#but in the darkest hour he claims it

[illhaveyouforbreakfast]

Morgana confronts Arthur's army, saying they have no hope of defeating her.

"I am a high priestess of the old religion!" She snarls, casting a spell that sends a wave of destruction at the knights. It's stopped in its tracks against a shimmering wall of energy. Merlin steps forward, eyes glowing gold, hands raised.

"And I am your god."

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon commission for Shy

Request: something in public or semi public with a ghost/s. Jealous and stalkerish ghost could be fun.

His toy

Ghost x fem!reader || free use, semi-public sex, fingering, teasing, edging, dirty talk, degradation (lowkey), praise kink (lowkey)

You could see ghosts. You could listen what ghosts had to say. But you couldn’t touch them, which never bothered you before. It had been like that all your life, but you always ignored it. Until you moved into an old home and you found yourself a ghost-stalker. And later on a boyfriend. It wasn’t your smartest idea, but he was very convincing when he wanted to be, and you were very weak when pretty ghosts with deep voices whispered naughty things as they groped your body every day.

And that’s how you got yourself a ghost boyfriend. A little shit ghost boyfriend. And you couldn’t do anything about it. You couldn’t touch him, you couldn’t stop him from doing whatever he wanted with your body at any time he wanted to. And if you were true to yourself, you didn’t want to do anything about it. You enjoyed it as much as he did, you enjoyed being his toy to use whenever.

You enjoyed the anticipation and the uncertainty of not knowing when he was going to appear and get you off. Not knowing when he would slip his fingers inside your pussy during work hours, or when he would probe your asshole as you walked down the store, or when he would pinch your nipples so hard you would have to cover your mouth to stop the whimper from escaping your mouth. You enjoyed it, okay? You were a little pervert and he loved to remind you how much of a slutty human you were for him. How much you were able to let pass if you got an orgasm out of it. How much you really loved to be played with as if you were nothing else but a toy. He was right about all of it.

And maybe you liked a little bit more than necessary to tease his limits before he did something that you both enjoyed greatly. He usually was very calm, he enjoyed teasing and playing, but left you to live your normal life going to work and back home, enjoying some time with friends and going places without being too much of a pervert. But sometimes you craved…

Sometimes you wanted a bit more than what he wanted to offer. Sometimes you did want him to finger your asshole while you were in the middle of a work meeting. Sometimes you wanted him to tongue your pussy as you sat across your friend in a cafeteria. But he always chose the moment he would do those things no matter what you wanted. Because you were his toy to play with, not the other way around.

But you discovered a little workaround to incite the reaction you wanted. Because maybe, just maybe, you were a little shit just like he was. And you knew more than anything that he didn’t like sharing, he didn’t like you talking to other humans in a flirty way. He didn’t like not being able to claim you for everyone to see, and didn’t matter how much you assured him he was more than enough, because at the end of the day, he was a jealous prick and you liked to be reminded whose toy you were.

That’s why you are flirting a bit too strongly with the dude at the cinema. You aren’t going to do anything about it, not a change in hell, but you know he’s there. He always is. He made sure to follow you everywhere, his eyes trailing each one of your movements. You know it isn’t the healthiest of relationships, but the feeling of his eyes on you all day long, always gets you needy and desperate when you arrive home, and he loves that. But sure as hell isn’t loving the way you lean over the counter to whisper some nonsense into the dude’s ear. You giggle and look at him rapidly, his eyes burning with jealousy as you end the conversation with a wink and smile.

You know your boyfriend’s eyes are glued to you as he walks behind you, but he says nothing as he enters behind you. You planned this, so your seat is at the back, in the darkest area of the cinema, where you know nobody else would be. You can feel your panties getting wet as you approach your seat, his silent presence behind you making your body tight with tension, anticipation killing you.

“You’ve been very naughty, haven’t you sunshine?” He asks as you sit down, his hand over your thigh, right under the hem of your dress. You look around, knowing nobody but you can hear him, but nervous either way. “I told you not to flirt, my instructions weren’t hard, were they?” His tone is deep and rough, a threat underlying his words and making you shiver as he grabs your hair a bit too forcefully.

“I- I…” You don’t get to say anything before someone is shushing you from the front row. You can’t even understand how they could hear you from so far away, but the realization makes your pulse go crazy.

