holds any resentment towards you, there’s just so much going on.

He passes a few of the hydrangea tables with slow steps. His fingers glide on each tabletop he passes, making sure not to bump a flower pot with his fingers. Tiger lilies, chrysanthemums, zinnias and asters rest at each of their designated tables. Some fresh greens hang from thin rope in reach of the four corners of the roof’s open walls.

The billowy wafts of the flora ease his nerves like a superpower. He stops in front of a pot smaller than the rest. The tag resting just before the plant reads “Canna Lily.” The petals a highly saturated red. They almost look fake they’re so bright.

He gets lost in his thoughts, staring idly at the flora. His hands ball up into fists at his sides. Why is thinking about you so hard? Things between you both were always so easy. At least that’s what he’d like to think. He knows he shouldn’t have blown up at you the way he did. There was no rhyme or reason for it. And it feels like such a shit excuse to say he did it because he was “under pressure.”

His fists tighten the more he thinks about everything. Why he’s stressed in the first place has nothing to do with you. He shouldn’t have let his own emotions drag you into it. The last bit of sun peaks through faded clouds that resemble stretched cotton. Soft pinks and oranges tone the sky as the large star begins its slow descent to night.

He lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The issue lies within himself and he knows that. He knows he should be man enough to own his mistakes and rectify all that he’s broken. He turns his head, no longer looking at the small flower, but over his shoulder at the person who had just stepped onto the rooftop.

Pausing at the door, you look at the figure in front of you. The man you hadn’t seen in nearly three weeks. The feeling is sudden and visceral as your heart feels as if it’s dropped into your stomach.

His eyes are hardened and yet so, so sorrowful. Like he’s trying to mask as much as he can. Without a single word, he tears his gaze from you and walks to the edge of the rooftop, propping and crossing his arms on the railing. His left foot crosses his right at the ankle as he puts his weight on the cement railing, gazing out at the view of the city.

The perfect view to think.

The perfect view to talk.

He doesn’t have to look to know you’ve followed close behind, position the same as his but you’ve put yourself at a wider distance. He can see the intentional space between you both in his peripheral. A displeased grunt rumbles from deep within his chest.

“Why’re you so damn far.” It’s more of a statement than a question. He clasps his hands together, still resting on the railing, hanging loosely from the wrist onto the other side.

“Wanna give you space.”

Your voice burns in his ears. A sound he’s missed although he’ll never admit it. Soft and yet so unsure. As if you’re not even convinced the words you say are the words you mean. He’d waited so long to hear from you. But not like this. Not with this dejected tone.

He swallows the budding lump in his throat and takes a deep breath before exhaling. If there’s anything he’s taken from his time with you, it’s the newfound habit of self-soothing. Calming his nerves so he can express himself properly. He hadn’t done it before and that’s what got him in this mess. So he’s sure as hell gonna do it now.

“I don’t want space.” He clenches his jaw tightly, a vein just under his jaw twitching with strain.

“Then what do you want?” What does he want?

“I want you.” A beat passes. “Us,” he corrects. He props his elbows up and cups his face in his hands and slowly slides them down over his eyes, nose, and lips before they’re gripping onto the railing for dear life. “The shit I said before—shit—I shouldn’t’ve took it out on ya. Had nothin’ to do with you and shoulda stayed that way.”

He clears his throat as he’s met with your silence. It only fuels him to express more. “I wasn’t lying to you though. About not being good at expressin’ my emotions and shit. M’ not good at it… but I’m tryin’. And I think as long as I’ve got you in my corner I’ll keep tryin’. So,” he takes another deep breath, “I guess what I’m sayin’ is… m’sorry.”

A long, lingering silence envelopes the two of you with an unmistakable chill. He finds the will to turn his head to look at you only to find that you’re already looking at him with a gaze so intense it leaves him confused. Are you mad? Upset? Both?

Well, that is until he sees a stray tear slip from the corner of your eye. His eyes zero in on it and he feels something in his resolve break. It’s the first time he’s ever seen you cry (if you can call one tear crying). He’s seen you pissed, agitated and annoyed but never this.

You wipe the rogue tear away and look back at the fading sky as night begins to fall.

“I miss us too Katsuki.”

________________________________________

fin.

[showyourself80]

That's a wrap for Snarry Microfic June 2024 fest!

Today marks the end of @snarrymicrofics June fest for me. 30 works in 30 days has been tough going. Nearly managed to use all the original prompts, but I draw the line at writing anything that reminds me of Umbridge (sorry day 30 😂).

With massive thanks to @picklesonjupiter for organising such a great fest. I've embraced short fic as a writing form, and it's probably the most inspired I've been in ages.

If you haven't had a chance to catch all my works, here's a handy summary with links to AO3 below (or see the series direct here).

Let me know in the comments which one was your favourite!

Trust. Gen rating. Prompt: Teddy Bear https://archiveofourown.org/works/56324071

Dwell. Gen rating. Prompts: Dwell/ "Take me home" https://archiveofourown.org/works/56325151

Restriction/Freedom. Mature rating. Prompts: Endless/Compress https://archiveofourown.org/works/56351068

Still human. Gen rating. Prompts: Misgiving/Blur https://archiveofourown.org/works/56390392

Choices. Teen rating. Prompt: Beach https://archiveofourown.org/works/56427676

Truth. Teen rating. MCD warning. Prompt: Eternal/ Denounce https://archiveofourown.org/works/56471089

Cocktail. Explicit rating. Prompts: Strawberries/ Lingerie https://archiveofourown.org/works/56471641

Cunning. Teen rating. Prompts: Flame/ Glitter https://archiveofourown.org/works/56475940

The next best thing. Gen rating. Prompts: Picnic/ Devotion https://archiveofourown.org/works/56492752

Faux pax. Teen rating. Prompts: Sandals/ "There's no one else" https://archiveofourown.org/works/56517757

Caged. Explicit. Prompts: Latch/Prison https://archiveofourown.org/works/56521837

Heat. Teen rating. Prompts: Heatwave/ Embrace https://archiveofourown.org/works/56575027

Destination. Mature rating. Prompts: Train/ Cough https://archiveofourown.org/works/56613652

Skirt. Teen rating. Prompts: Skirt/ Wry https://archiveofourown.org/works/56638282

Rain. Mature rating. Prompt: Rain https://archiveofourown.org/works/56658703

Call me. Teen rating. Prompts: Woozy/ "Call me" https://archiveofourown.org/works/56685523

Approbation. Gen rating. Prompts: Shop/ Approbation https://archiveofourown.org/works/56712421

Bond. Gen rating. Prompts: Fireflies/ Boundless https://archiveofourown.org/works/56725582

Beige. Gen rating. Prompts: Altruistic/ Beige https://archiveofourown.org/works/56725732

Attention. Mature rating. Prompts: Watermelon/ Salute https://archiveofourown.org/works/56781877

Drained. Mature rating. Prompts: "Are you dead?"/ Drain https://archiveofourown.org/works/56804728

Needs. Explicit rating. Prompts: Voracious/ Cloud https://archiveofourown.org/works/56828731

Billow. Gen rating. Prompts: Hiking/ Billowy https://archiveofourown.org/works/56852911

Tuned out. Gen rating. Prompts: Assuage/ Headphones https://archiveofourown.org/works/56876683

Conflicted. Mature rating. Prompts: Petulant/ Candy https://archiveofourown.org/works/56903080

Wax. Teen rating. Prompts: Bubbles/ Wax https://archiveofourown.org/works/56926663

Sundae. Teen rating. Prompts: Ice cream/ "Stop looking" https://archiveofourown.org/works/56949394

Unburdened. Gen rating. Prompts: White/ Shower https://archiveofourown.org/works/56977387

Hands free dessert. Explicit rating. Prompts: Cake/ Thong https://archiveofourown.org/works/56996473

Pole work. Teen rating. Prompts: Fingers*/ Pole* (*Substitutes) https://archiveofourown.org/works/57020014

[studiocutepet]

Candy Witch - Special Treat

Special Treat As the full moon cast its ethereal light across the landscape, a figure emerged from the shadows, a black silhouette barely distinguishable from the cold autumn sky. The witch stepped forward, her head held low and face shrouded beneath the vast brim of her oversized hat. The moonlight struck her, revealing a tantalizing sight. Though her legs were modestly clad in thigh-high stockings and high-heeled boots, and her arms were draped in elegant billowy sleeves, her midsection was almost completely bare, adorned only in a small black bikini, and accented by strands of golden cord, charms, and precious jewels. Emphasized by her choice of attire, the vast exposed flesh shone with a pink glow, like the warm harvest moon through parting black clouds. She continued forward, long violet hair accented with dancing magenta streaks, swayed around her frame like a rough sheered silken cloak. Drawing close, the bounce of her large supple breasts became more apparent. Treats of all varieties jostled and spilled to the ground from the crown of the overflowing pumpkin-shaped bucket she rocked in her hand with heedless regard. She stopped less than a breath away, tipped her head up, and flashed an almost pleading smile, revealing amethyst and ochre eyes that sparkled with mystery. Offering the bucket, she spoke in a seductive whisper that seemed to beg as much as command, "Place your hand inside. Whatever you grasp is the special treat that's meant for you." --- Happy Halloween everybody! Art Collab with Mina Cream ( @minaqueenu ) --- Support my art on Patreon https://www.patreon.com/ecchistar HD JPGs, alt versions, step by step images, PSDs, and more. Image packs available on Gumroad: https://ecchistar.gumroad.com/

[cookeybg]

Cerulean blue doesn't quite cut it

Billowy white clouds drifted slowly by, while emerald green leaves obscured the rays of the sun, casting a cool shade upon Damian. He stared up at the sky and tried to imagined a set of familiar eyes. He lifted his pencil, wiggling it in thought. The day had been lazy, calm, and he had decided to sit under the large branches of his favorite oak tree, sketching idly, enjoying the quiet. Titus slept on the large blanket he spread out, with Alfred the cat curled on his paws, both ever faithful and protective. Damian had eventually leaned back, their warmth bringing further comfort, he was now so relaxed that his mind wandered aimlessly. "His are more cerulean." He mumbled to himself. He tapped at his lip, humming. Those cerulean eyes would brighten whenever he said or did something that pleased him, that made him laugh, and Damian would stare at the unnatural but beautiful sight. Somehow, of everything he was capable of doing, it was those eyes, their color, that would solidify to Damian that he was not fully human. Yet, in many respects, he was more human than Damian, had taught him how to be more human. It had been years since their first meeting, the thought of it made him both cringe and laugh, made his chest warm at the history between them. He could imagine those eyes laughing, sparkling with mischief, crying, and in pain. Damian did not like seeing him sad, it was an emotion that did not fit someone so bright. "Maybe, a tropical blue." He extended his hand up towards the leaves, spinning his pencil. He could never get the color right. No matter how many times he would blend his paint, it was never good enough. “No, it has to be cerulean.” Damian sighed to himself letting his arm rest over his forehead. In a moment of clarity, he sat up right with a jolt. His heart beat quickened, a prickly sensation spread in his fingers, the ground didn't feel stable anymore. Titus and Alfred watched him, standing at attention. Shakily, Damian clutched at his chest, his breath labored. He couldn't believe it, he refused to believe it, how long had this been going on? It just wasn't right. He swept his other hand through his hair trying to calm down. The tree shook from a gust of wind and Jon knelt beside Damian looking at him, his brows furrowed. "Hey, your heart suddenly shot up." Jon said, placing both hands on Damian's shoulders. Damian stared back at Jon, agape, he could feel the hot flush of embarrassment, and something more, something deeper, rise up to heat his ears, to burn his cheeks. Those complex blue eyes widening further. "Are you okay? Can you breathe?" Jon restrained himself from shaking him "I'm…in love with you." Damian gasped out. Jon stilled, his eye color did the thing Damian could never replicate in his art. A beat too late, he realized what he had said and tried to move away, but Jon held on to his shoulders in an iron grip. "You aren't messing with me are you?" Jon rasped, his Adam's apple bobbed. Transfixed, all Damian could do was shake his head, he clutched at his chest harder, wrinkling his shirt further. Jon swallowed, inching closer. "I love you too," his face was only inches apart from Damian now, "may I?" He could feel his breath against his lips. He nodded and Jon rushed in, Damian's eyes fluttered closed. His lips were hot, soft and he smelled of wheat fields and ozone. His strong arms wrapped around him in a gentle, trembling embrace. It dawned on him that Jon was just as nervous, just as desperate as he. He removed his hands from in front of his chest to clutch at Jon's back, drawing him closer. Damian fell backwards bringing Jon with him. Their kiss ended with Jon laughing atop him. His eyes were the type of beauty to enjoy in person and no human hand would be able to capture it. He gently placed both hands on either side of Jon's face and just stared at him. Jon's gaze softened his eyes changing blue once more. Distantly he heard Titus and Alfred huff at their master's antics and settle back in their respective places. Cerulean blue doesn't quite cut it.

I had fun writing this, it's based on how I felt/reacted about my first love. I'm demisexual so it came as quite a surprise lol I hope I was able to get that feeling across. I also posted it on AO3 if you prefer to read it there:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56516671

[sashi-ya]

五 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗘𝗦 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧: 𝐒𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐁𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 [+18] 𝙷𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚘 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚒 𝚡 𝙵! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

✦ request: @byakuyasbabe asked: hey, Sashi! can you please do <The scent of your skin.> for Hirako Shinji x fem!reader? love your headcanons sm <з ➜ omg I really missed writing for Shinji!! I hope you enjoy, love! ✦ tw: NSFT. mdni. footjob. oral. vag ✦ wc: 1.2k ✦ masterlist

A shiver runs through your spine, the tip of his nose buries on your back, yellow strands tickle your shoulders as he bends over you.

The night is cold, and the moon barely shines its light through heavy clouds of storm. Captain Hirako has his hands all over you, and he couldn’t wait no more. He wasn’t violent, but he definitely pinned you against his desk.

“I don’t know what it is, but you smell so good…” he whispers, pressing your belly against the wooden table underneath you. He is not heavy, but he is strong enough to trap you and not let you go.

Well, is not that you wanted to run away, anyway.

Shinji puts your hands over your head, your naked skin shines with the warm billowy motions of a candle light. You were undressed by him, in total silence and completely serious. Where it’s often a big smile, there was none. Only eyes filled with lust and desire.

You can hear, and feel, the way he sniffles your skin. There is something about your perfume that gets him crazy, oh so crazy.

But it’s nothing but your natural flesh scent. A flesh he is willing to bite, and he will for the sake of his sanity and the hardness growing in between his legs.

Hardness pressed against your glutes. More and more it grows, with the desperate grunts of that blonde man nuzzling in the crook of your neck.

“Hirako Taicho…” you murmur, with your cheek squeezed to the side as your head gets pressed against the desk.

“Yes, my sweet doll?” he asks, as he continues to sneeze your body and spread your legs with his knee.

You lift your ass a little more, wiggling your hips to deadly graze his bulge. “I really like you, Hirako Taicho~” you purr, tearing a manly grunt from him.

Shinji smirks pleased, passing his palm wide open from the small of your back to your nape. And then, with long fingers tangling in your hair he pulls your head back.

“You do? You do like me so much, (Name)? I’m so glad you do, why don’t you show me how much you want me?” he whispers in your ear, licking your earlobe after. You can feel the little steel ball’s coldness in his tongue on your skin.

Your arched back allows your breasts to hang perfectly and the imagery of such position reflects on the window you have in front of you. A downpour has started, and the way the glasses fog is nothing but the reaction of the cold against the heated atmosphere inside of Shinji’s office.

Your captain thrusts his hips against your glutes, and even if he is still dressed in his hakama, you can feel as if he was about to penetrate you; Shinji is way harder than ever, your sweet skin scent had been like a flower calling for a bee.

His locks tickle your back, but soon they do it on your chest as he brutally turns you around. Your back hits the desk, and a whine coming from your lips reverberates all around the fifth squad office.

You lift your legs, using your toes to grab to his hakama’s waist piece. You pull down in an attempt to take it off and you make him scoff. Shinji is so pleased with your neediness he helps you untie the white obi for you.

As his pants fall down, you discover the pale skin of his lean stomach. Down your eyes go, to discover the protruding hipbones and even lower his hardness. A shiny and reddish tip erected and so ready to bury so deep inside of you.

Your feet reach for his shaft; you make Shinji grimace and slightly pull his hips backwards. Yet, with your soft ups and downs jerking motions, your soles become wet as precum sprouts from his tip.

He pulls his head back, biting his thin lips and moaning so beautifully to the pleasure you are giving to him. His hands rest on his tiny waist, and the muscles of his stomach spasms to each and every touch.

“Ugh… you are so good, even with your feet… how comes?” he laughs, sexily. “But I want your lips around my dick now…” he moans, moving your feet away and extending one of his hands to help you properly sit on the desk.