“You have to be quiet, sunshine, they can hear you,” he whispers as he licks the shell of your ear, making you shiver and bite down on your tongue to suppress a moan. “Now be a good girl and open those legs for me,” he instructs, his hand pulling lightly on your hair. You want to say no, you want to refuse, but he knows you won’t. “Don’t even try to refuse me, remember who owns you. You are nothing but a toy, my toy.” His last words are a growl against the side of your face and you can feel his hand pulling apart your legs harshly.

He covers your mouth with the hand that was on your hair, pressing hard against your lips and making you gasp inaudibly. You close your lips tight as he forces your legs further apart, his hand instantly finding your dripping center.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you? Answer me!” He demands, pulling at your hair so hard you feel tears in your eyes. You nod, your pussy getting wetter. “You like to tease but you always cry when I punish you, such a slutty toy. And then you get this wet for being naughty…” He lets out a disappointed sound and you try to close your legs. You earn yourself a harsh slap against your soaked panties. “No. Let me be clear, sunshine, if you close your legs or come before the movie ends, you will regret it.” The threat in his tone is enough to make you shiver, your clit pulsing against his fingers as he laughs maniacally. “Now, let’s enjoy the movie.” You don’t even know which movie it is.

You think he’s going to be easy on you, but he doesn’t. He pushes your panties to the side and pushes two fingers into your dripping cunt, finger fucking you until your eyes roll back into your head. Your mouth is covered, but you are emitting those little whimpers he loves when you are desperate and needy, so close to coming. He laughs cruelly as he keeps going, taking his hand away from your mouth and side eyeing you with a smirk when a groan escapes. You cover your own mouth with your hand, but he takes it away.

“Be quiet on your own, sunshine. Or better yet, let them know how much of a slut you are for your ghost boyfriend. Such a perverted woman…”

You shiver at his words, your whole body electrified with pent up tension and the need to come. You are so close. But then he changes the movements of his hand, flicking your clit and pressing against your G-spot in a pattern that drives you insane but doesn’t let you come. Not yet.

His other hand travels up and down your side, and when you think you are safe and it’s a comforting touch, he pushes down your dress and bra to expose your boobs to the cold air of the cinema. His fingers are pinching your nipples hard, one and then the other, groping your whole boob in the middle. His fingers never stopping as he twists them up to hit your G-spot perfectly. You whimper, biting down on your lip so hard you can taste blood.

“Wha-?” You ask when he stops and his hands disappear from your body. He stands up and offers a hand to help you up, you accept it and look at him confused, your brain still dizzy and your legs trembling. “I- I didn’t-” You try.

“Oh no, sunshine,” his tone is amused and his smile cruel, “you don’t get to come, yet. You were naughty and your punishment just started.” He walks away and your legs almost give out under you, your panties a mess and your orgasm so close you can almost taste it. You want to scream, to cry, to touch yourself until you finish. But you don’t. You follow him like a good girl.

“Where- where are we?” You ask when you get out, you can barely move, the need inside of you so high you feel like you are about to shatter into a million pieces.

“The bathroom. Now,” he orders.

You walk as fast as you can, and as soon as the door is closed behind you, he’s pressing your face against the door, blocking it to whoever wants to enter. He bites your neck hard and pushes your panties down. One second later his dick is buried deep inside of you, and he’s fucking in and out of you like you are nothing more than a fleshlight. And you love it.

“You. Shouldn’t. Have. Done. That.” He punctuates each word with a hard thrust that makes you see stars. You are so gone that you can’t even moan, your throat dry and your mouth parted in a silent scream as he fucks into you, his hand collaring your neck as he arches your back and drives into you over and over.

You think he says something, but your ears are ringing and his dick is hitting that place inside of you that drives you insane, your brain can’t compute any information that isn’t pleasure and desire, need and desperation. And then your orgasm clashes into your body like a tidal wave, without warning or preparation, blinding you for a few seconds as he fucks you through it.

“Did I say you could come?” He asks darkly against your ear, his pace never fluttering. You shake your head, too gone to talk. “No, I didn’t, and now I’m going to enjoy your pussy until the movie ends, and then you are going to walk out of here with my ghostly cum dripping down your legs like the slut you are, understood, sunshine?” You nod, your clit tingling at his words. He keeps fucking you against the door, his hands holding all your weight because your legs aren’t working anymore, but he doesn’t care.

After all… you are just a toy. His toy.

This commission was included in the third tier of my Patreon "monster fucker" (all info here).

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 1

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 4k

notes; Yo everyone, I'm back with another fanfiction featuring our lovely Shadow Singer. Hope you all like it <3 Just a small reminder: English isn’t my first language, so I’ve tried my best. Enjoy the first chapter!

Part 2

---

The dusk sky draped the House of Wind in soft shades of lavender and rose, its tall windows open to the gentle, jasmine-scented breeze of Velaris below. Rhysand’s office, spacious but not ostentatious, offered a panoramic view of the starlit city, where lanterns were beginning to glow and laughter drifted upward like a distant, cheerful hum. The high shelves, carved of dark wood, were lined with neat rows of books and rolled charts, their parchment edges softened by centuries of use. A low-burning lamp cast warm light over a desk scattered with papers, quills, and a half-filled inkpot.

Madja stood near the window with Rhys, both of them watching as wings and shadows moved quietly through the city’s streets below. The old healer’s posture was poised despite her age; her long, silver-streaked hair was bound in a simple braid. Time had etched fine lines around her eyes and mouth—soft marks of the centuries she’d spent mending flesh and bone, soothing pain, and whispering encouragement into the darkest hours of countless lives.

Rhysand kept his gaze on the vista beyond the glass, arms folded casually, the glow of faelight catching in his violet eyes. He knew Madja had come here for something particular. She wasn’t one to linger unnecessarily, nor did she shy from speaking her mind. The hush in the room was comfortable, respectful of the weight of the moment.

Madja cleared her throat softly, her voice as calm and steady as it had been through all the emergencies and late-night visits to the healing rooms. “Rhysand,” she began, her tone gentle yet determined, “I need to speak with you about a matter of some importance to me.”

Rhys turned his head slightly, giving her his full attention. “Of course,” he said, voice low and reassuring. “What’s on your mind?”

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, as though considering each word carefully. “I’ve served this court for a very long time. Longer than many remember—tending to soldiers, midwives, children, courtiers, High Lords and Ladies alike.” Her gaze drifted toward the city lights, as if recalling memories that danced among those glowing streets. “It’s been my honor and my purpose.”

Rhysand inclined his head, respect and gratitude shining in his eyes. “We owe you more than can ever be repaid, Madja. Your skill, your kindness... You’ve saved so many of us in ways we cannot count.”

She offered a small, affectionate smile. “I know my role has mattered. But Rhys,” she paused, and the name alone carried a lifetime of familiarity that few could claim with him, “I find that my hands are not as steady as they once were. My eyes grow weary by candlelight. My back aches after hours bent over the injured.”

A slight breeze stirred the curtains, and the scent of night-blooming flowers drifted in, a gentle reminder of how time moved ever forward. Rhysand said nothing yet, allowing her the space to say what she must.

Madja continued softly, “I believe it’s time for me to step back. To retire from my duties as the court’s primary healer.” She turned to face him fully, shoulders squared, but her gaze kind and open. “I’ve trained many capable healers over the years. The work will continue. The Night Court does not lack for talent or compassion.”

Rhysand exhaled quietly, pressing his lips into a thoughtful line. The notion of Madja not being there—her swift and sure presence absent from their healing wards—seemed strange. She had always been a constant, a quiet pillar in the court’s foundation. But he would not deny her what she deserved.

“Are you certain?” he asked gently, voice low enough that it felt like they were confiding secrets rather than discussing court affairs. “If you wish fewer hours, or only to train the younger healers, we can arrange that.”

Madja shook her head, a decisive yet kind gesture. “No, Rhys. I’ve thought this through. I’m old, my friend. Old, even by our standards.” A hint of dry humor touched her tone. “My future lies in rest, in tending a garden rather than wounded flesh. I wish to spend whatever years remain in quiet peace, perhaps in a small cottage overlooking a meadow or stream.”

In the quiet that followed, Rhysand reached out to gently clasp her hand, the gesture sincere. “We’ll ensure you have all you need. A place of comfort, security—whatever you desire. And know that you will always be welcome in these halls, never forgotten.”

Madja squeezed his hand, gratitude and affection shining in her eyes. “I expected nothing less. You have all grown into fine leaders, fine friends. It eases my heart to know I leave the court in good hands.”