You take his hand, and do as he tells; Shinji comes closer, he guides his sex into your mouth while patting your head softly.

You gloat at his flavour, and the scent of his skin that gets into your lungs every time your nose hits his lower belly. Your gag reflex is nothing but a sweet melody he enjoys even more than his jazz disks.

“Ugh… yes… keep going baby… look at me, come on” he growls, as your puppy teary eyes fix into his hazel ones.

Shinji caresses your hair back; with the delicacy his hips lack. You can sense with your tongue how his shaft throb, perhaps so ready for orgasm. But he isn’t finishing yet, he still wants and will fuck you hard and mercilessly.

“Stop. Stop. Let me see” he commands, taking his dick out of your mouth and cleaning the commissure of his lips with his slender hands. He inspects your shiny eyes as he moves your head by your chin. “So pretty, sweet one… you are so pretty”

Shinji plants a sweet kiss on your forehead, while spreading your legs to the max. While his lips now reach yours, his fingers do the same with your folds.

Biting and pulling your lower lip, he scoffs when he discovers the strings of wetness coming from your core. “Sweetf one, your aref so wet” he mumbles, still with your mouths pressed.

“It’s all forf youfh” you murmur back, closing an eye as he penetrates you with his index. He searches for your special spot and finds it, pressing up and using beckoning motions to make your shiver.

He abandons your kisses to bite your neck, and once again get drunk on the scent of your skin. “Wha- what is it… do you bathe in chocolate and vanilla, beautiful?” he asks, still unable to understand why he is so attracted to your perfume.

But he doesn’t really care no more, because your hands have reached for his already on the verge of coming dick. You pull so softly towards you; you want him inside.

And he complies, him as much as you, wants to fuck you.

First, the tip slides right in. He enjoys your nails carving marks on his pale back as he moves back and forth so delicately to simply fuck your entrance.

“Mo- more…” you want him deep, you plead for it.

Shinji smirks. Sure thing.

He slides himself completely in. You can feel the tip reaching places you didn’t know existed inside you. And while he does, your legs surround his waist, using your heel to pull him closer, more and more.

Shinji bites your shoulders, still smelling with strong gasps of air your perfume and merciless hammering motions.

Both reach heaven. You can feel the burning marks of his teeth engraved on your flesh. Marks you will enjoy having on your skin for some days more…

“You are the sweetest flower, (Name)…” “I am your sweetest flower, Hirako Taicho”

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tension grows amongst the companions as secrets are revealed.

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Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

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Chapter 14: Tension

Ao3

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Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Sexual Language, Blood & Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

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We’ve all had to learn to make accommodations. And it has caused me to miss my peace amidst the night orchids. Though the journey has been difficult, I can feel bonds starting to form. Where deceit lies and trust begins, I have yet to learn. I wonder, how many of them I will be able to call a friend when this is over.

— Shadowheart, diary entry 26 in newly bound entries of surviving tadpoles & outlanders

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Such a strange idea waiting for the heart to be broken.

Stranger still, waiting to break one’s own heart.

The tale of any relationship unfolding like origami with worn creases trying to make it stabilize.

Tav floated on her back in a pond, staring up at the clouds. Undergarments christened by the crystal blue waters, hugged her body tightly. She danced her pruning fingers on the surface of the liquid, summoning puckered ideations of an unrealized romance between her and Astarion.

In her dreaming state, she imagined the vampire being the one to pull the sword out of her stoned heart. Pulling and pulling until the curse set upon her was alleviated.

A tightness clasped around her throat when she imagined his waves of hoary tresses entwined within the billowy vanilla clouds passing by. Oh, to feel a hunger for someone one day only to experience mourning their touch the next.

She cupped both of her cheeks. Her fingers ran down the knobs of her collarbone, sides of her breasts, strumming her ribs with the same wandering journey Astarion once spoke to her about when he caressed her in his tent. Tenderly. Sweetly. Unbound to feel her executioner’s teeth covet her flesh. Desperate to resurrect the forspoken recollection of his touch. Letting her float up to heaven with his voice near her ear, only to drag her back down from her Elysium to remind her she was still alive.

Seven days had passed and she missed his scent in her hair.

Seven days had passed and she missed his hands encircling her waist.

Seven days had passed and she couldn’t help but imagine that who she thought him to be, was a myth of her wishful beliefs.

He planted a seed and she became his wine. He eclipsed her sun and she served his darkness. He fed her etiquette and she satisfied his appetite.

The bard was reluctant to admit that she had been captivated by a man that may not fully exist. A black mamba whose dubious gaze clocked her every move, before capturing her with his venomous bite one too many times.

Lips parting to push out a soft puff of air, she let her hands fall listlessly back into the water. She roughly skimmed them across the surface—attempting to fist the escaping liquid—much like she wanted to continue holding onto her embryonic feelings towards the pale spawn.

He seemed unhappy when she told him they should end their companionship, but not in the way a rejected lover would by tearing through the night on unhallowed ground. It was disappointment shadowing his eyes and a dramatic quip placated upon his perfect lips he left her alone with on the pathway.

“Well, pardon me while I go die of a broken heart,” Astarion professed in pseudo shock, placing a showy hand across his chest. ”It’s unfortunate really—I thought we got along rather melodically. Though, I’m sure there’s plenty of other tadpole-brained bards in the proverbial sea. Please do have a splendid evening,” He paused in thought before articulating his final word to her. “...songbird.”

Gods! It bothered Tav how uncaring he seemed. It’s not as if he wasn’t being honest with her when he spoke about certain subjects, but he was clearly omitting truths—finding loopholes around her concerns with his ambiguity. His flippant attitude towards her, vexed her in ways she shouldn’t even concede herself to plummet her thoughts upon.

Did he truly have little to no interest in her? Better yet, why did he continue to force himself to have sex with her if he didn’t like her? She felt used at times, like she had been the one taking advantage of him.

Is that what she had been doing this whole time? Relying on him to provide her with the affection she besotted after in her daydreams? Were they both only using each other?

But, what about what she actually wanted? What she began to unchain her shackled heart for—

Her hand rose out of the water like a reawakened invocation for her idleness and settled delicately on the nearly healed bite marks above her breast tissue. The songstress tapped at the tiny dim brown dots making up her soulmate mark that he had appeared to fixate on betwixt the fang marks.

Why did he choose this spot? She wondered.

Tav wasn’t sure she was comfortable with him feeding from her privately anymore. She knew he wasn’t fully there when he bit her. That far off look—his complete withdrawal from their intimate moment—Astarion had been completely overtaken by the ephialtes she knew he relived day in and day out. Though, what if he accidentally harmed her during another episode?

It was at a crossroads she stood at. One leading into a clear meadow of amnesty from his former life and the other leading into the bleak caverns of the underworld where all his torments resided.

Yet, what of the middle path? The one waiting to be traveled. With deadened forest roots risen out of silted earth and life brimming inside resting tree cavities. Impossibilities being the catalyst for possibilities.

“I did the right thing,” she voiced aloud in reassurance to herself, knowing not even her hymns resounding from the valley in the mountains could save them.

For now.

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The road leading to the Mountain Pass disentombed secrets from their residing magic casters.

Upon saving the aggressively cautious Barcus Wroot, he informed them that he saw a rather large fire engulfing a building north of the windmill the goblins tied him to.

And with the usual debates to lend aid to more hopeless souls in the Wilderness, they swiftly arrived at Waukeen’s Rest Inn.

Flaming Fists scattered about. Some dead; some alive. Drow bandits and goblin raiders laying around in their own pools of blood like painted ragdolls. Knights screaming and screaming at the sealed doors of the inn—until they flung open.

More are found dead. Suffocated from the smoke. Burned alive. Counsellor Florrick barely intact, almost succumbing to the fumes polluting her lungs. She was desperate to find the Duke Ulder Ravengard, father to Wyll, kidnapped and taken to Moonrise Towers.

Wyll does not rest for several days. Their journey had suddenly become more than any of them bargained for. He pleaded with Tav to find his father on what she knew would be an imperative mission. She does not refuse.

Later, Mizora arrived with outstretched cambion wings, to castigate Wyll for disobeying Zariel’s orders to slay Karlach. His breach in their pact cost him his appearance. Thick onyx horns sprout, curling backwards from the handsome brown-skinned man’s forehead. Thin slices of boney cartilage protrude under his skin on his upper cheeks and neck. He writhed in pain: cursing her; the hells; himself.

And then, disharmony struck. With eddies of discord blowing over the camp.

Gale informed everyone that he was a literal walking bomb. The Netherese Orb inside his chest would not calm lest its hunger be consummated in arcane artifacts imbued with magic.

“Let me get this straight,” Astarion frowned, holding his sharp jaw. “Any type of armor, weapons, or items we find with strong magical properties that—oh, I don’t know—could probably assist us on this godsforsaken odyssey, will have to be consumed by a man whose feet are already in his own grave?”

Tav slowly nodded, feeling a pit in her stomach. This was the first interaction the former lovers had in a week beyond simple civil exchanges.

Ever scrutinizing her under his dark lashes, his age lines deepend around his mouth as he contorted his lips. “For one man?”

Again, she nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Her heart ached in tandem with her gradual breaths. And much like her time wading as a forgotten mermaid in the pond’s embrace, her broken thoughts about Astarion momentarily returned, before she quickly caught them to tie around the roots of water lilies so they could drown at the bottom of her murky watery floors.

“Gale is our friend. We won’t abandon him,” she hesitantly replied, knowing they could possibly get caught in the explosion if the orb decided to activate. “I will not see him left for dead like his goddess once did to him!”

Stormy eyes swept over to the wizard. His shame was palpable. Innocence lost to Mystra; taken by the weave. Tav shared his sentiment. They had both loved someone so religiously, that they committed the treason of destroying their bodies in their names. Omens foreshadowing cumbersome emotions over future romances.

Through their suffrage did they offer penance, Intercessory prayers to the seats of worship. Side by side with the saints they prayed in earnest, Only to be answered in blood. Farewell, go with the gods.

Shadowheart was monotone, critical with her doubt. “And you would bet his one life over the rest of ours?”

Tav pushed her index finger into her chest firmly. “What I would bet is that we should give him the opportunity to find real treatment for his affliction. Do not make me choose, Shadowheart,” she pleaded. “Have you all forgotten your own requests and the dangers that belie them already?”

The cleric concentrated on her response, offering little more than a sigh. “Very well.”

Wyll’s cathartic tone made its presence known like the curling heat from a loaf of fresh bread. “Gale has been with us from the beginning. Have we truly any right to condemn the man at this juncture? His suffering is no more or less than our own. Besides, finding items for the orb to consume shan’t be too difficult to come across.”

The songstress nodded in agreement. “Wyll makes a valid point. Even if we have to take on a few more quests along the way to secure those items, we—”

Astarion interrupted her, huffing out an annoyed laugh. He threw up his hands in defeat and walked towards his tent to retrieve his daggers.

Tav called after him as he marched out of camp. “Astarion, wait—“

“Let him go, soldier,” Karlach mumbled within earshot of her. She had kept mostly to herself during the dispute and it surprised the womanly elf suddenly hearing her speak.

“She-lak! Have you gone mad?!” Lae’zel chastised, snarling her hand to emphasize her point. “We are soon to become ghaik and instead you would ask us to additionally take on this burden as well? If he is too weak to survive his ordeal, then leave him to his fate.”

They should be upset. At Gale. At her. This was too much to ask of them. The cold inviting shroud of Death itself would be preferred over breaking up their entourage at this stage. Choices came in extremes for this predicament: succumb to one’s fate alone or continue risking each other's lives with their yesterdays.

A heavy paw patted the bard’s shoulder. “Yet, Gale still walks amongst us for the time being. Let us not be so hasty to cast out one of our own knowing what awaits us in the Shadowlands. We will need all the help we can get.”

The scent of oak and fruits hit Tav’s olfactories.

Halsin.

It was the prospect of having found ‘infernal iron’, that Halsin offered his altruistic services to seek out Dammon the blacksmith. Back to Emerald Grove did he travel—the wood druid comparable to the solstice in Kythorn. A warm bear steeping in nature’s gracious light amidst a field of upturned sunflowers.

The bard turned to smile at the man towering over her. “Were your travels kind to you?”

“I expected you to be further along the pass by now, but I am grateful I’ve managed to catch up—given my middle-age amongst the youthful,” Halsin chuckled. “And before you ask, Dammon is working on the infernal iron piece as we speak. He said it should be ready for Karlach by the time we head back down in the area to seek out the Underdark.”

Karlach fisted her hands at her sides, shaking excitedly. “Eeeee! I don’t know what to say! Halsin, I would pick you up and swing you around if I could! Thank you so much for this.”

“Enough of this foolishness!” Lae’zel roared, walking through the crowd of their group. “I would rather slice open my own throat than stand here another moment to witness anymore of these inane activities!”

The space before them grew silent. It was scarcely a revelation when the gith expressed her displeasure, but the intensity of her anger directed at them had never attained this level.

Finding her spry footing, Tav paraded after the githyanki. “Lae’zel, please at least tell me where you are going in case something were to happen.”

Lae’zel continued ahead until she arrived at her tent, grabbing up a waterskin and her longsword. “I’m going to speak with Astarion.”

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The sound of clashing steel, reminded Tav of setting personal boundaries.

Cold metal striking with brute impact against each other. Forceful, yet necessary. The promise of fatality or defense depending on how the blade made contact. Testing the resolve of one’s faith in their morality by striking during that perfect opening with the brunt of a pommel.

Tav had no plan when she decided to track them down. Haplessly relying on her compassionate magnetism to speak with her obstinate comrades and their matrimony to their own causes.

Which brought to mind the actual disposition of her charisma. Most bards were gifted with the art of persuasive speeches or gregarious notions. Their outgoing personalities flirted with music and charmed the delights of people far and wide.

However, she relied entirely on thoughtful observation and processing to eventually deliver direct oration. But, her unchosen leadership required curtailing days into mere minutes. There would be no quarter extended for her verdicts in most cases.

So, when the bard arrived at her destination, the performance had already begun.

The staged cathedra of Astarion and Lae’zel’s bladed pirouettes, oversaw the valley below. And, oh, how the heavens breathed upon patches of wheat, kissing their florets of golden chartreuse in waves.

It was quite evident why Lae’zel was a known poster child for her crèche. Donning trousers and a black leather harness barely covering her breasts, her longsword sang with abiding precision as she swung it sideways towards the vampire.

He ducked down, narrowly missing the slice cutting heavily through the air. Protruding out his limber leg, he attempted to trip her stance only to be rebuffed by her springing backwards.

“I’ve seen better sweeps from a hatchling, spawn,” the yellowish-green woman taunted.

Acrobatically, he spun a short sword in his hand. “I was only testing your nimbleness, my friend.”

“I am in no mood for tests. Come and strike!”

Tilting his head slightly towards Tav’s location, he pressed a finger against his lips. “Hush a moment.”

A lone tree hugging a section of rocky crags near their spar, provided instant refuge for the bard. She hid behind it, covering her mouth to control her breathing. Tav had little interest in eavesdropping, but to manifest now, could possibly cause Lae’zel to erupt further into her rage.

“What is it that you hear?”

Anticipating the rogue had likely heard her, the songstress peeked around the tree trunk, catching a wide smirk clinging at the corners of his mouth.

“My mistake. It must have been a ballad upon the wind,” he replied. “Shall we continue?”

Oh, he definitely knew.

Astarion looked out of place in the midst of the shimmering bronze sun rays bouncing off the ragged stones of the mountain. An achromatic timepiece from a bygone era. Baroquely carved ivory abs and chest exposed to serve as a fable that drew enamored breaths on top of an isolated summit.

She could not thaw her eyes away from him and the thoughts that persecuted her previous choices. To feel naked flesh pushed against naked flesh again as that translucent cage once had entrapped her underneath him back in the forest clearing.

Tav clutched at her shirt. No, stay focused.

Monogramming the ground with their steps, the pale elf dodged Lae’zel’s oncoming attacks more than executing his own.

“You seem angrier than usual,” he cheekily commented.

Lae’zel perked her brow. “Are you not also frustrated with how things are?”

“An understatement,” Astarion scoffed, sidestepping a vertical swing of her weapon. “Though, the plebs have the majority ruling here.”

“Tsk’va! You speak true,” she spat. “Once we arrive at the crèche and I am granted liberation by the zaith’isk, our brainwashed leader will see that this expedition’s flaws lie within herself.”

Tav rolled her eyes. She was not in the least bit shocked to hear Lae’zel bashing her to Astarion. Par for the course with that batlike snout of hers.

“Speaking of, what is your status with the bard?”

“My status? You make it sound like I recruited her in my endless harem of simps! But, to answer your question, she made the mistake of cutting things off between us. It’s all rather nauseating and best left as some poor soul’s lost sonnet,” he reported with a sly grin.