Rhysand released Madja’s hand gently, taking in her decision with thoughtful acceptance. The room felt quieter, a hush that allowed them both to measure the weight of this change. He crossed his arms and leaned slightly against the desk, considering how best to carry out her retirement. There would need to be someone to fill her role—someone skilled, empathetic, and unshakably capable of handling whatever the Night Court might face.

“Have you thought about who might take your place?” Rhys asked softly, meeting her steady gaze. “I can’t imagine you leaving us without a successor in mind.”

A hint of pride lit Madja’s eyes, a spark of confidence in the future she was preparing to leave behind. “Of course I have. You know me better than that, Rhys. I would never abandon my post without ensuring someone could step into it seamlessly.”

Rhys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips, as if he had expected nothing less. “And who have you chosen?”

Madja’s grip on the windowsill tightened slightly, not in apprehension, but in anticipation of sharing something long-cherished. “I have someone perfect in mind. A child of the Night Court—an orphan of the first war against Hybern, in fact. I took her under my wing when she was very young, taught her the basics of healing and care.”

Rhysand’s brows rose, curiosity piqued. He could not recall all the children Madja had trained personally, centuries and centuries blending faces and names into a kind tapestry of service. “Who might this be?”

“Y/N,” Madja said, voice warm with fondness. “You may remember her. She was quiet but determined, always studying late into the night, always asking how to ease pain more efficiently or mend a broken bone with fewer scars. A true healer’s heart.” She paused, letting the memory breathe life into the silence. “A few centuries ago, she left the Night Court to travel among the other courts and even beyond Prythian’s borders—visiting unknown continents, I believe. All to deepen her knowledge and hone her healing skills.”

Rhysand searched his memories, vague images surfacing: a young, focused individual hovering near Madja’s side, attentive as a student could be. He had been too busy with rebuilding and healing wounds on a much larger scale then, but he remembered the name faintly, the glimpses of a dedicated figure slipping through the halls.

Madja continued, “I reached out to her a few months ago, requested her return. I told her of my plans, that I would soon step down and that I wanted her to take my place. She agreed. She should be arriving any day now, if my calculations are correct.”

Rhysand nodded thoughtfully, pressing his fingertips together. “So Y/N will take on your mantle,” he said quietly, more to himself than Madja. “If you trust her, then I will welcome her home with open arms. I know the court will benefit from such devotion and training.”

Madja’s smile deepened, an affectionate and proud curve of her lips. “She will do well, Rhys. She’s grown into a capable healer—perhaps even more skilled than I. She brings with her new techniques and knowledge from lands we can barely imagine. It is only fitting that someone so dedicated should stand where I once stood.”

Outside, the city’s laughter and murmurs drifted into the room. Rhysand and Madja stood in quiet agreement. As one chapter closed gently, another prepared to open. The Night Court, always at the crossroads of past and future, would soon meet the one who would continue its legacy of healing and mercy.

————

The winter air carried a quiet hush as you approached the gates of Velaris. The land slumbered under a light blanket of snow, crystals glittering like tiny fallen stars beneath the moonlight. It had been centuries since you’d last seen this city, and now each lantern-lit arch, each faint silhouette of distant rooftops, stirred memories long tucked away. The cold breeze nipped at your cheeks, but you were well-prepared: a heavy, fur-lined cape draped over your shoulders, its generous folds keeping out the chill. Beneath it, your traveling garb—leather boots crusted with frost, worn gloves, and trousers meant for long rides—hinted at the countless roads you had trodden in your self-imposed exile.

Your horse’s breath plumed in the crisp air, its dark coat standing out starkly against the snowy ground. Every hoof-fall was muffled by that thin layer of powder, giving the night an even gentler hush. Above you, the eagle circled again, a lone sentinel under a sky brushed with starlight and the faint glow of a crescent moon. It cried softly, its voice echoing in the stillness, as if announcing your return.

Velaris—once the place of your youth, where you learned the first steps of healing under Madja’s patient eye—felt both familiar and strange. You had wandered distant courts, continents with different climates and creatures, honing your craft and expanding your knowledge. Yet here, now, the curve of a familiar street corner, the warm glow of lamplight on old stone, tugged at your heart. It was nostalgia mingled with quiet apprehension, the weight of centuries settling gently on your shoulders. Back then, you had left as a young apprentice, uncertain and hungry for wisdom. Tonight, you returned as a seasoned healer, with secrets and skills gleaned from every corner of Prythian and beyond.