Bastard, Tav swore in her head.

The githyanki relaxed her stance, stopping her sword from cruising into another onslaught. “I have misjudged you.”

Astarion rested his weapons at his sides. “Oh? And which part about me did you misjudge? My godsgiven beauty? My expertise in poisoning the drinks at that nasty goblin party? Please do regale me with tales about me.”

“I have been watching the way you perform in battle. When you bare your teeth to rend our enemies necks—I cannot help but notice the primal instinct in your eyes. Should you allow me to swill your taste, I can promise both our blood red urges will be fulfilled,” she recited poetically.

I’ve never heard her voice so soft before—wait, is she hitting on Astarion?! Oh gods, the bard grimaced, once more covering her mouth as she gasped.

The vampire cocked his head to the side, examining her intensely. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Lae’zel held her sword to the side, gripping the hilt tightly. She narrowed her eyes at the spawn inquisitively. “Why have you not tried to bed me yet?”

Astarion offered a short laugh. “I was not aware the gith knew how to flirt.”

“Tsk, my people are capable of many things and I thought given your rakish behavior, you would seek out my bedroll,” she aggressively stated, with a rosiness filling her cheeks.

“Hmm. May I approach?” He pointedly asked.

Tav watched as he strode up to the petite woman, using his hips as part of his usual gait when he meant to seduce another.

He bent down to whisper into her ear, a few of his curls—those same curls Tav loved winding her fingers around—tactfully dusted the githyanki’s temple.

Lae’zel took a step backwards, conceding to whatever he told her from ochre colored irises. “Very well, but know this: I will not wait long before I take another.”

She bowed respectfully to him, taking up her belongings to head back down the passageway down into camp.

“You can come out now.”

Tav scanned the area before stepping out from behind her sanctuary of the tree. Particles of dust in the dusked sun, floated excitedly through beams casting final gleams through branches.

Astarion fumbled with a waterskin he retrieved from the ground, dousing his body with its contents. “Why were you hiding?”

She averted her gaze to peer at the now dimming sunlight, trying to distract herself from droplets of water scandalizing his bare torso. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Ah! Are you sure it wasn’t to listen in on some juicy gossip to spread around?” He teased.

“I assure you that falls out of my own interests,” she insisted, stopping a few feet from him. “I didn’t know you and Lae’zel were…friendly.”

“It would appear that I’ve managed to impress her in more ways than one,” the spawn said, twirling a hand in the air. “She has come to find me quite stimulating.”

The bard stared down at him. Hunter to hunter ready to pursue the game of taste. The killing time.

“Out with it, I don’t have all day to stand around waiting for your tongue to loosen,” he gibed, pursing his lips like a bow.

She jutted her left hip, stationing her hands firmly on either side of hips, fingers pointed downwards. “Did you accept her proposition?”

Astarion circled around her as a devil would compass a prophet, tempting a soul to waste.

She felt his undeath exhalation furl the tendrils at her nape. “The mask of jealousy does not suit that lovely face of yours.”

“Who said I was jealous? Maybe I’m asking because I’m hopeful your next bedmate will relinquish me of my ‘blood bag’ duties,” Tav contested, tracking his movements by the light route of his feet.

Liar.

Of course she was lying to herself. She was irrevocably jealous and they were both tackling the other for control.

Astarion roosted himself back in front of her. “Aww! Has my bite proven to be a tad too much for you, darling? Can’t quite escape how it makes you feel.”

Ah, he was toying with her. Implying more than just a general weakness of strength, but the arousal he knew so readily poured in the middle of her thighs when he pricked his fangs into her suppleness. The arousal that seemed to appear out of habit when he was near.

She blew out a sigh, struggling to moderate her accelerating heart rate. “Assumptions make an ass out of you.”

“Is that right? Then, let your mouth rest and pull out that blade by your side,” he purred thickly, reaching out to thumb the busk of her underbust corset.

“For what?”

“To spar of course,” the vampire casually unveiled.

Tav wrapped a tight hand around his wrist, forming half moon nail marks into his skin “Is that a challenge?”

“No, sweetheart. It’s an invitation,” he crookedly smiled.

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Notes:

Githyanki Words

She-lak = benevolent burden Tsk’va = shit Zaith’isk = purifier, device to remove mind flayer parasites

[xsapphirescrollsx]

Mesquite Grove pt 2

Written Oct 25 2020

Dark! Syverson x Black Reader x Dark! Geralt Also this is post is pic heavy. I modeled the cabin in this story of off Sky Notch. I hope it’s not to much lol and that you enjoy it. Thanks for reading and reblogging!

She had offered an exchange.

The writhing twisted thing on the ground, whipped its long slimy arm along the bog’s black moistened soil. It bared its sharp teeth before bellowing a sorrowful moan.

Geralt stared down at what used to be a beautiful woman. With her once melodic voice she had promised youth, riches beyond measure, and power - if he would let her live.

Allow her to continue her own reign of terror over the small but humble village. She had brought strife, she carried sickness into their homes, disturbed their spirits. 

Geralt wasn’t a fool. Of course he had considered her offer, but knew it was nothing more than conjured filaments of promises. It would have only been real as long as she lived.

What are a handful of crowns in exchange to leaving innocent people to harm?

Though he was no saint. It took sleeping with the village’s leader’s prettiest daughter and taking half her dowry to gain his contract. One cannot ask if one is not willing to give. 

And he delighted in the taking.

As in this moment, the black eyes matched his as he stared into the abysmal void that was quickly spreading down its body. 

Geralt bared his own bright white teeth and plunged the sword further into the monster's rib cage, piercing its heart and impaling the dirt below. Green ooze bubbled out of the wound. The moan gurgled into a desperate scream, echoing throughout the forest, shattering the peace surrounding it. 

The moment Geralt withdrew his sword the ground beneath him shook. Around him, wind began to whip and the wispy clouds around him whirled above him. Thinking, calculating, Geralt wondered what new spell this was. Eyes now back to their golden color he stared at the swirling beginning to descend about him. 

He tried to take a step, strained again to pull back from the gravity sucking him upward. 

Geralt reached for the beast at the same time his feet left the ground. Out of time the rotten skin slipped through his fingers, the whirlwind carried him up and up. 

The forest chattered once more. The creature laid there dead as Geralt had planned. But there was no Geralt here, or sword.

The moon hung behind a clear pane of glass, in the room you shared with Sy. Near the bed, where you laid, within her own wooden bassinet, the soft breathing of an infant soothed some of your worries. Pregnancy had looked great on you. Actually, you had never felt better and almost disturbingly so. It was September now, a month passed giving after a near painless birth to Astrid.

The little darling, Sy’s heir and your delight, and your reason for sleepless nights. Not because she required taking care of, that came easy enough, but your system had changed. You had little sickness throughout the pregnancy, energy boundless in a way you longed for the days where you could sleep a full night. 

This was one of those nights. Sleepless wasn’t the word for it. You flipped on your side and stared out of the window. The advent of fall had begun revealing a clear cool night sky with stars dotting above the tops of the pecan tree basking in the white light of the moon. You heavily sighed and rolled on to your back. It was ill advised by the old matrons that new mothers were allowed to roam the woods like their other halves. So you were laying on the large, billowy bed, muscles twitching to wander, heart waiting for the moment your bare feet could hit the ground. 

You stared at the wood grain above the bed and listened to the dark, imprinted the sound of Astrid’s breathing to your memory, and beyond the window pane howls - distant, calling to the night, did little to lull you to sleep. Your secret weapon to combat restlessness was to wiggle your foot. Quick short bursts of movement rocked you gently. Your eyes slowly blinked followed by a deep yawn and you shut them completely. The things to do in the morning began to drift less in your thoughts and it became more important to cave into the sinking sensation of sleep. You attempted to blink again, though did not. 

Your foot stopped moving. 

The dream began with feet, steadily walking through overgrown grass, stopping at first and then started again. Night rounded around the image, the skin was coated in black smudges, blood, the hem of a dark dress dragged  and smeared it around the calves. You could smell the iron in the air along with rot, not animal death, but that of felled trees with fungus aiding in its decay. A woman, she began to run as the vision pulled back and revealed that within her arms a bundled lay there. No bigger than Astrid, could have been Astrid the love you felt was as strong as that for Astrid. 

But it wasn’t, this woman was afraid of losing this bundle. Though not to death, but to forces beyond her control, so she ran. 

The dream shifted to fog, no footsteps to be heard. Made of air and a moist breeze they walked out from the trees and surrounded the woman. The bundle lifted from her arms despite her attempts to hold on, what was soft fabric became translucent just as the beings. Her scream scratched the inside of your ears, the wail turned yelling, her mouth was moving but the voices from it did not match. Your body began to shake, the scene rattled too. 

“Wake up, Miss! - Oh, old God! Please wake up!” the voice said.

Your eyes peeled open to Peach’s deeply wrinkled face. Worried thin lips were drawn into a straight line. “Miss!”

Your back snapped up straight, head turning towards the bassinet your eyes looked over Astrid. Peach held your shoulders, “She’s okay. But you have to come down--”

You pulled her worn hands from your body and held them within your own. “What’s wrong?”

And then you felt it, a worry, deep in the pit of your stomach. 

“Is it Sloan?”

Peach suddenly blubbered, you had never seen her in such a state. The aged woman was tough, and her tears had you climbing out of bed faster than what she could answer. 

You stood above Astrid’s bed, touching her belly you turned back toward Peach’s hunched over figure as she wiped at her lined skin. 

“I knew it would happen again..god damn--I told Alpha it could happen again.” she mumbled. 

Dottie, with her curly hair pulled up tight in a high bun and tugging on old boots, rushed in. “I got Astrid.” she said hurriedly. 

Dottie’s face was lowered, her eyes staring down at Astrid. She sighed, that was the moment you noticed a subtle lemon light and then she looked back at you. Behind her, beyond the window the sky whirled with clouds. Some deep yellow, others blue, circled and churned. You moved closer to the bassinet, still staring at the sky when Dottie too turned around, Peach gasped behind you. In the hustle you had not looked at the window, had it been doing this the whole time?

Clattering from down below, near the stone den, loud voices shouted, some hollered for help. Your stomach dropped more. Dottie shot out and grabbed your wrist. “Go.” she said quietly. 

You walked past Peach, to the end of the bed, who was still staring at the window with her hands covering her mouth. Grabbing the thick navy robe you turned around back toward Astrid’s bassinet, Dottie was there, her face toward your sleeping baby. You threw it on as she waved for you to go.

It must have been later than you realized, the second floor was devoid of the usual lit sconces, instead the fiery light from below coxed up and gave you warm light to guide you down the stairs. The row of balcony doors came in to few as you quickly descended, the yelling had died down in its place hushed tones followed murmuring. 

Eyes wide you hit the bottom of the wooden stairs and turned toward the large space with the stone monument. Women were coming in from across the other rooms with clothes in their arms. You recognized the usual pack, Tator, shorter than Sy preferred tattered jeans dragged across the floor as he paced. Macon, naked, was squatted down near a figure laying flat near the stone of the large statue. Jimbo, he was shirtless as he stretched the waist of the sweats around his waist stood up erect, his normally jovial face was straight and concerned. 

You rushed forward, their eyes turned to you and you ignored their bareness as you searched for Sy. They parted for you until his naked back could be seen, “Sy?”

An older woman handed him a shirt, he turned toward you and grabbed your face. “‘You okay?” he asked. 

Before you could answer, you moved to this side, your eyes dropped to the figure laying on the floor. 

“Ya’ll back up,” Sy called out in a hushed voice. He looked to you again waiting for you to answer his previous question. 

But you couldn’t take your eyes off the man on the floor. Sy nudged your cheek with the back of his hand, moist with sweat it was enough to draw your eyes back to him. “I’m fine, so is Astrid.” you whispered, and then pointed down at the man. “Who is that?”

“He looks-” said Jimbo, but stopped.

Peach had wiggled through the men across from you and Sy. Her blue eyes stayed on the man.

“We shifted on the other side of the property, so we were running,” began Sy, as any mumbling died away. “I scraped my leg near the old pyre. I ain’t ever seen anything like it.” His voice strained as he tried to stay calm while speaking. “What I was lookin’ at split and blurred. There was flashing lights in the sky, these clouds circled us and this asshole popped out and landed right on top of me. And then other things, monsters, fell right along with him and disappeared in the woods.”

Both you and Peach met near the side of this man. His shirt was near new, though unique and more like a tunic than a cotton tee. And his boots were good, strange though.  “There was a high pitched noise, it sounded like a bomb went off in my head.” continued Sy.

You knelt down at his side, staring at the strands of dirty silver hair. “It reminded me of war.” 

Flicking down further down this man’s neck, his pulse thudded quickly underneath pale skin, around the bottom half on his chest and shirt, a medallion on a silver chain. You reached out for it, slowly at first unsure at why you were doing so, but you did it anyway. You held it, still warm from his body and swiped a thumb over the raised décor. “It’s a wolf..” you said softly. 

More than that, it matched the same motif and style of that within the crest of the Syverson heirlooms you had seen so many times. 

“Looks like what is on the wall in the dining room.” 

“I never thought I would see the day…” said Peach.

Sy moved closer, though still standing, at your side. “What’s going on, who is this?”

Your eyes flew back up to the man’s face. Even in his sleep, silver brows seemed to glower in his rest. A familiar profile stuck out to you, it was the same as Sy’s face, same shape of lips, the clef in his chin.

“He looks like you Sloan.” you said, still holding the medallion. 

And it happened fast. Peach gasped first before you realized the man’s eyes opened, yellow and pointed in your direction. He snatched your hand within his and sat up, staring down at you. Crushing your fingers around the metal, the man growled before suddenly blinking slowly. Through his nose, he breathed in deep. “You smell…like flowers...dizzy..” his lips barely moved, your eyes met his as he leaned in closer. He continued to do so, his eyes slowly shut, his hand around yours dropped as Sy stepped in time to push him off you. 

The man crumbled down to his side while Sy helped you stand. “Who is his?” he was looking down at the man, brows drawn together before he stared at Peach.

Teary eyes were still on the silver haired man. Peach, sighed, mumbled something under her breath before she sighed heavily. 

“He’s..” she turned her eyes up to you and then to Sy. “I didn’t think we would ever see him again. Alpha, this man..” she looked back down at him, her hands seeming wanting to reach out to stroke his hair but did not. “This boy is your brother.” she finally said. “Your twin.”

Members of the pack lifted the man and placed him into a bed on the second floor of the cabin. The women had undressed him, mended his scrapes and scratches as he remained unconscious. It was now late morning, daybreak had cast light into the room catching his white hair. You stood at the doorway, observing Peach check his pulse. 

“He’s still breathing, seems to be sleeping.” she said to Sy. 

Your eyes fell to the man. Something solid settled in your chest when you gazed at him. Akin to how you felt for Sy, but different because while you had no idea who he was, you yearned.

“How is that man your brother?”

The sound of your voice breaking the silence had Sy turning toward you. The disappointment in his express was palpable. His eyes rolled to Peach. “‘Feel like I’ve been lied to my whole life.”

“He wasn’t ‘pose to come back! No lie can be undone if there’s no proof Alpha!”

Sy stepped toward the man, pointed, “He’s right there woman! A whole lie laying in my house!”

“Sloan.” 

Olive came in, a large book cradled in her arms, “This was from the old times, before there was a here and our people came to live here.” Sy made to move toward her but stopped when she spoke again, “Your mama made me promise. Omega’s trust is binding.”

She handed the book to you. “In there is about you too.” she said, looking from the thick embossed leather to you.

“What about me Olive?”

“A woman unknown. A stranger no more. Alone in the world, shiftless but finds their grounding.”

You squinted at her. “That could be anybody.”

“--catches the eye of the Alphas.” Olive continued.

Sy interrupts with what you did not catch. “Alphas?”

“First Omega with two mates.” 

You blinked,  and then squeezed the bridge of your nose while struggling to understand. 

“You were destined to be here. The world, gods, -- you were supposed to always be here.” said Olive. “I just..never considered that this prophecy would happen in my time.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t of lied-” Sy growled.

“I had no choice. I was bound by your mother’s word. And her actions were bonded by blood. No way around that, believe me I tried. Your father was missing. And, damnit, your mother knew not to ask the fog for help. She had no idea they would take her son in exchange...” said Olive.

Peach grumbled under her breath. She shuffled toward the end of the bed all the while staring sorrowfully at Sy. “Alpha, this man is your brother.”

“I don’t even know his name.”

“Geralt Syverson. In that book there-” Peach stuck a knobby knuckled finger toward the thick tome. “Says right in there, that man’s name is Geralt.”

Olive sniffed the air for a moment and glanced back at you.

“The rut is tonight.” she said, still staring at you. “Whatever it is you need to think about Alpha, you best do it quickly.” She turned her eyes back to him. “Because this is happening. Destiny is willing it.”

“I don’t give a damn about destiny-”

“I think you will find it is hardly worth out running.” the man mumbled from the bed. “Believe me I’ve tried.”

“Where am I?” he said while glancing out the window. Geralt sat up, moaned deeply and held his head before shifting his eyes up to the man who mirrored his likeness. “And I need a bath.”

You stood tense outside the kitchen door. Back so tight, it was fit to snap but you pivoted from ball to heel, rested the back of your head against the grain. This man’s voice settles in the knot between your shoulder blades. It struck you even deeper in your gut, your soul, whatever that warm feeling that sat in the middle of your chest. 

You know more than not, that the reason is something more than soulmates, and connections. You can smell it from here, him, just as you suspected he could sniff you out too. It was raw in your nose, primal, and instinctual.

And you were grateful that the occasional passerby did not stop. Like you, they too avoided the kitchen while this visitor ate.

“Is she yours?” asked Geralt.

Without a pause, “Yes.”

“So she follows you everywhere you go?” he asked. “Why is she standing out there?”

Sy called your name, slowly you rolled on your arm toward the entry. The moment his yellow eyes landed on yours longing unfolded within you. 

“I find myself, once again, in a strange land.” he said lightly. Geralt chewed off a bite of toast and gestured toward Sy. “And this man says he is my brother. However, I believe I am much better looking. What do you say?” he said as he swallowed the mouthful.

Sy sat in the chair sideways, with his large legs splayed, he hunched over with his fist flat at the knuckles and pressed into his thigh. He turned his head to you, utterly gentle, soft even to Geralt’s gaze he gave you a half grin. 

“Why are you here?” You asked.

Walking over to Sy, you kept watching Geralt the same as his eyes stayed on you. His chewing paused when you grew close, his eyes fell to the arm Sy wrapped around behind your hips before looking you in the eyes.

“I have no idea.” said Geralt, and turned back to his plate. 

Slowly his gaze moved from the pile of eggs to the book between him and Sy. He picked up the bottle of beer, chugged it while still staring at the words on the pages. Such an odd man, you observed, since waking he even walked around with a sword strapped to his back. Like now, his top half curved over his plate, those strange eyes shifting -- taking in his surroundings without looking too long.

“But I overheard something about a rut?” He said to Sy. “What are you some sort of animal? A pack of mutant dogs?” he chuckled.

Sy didn’t join in his amusement. 

“Werewolves.”

Sy jerked his chin, cut his eyes down to the medallion around Geralt’s neck. And casually, glanced back at that symbol on the ancient page. 

“That’s the mark of my family. Our inheritance.”

Geralt put down his beer and leaned back in the wooden chair stiffly. 

He rolled his jaw, flicked his tongue between his back teeth and looked to you first. “I’m over a hundred years old.” he said, and then stared at Sy. “Either this is some sort of time dream, or I’m your ancestor. This place doesn’t look like the Continent. Lacks greater magic, but this medallion - it’s been gently vibrating since I’ve arrived.”

“It warns me of magic and danger,” he said. “It’s no family heirloom. It was given to me once I completed my trails.”

It was absurd to think of movies or the vast stories of time travel, but it was all you had. 

“So what if you were taken there as an infant.” You looked to Sy. “Like Olive said.” 

“And time moves differently in this place you grew up in.” Geralt stared up at you, listening. 

“Wouldn’t that account for something? You’re talking about all this magic like it’s true. That’s not how it is here. And only recently have I even considered anything like it.”

You continued to stare back at his unwavering glare. “Don’t you feel different?”

A long silence followed. Sy caught you staring, the heaviness of his grip on your hip pulled you to stare back at your mate. He was still considering Geralt, the man continued to look at you until he spoke.

“He does. And by the end of the night I’m sure you’ll understand why...brother.”

The title brought Geralt’s focus back to Sy. “Odder things have happened in my long life. What’s one more?”

They, the pack, took this new/old comer in stride. Stranger than his sudden appearance was how they welcomed him back into the fold of their lives. Twelve hours since he arrived and Peach was here in front of you talking about him like he had always been.

Her eyes burst with delight as she spoke about him as a baby. How good he was, that he cried very little, and always needed cuddling.

Peach was covered in dark soil. From the creases around her knuckles to the edge of her temple. The old woman cut herbs down to the root as she spoke. 

“Are you ready?” she asked.

You blinked a few times, coming back to the moment. You nodded. 

Peach threw the last bunch of tarragon in her basket and stood up slowly. “I think your baked chicken will go good with that.”

Peach huffed, shook her head and looked to you exasperated. “That’s not what I was talking about. Don’t be coy. The rut.”

“You think Sy is really going to allow a stranger-”

“It’s not about what he will allow. It’s a bond with the land that was paid in blood before you even knew we existed. It is what it is.”

You laid Astrid down back in the bassinet. Ready for tonight's pack dinner you walked from the room you shared with Sy. You peaked back through the door at the young woman you had left your child in care of. 

She sat in the chair near, cracked open her book and smiled back at you. 

You buried the anxiety with a tight nod back. Already the house buzzed with high spirits, for the arrival, and for the eve of their time of bonding. The closer you came to the dining hall the louder it was and thicker the fragrance. 

The two of them, different but the same, had the effect within you.

Entering the voices quieted. Some familiar faces looked at you, smiled, nodded as you passed down the center of the long tables toward the one sitting long ways. Your space was empty, a vast void between Sy and Geralt. 

They stared at you. But your eyes fell to Sy only. 

And so you sat between the two big men. Something about them, their demeanor toward one another -- something had changed. And it poured over during dinner. They no longer seemed like two strangers. 

Geralt leaned back on his right hand, just behind you and whispered in your ear. “I hear we have some catching up to do.”

Sy glanced at you from the side of his eye before answering a member of his pack from across the tables. 

And you said nothing in return, and you did not look at him either. You picked at the potato salad on the plate before you and forced yourself to listen to Sy’s words. 

“I’ll be gentle.” Geralt whispered again, this time close enough to feel his breath brush against your ear. “Maybe...” he chuckled softly. “..if you’re good.”

You stared at Geralt from your place at the front of the pack on the balcony. He stood there observing the pack members, shoulders straight, chin level, and those yellow eyes stopping and studying ever so often. The weather fell, cold wind swept through the crowd of people staring at their Alpha. If not for the occasional blinks, and subtle tilt to his head, you would have thought Geralt was made of stone as Sy spoke.

“These are peculiar times,” said Sy, shifting his head and eyes from you to Geralt on his left. “But we aren’t strangers to oddities as such. As you all have heard, this man here is my brother.”

Indistinct mumbles descended through the fifteen or twenty men and a few women standing in front of you, Sy, and Geralt. 

Sy held up his for silence. “Geralt Syverson was a child of bond made in blood. Our mother’s sorrow over the loss of our father was paid by Geralt’s exchange. It carried him off beyond the world we see now.” 

Sy looked over at Geralt, who cut his eyes to him. “Carried him to distant lands where he was taken in by a woman. From what I gather his life has been hard.”

Your mate turned his focus back to the pack. “He was..changed by the people of the land.”

“Why is he back?” called a voice. “Why now?” said another.

Sy turned his head to the right and looked at you for a moment and then addressed the crowd. “The dark soul about a year back did it. The last one killed before that, was the night payment was due and my brother was taken.”

“Is he one of us?” asked a tall man, his black eyes swept from Geralt’s boots to silver hair before looking at Sy.

“‘Can’t be a Prime. There’s never been two.” he added.

Sy stared after the pack member, you could see it in his brows as he carefully considered his next words. 

“There is now.”

The crowd mumbled some more, whispers, disgruntled and blameful rolled over them once again. 

“There’s more on this land than we know.” Sy said loudly over them. “Shit we never seen is going on in the woods and my brother knows about it.”

Sy glanced over at Geralt who was already staring at him. “He will help. This is home now.”

Geralt nodded. “I kill monsters.”

His eyes drifted from Sy to you. “And as far as this being my home, it remains to be seen.”

“You will.” Sy clapped his big hand over Geralt’s leather clad shoulder and squeezed. “The air is changin’, you feel it?”

And as if speaking it into existence the wind shifted around them. The Alpha’s restless stances moved with one another feeling the resonance of their Alpha Prime’s words.

Geralt said nothing at first, his eyes traced back to the men. In the light of the balcony his skin shone slick with sweat. Sy grinned. 

“Alright, ya’ll - meet up in a few hours.”

Sy dropped his hand, the other messaged your back and wrapped around you to pull you forward through the crowd along with Geralt.

“First order down this path is claiming.” said Sy quietly while walking through the row of doors back into the house. “They have it easier, like during the change-- like me because we have mates.”

Your stomach dropped. 

Still sweating and rather perturbed Geralt grunted out unamused, “I glanced through the book Syverson.” 

“Sy?” you rounded on him taking a few steps up the stairs. “This is ridiculous. I’m not-”

Sy suddenly took to the stairs, growling in his throat forcing whatever retort back down in your throat. He grabbed your arm and began to walk you up the stairs. 

“Come with me brother,” called Sy over his shoulder. And when you glanced back at the silver haired man. He was staring at you, his breaths heavy and you recognized he could smell you just as you could scent him out.

You pulled against Sy, but it didn’t matter. He dragged you into their room. Gone was the bassinet, the child you shared with Sy and the room was lit by candle light and the night sky filtering through the large windows.

Geralt followed and closed the door behind him. 

“Try it,” said Sy. And he repeated the growl in this throat. “Think of subduing without touching.” he added, and twisted you around to face Geralt. 

“Don’t-” you said.  “I never agreed to this. I-”

Geralt stepped forward, the rumble in his throat began low and hit you harder than Sy. A deep jolt in your pelvis and wetness seeped from between your folds. The sound of his call was raw, unwavering and only grew the longer he stared into your eyes. 

“A curious creature,” his hand caressed your cheek, smearing the tear into your skin. “So lovely.”

Sy released you and stepped to the side. “She was made for us. In every way possible, brother.”

Geralt hummed, blinked slowly as your compliance melted into his psyche. He had been to the edges of the Continent, seen worlds broad and miniscule. But this, the sensation to ravish and take had never been stronger than in this moment. The urge to...plant, sow his legacy felt primal and ancient.

Sy breathed in deep, smelling the fragrance of your heat fill the room. “She’ll fight. But it only makes it sweeter.”

You fought against the rush. “You--don’t know what you're talking about Sy..please..” you strained to look away from Geralt.

“You know what the rut does to me baby..” whispered Sy. “You belong to us now.”

Sy walked from the room, leaving you to Geralt. And with him any hope that the man you loved, wouldn’t do this. But the moment the thick wooden door clicked shut Geralt tore at your t-shirt, grabbed the back of your hair and pulled you against his chest. 

His lips hovered over yours. Humming the Alpha chant he kept you there staring into your eyes. 

“I have so much power over you.” his deep voice mollified your senses. “It was confusing at first, this world, how it worked. But I feel the desperate pull to be inside you, entirely. And I fear.”

Throat dry, you struggled to speak against the cloudy haze of hormones. “--fear?”

“That I wouldn’t be able to stop myself..” Geralt pressed his lips on top of yours. He split them with his tongue, plunging and licking your teeth and tongue. 

You pushed against him, you tried to unglue yourself from the nature blossoming inside. It wasn’t nearly enough. 

“The more you resist,” he groaned and kissed around your mouth slowly making his way back to your mouth. “The worse it is..”

Geralt fumbled with his armor, shedding it fast when he released you to sway where you stood. And before you knew it, his naked form stood in front of you, the muscles with dark swirls of hair coating his chest and down a wide trail over his abdomen toward his chubby, thick cock.

You lunged to the left, but you were too overcome by the nature of your place in this culture. Geralt grabbed you about the chest and waist and walked you toward the bed. Shaking your head, crying was met with his Alpha hum. 

He tossed you on the bed back first, stripped your pants away and pulled off what was left of the tattered shirt. Head half empty, the other overpowered by lust, beckoned him to fulfil his duty. 

And as he pounced on top, before you could stop yourself, your fingers traced over the mounds of his pecks, around his shoulders and pulled him toward you. 

Geralt’s tight grin, his yellow eyes delighted in your sudden offering. But he grabbed your wrists anyway, held you down below him. And without much care, squeezed his way past your slippery folds. 

His mass pounded your body into the bed. His slick, porcelain skin slides against the tops of your nipples, you swear the briny dripping from him is your ultimate undoing. He takes from you, but his thrust gives in its own ritualic way. There was no escaping the act of completion, and as the swollen feeling in your clit cascaded into bone aching bliss you fell into his command. Your Alpha Prime, the second man in your life. 

He flipped you over, ass up and fell back into line with his rhythmic thrusting. It didn’t matter that he spread you further, had a handful of your face in his hand pressed against his jaw. He powered away inside of you, dropped his lips along your neck. And with his other hand, he held your head down, licked the stretch of moist skin there slowly. 

“I claim you,” Geralt whispered and buried his cock deep. His teeth nipped the skin of your neck, your ass arched more, craving the pain of his depth. And his bite pierced at the same time he spilled inside of you. Your whimpering, the small, surrendering mewl flared his nostrils as he bit down harder. 

The door slammed open smacking the wall, your eyes rolled in your skull before falling on the shape of Sy. He walked in and shoved it back shut. 

“I can’t wait any longer,” he groaned and began to peel off his clothes. “I can smell her down to the kitchen…”

Geralt tried to move inside of you. Another round of simpering whines called from your mouth. Sy rushed to the side of the bed where your head rested.

“Don’t,” Sy warned. “You’ll hurt her.” he said softly while stroking your hair. 

“Lay there with her, hold her. She’ll bond with you until you can pull out again.” he instructed.

Sy sat on the floor, he laid his head not too far away from your own as Geralt wrapped his arms around your back to your chest. You stared back at him as he gazed at you achieving peace.

“Good girl.” he whispered. 

Geralt turned his head back into your neck, humming low, and sniffing your hairline slowly it stimulated the vibration of love deep inside of you. The rush spread.

“Now you have two of us.” said Geralt.

“It’ll be my turn next,” added Sy. “We’ll take care of you, baby.”

The Next Morning

The brothers ran together last night. Their howls carried through the room and even invaded your sleep. Dreams of a black wolf, a white wolf, fog, wilderness kept you stuck to the bed most of the early morning. 

The night sitter brought Astrid to the room as the sun rose. And you spent time with your daughter despite the ache in your body. When the voices in the cabin began to grow louder you knew they were home again. 

You wondered if it was easier for Geralt, the change that night. Not that you saw it in person. But you couldn’t help but feel that your new mate somehow deserved a painless shift. 

And when the sitter came bounding back in off the energy surging through the home. She scooped up Astrid. 

“The Alpha Prime’s are asking about.” her bubbly voice softly rang.

Even if you did feel for Geralt, the night before was remembered. “I don’t care.” you said and got up from the bed. 

“I’ll have some coffee up here.” you added and headed toward the bathroom.

You ignored the smell of food wafting into the bedroom after the shower. Your eyes landed on a tray on the end of the bed. A platter of toast, fruit and thermos of coffee waited for you. 

And so did two tall, disgruntled men.

“Why didn’t you come down?” asked Sy, pushing away from the closed door. 

Geralt slowly walked toward the bed, but turned his back to you and Sy by looking out the window.

You glared at Sy. “You--neither of you gets to decide -”

“Ah but we do.” Geralt butted in, hands clasped behind him he turned from the window.  “The moment you felt me enter your slippery cunt you belonged to the both of us.”

You look to Sy for support but he just stared back.

“From what I’ve learned you have no choice but to submit.” Geralt glanced across the room for affirmation, Sy simply nodded. “Therefore, you will learn to love it.”

You started to snap back, yell, spit anything but a low growl began from Geralt that stopped you in your tracks. “I don’t want to hurt my...mate.”

Geralt and Sy walked toward you, the silver haired at the left, the bushy faced man at the right. Sy put his hands on his hips and grinned kindly back at you.

“We want you happy, dove.” Geralt carcasses your face, he dipped in and began to sniff your cheek, down your neck. “God, do you smell that?” he asked Sy.

Sy stepped over, you turned your watery eyes to him. He was softer with his eyes, gazing at you with love. Geralt held the back of your head allowing Sy to lean in toward the pulse point on your neck and ran his nose across your skin.

“It’s sweet. Like honey, or some wild flower but deeper, yes?” he asked Sy.

He knew that smell alright, the deep resonant fragrance coated the back of this throat. It flipped a switch in the back of his mind as he breathed in deep. He wouldn’t have to mate to procreate, not for a few months.

“She’s pregnant. That’s the smell..and it smells like she has both of us in there.”

....to be continued...