At the gate, a couple of sentries wrapped in thick cloaks watched your approach. The lanterns beside them radiated a comforting warmth against the frosty night. They noted your horse’s slow pace, your cape embroidered subtly with practical patterns, the saddlebags heavy with bandages, tonics, and texts. They glanced upward at the eagle, curious, but found no threat in this silent dance of traveler and guardian.

One guard stepped forward, voice muted yet carried easily through the still air. “Late traveler,” he said, respectful but cautious, “state your name and purpose.”

You drew the reins gently, bringing the horse to a stop, your dark mount stamping once on the snowy ground. A faint smile touched your lips as you pushed back your hood, exposing features sharpened by experience, softened by understanding. Even now, the cold flushed your cheeks slightly, and a strand of white hair slipped free, catching the moonlight.

“I am Y/N,” you said, your voice steady and warm, echoing with an old familiarity. “A healer returning to the Night Court. I believe I am expected.”

The guards exchanged a glance—this name carried weight, a quiet rumor of a healer summoned home by Madja herself. They stepped aside, allowing you entry, no further questions needed. Beyond them lay Velaris, blanketed softly in winter’s hush. You remembered it bustling with life in greener times, but even now, beneath the snow and distant laughter, you felt the city’s heart welcoming you home.

With a gentle press of your heel, you urged your horse onward. The eagle’s shadow passed over the gate, and then it soared above the rooftops, perhaps to find its own perch. A familiar scent drifted through the crisp night air—something like cinnamon and distant hearth fires. You took it in, remembering quiet evenings of study and healing in warm, lamplit rooms.

You had left as a student, eager and uncertain. You returned a master of your craft, ready to shoulder the responsibilities your old mentor had chosen for you. The quiet crunch of hooves in snow was the only sound as you entered Velaris, a place you had not seen in a hundred lifetimes, yet still knew in your bones.

As soon as you passed through the gates, you swung your leg over the horse’s side and dismounted with a practiced ease. The animal, sensing your familiarity, snorted softly, its breath making small clouds in the winter air. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you took the saddle in hand, leading your horse forward at a leisurely pace. A few onlookers spared curious glances—travelers weren’t uncommon in Velaris, but your arrival at this late hour and in these quiet conditions drew subdued interest.

You let your gaze drift, taking in the sights around you. Velaris had always been a jewel among cities, but under the moon and dusting of snow, it gleamed with a serene kind of splendor. Buildings of carved stone and elegant wood bore soft, golden lights that spilled onto cobblestone streets. The scent of fresh bread and distant hearth fires mingled with the crispness of winter. You noted subtle changes—new sculptures in gardens, fresh murals adorning certain walls, the hum of gentle magic woven into everyday corners. It had grown even lovelier with time.

You had heard the tales, even far away on foreign shores: the once-hidden city revealed to the world, the ferocious attack it had endured, and the grand victory that followed. Rumors traveled quickly among healers and traders, and from what you gathered, Velaris had suffered but risen stronger, its spirit unbroken. The idea that your old home, once so secretive, had been thrust onto the world stage still left an odd taste in your mouth. You’d never imagined such an outcome all those centuries ago.

And Rhysand—when you’d left, he’d only just ascended as High Lord after his father’s passing. You remembered him as calm, shrewd, haunted by new responsibilities thrust upon him too young. Now, you’d learned that he had reigned through wars and alliances, reshaping the Night Court into something more open, more formidable. Most astonishing of all was the whisper that a High Lady stood beside him, equal in power and rank. Such a thing had been unthinkable in the old days, when tradition and suspicion ruled the courts.

You ran a hand along the horse’s neck, both reassuring it and steadying yourself. Time had flowed like a great river, carving new courses in this land you once knew. The Night Court wasn’t just shadows and silence anymore—if anything, it hummed with a brighter, more inclusive magic.

A small smile tugged at your lips, though touched by nostalgia. You wondered if you would still recognize old acquaintances, if any remained. Madja, of course, you would know. She was the reason you had returned. But what about the healers who trained alongside you, or the courtiers who once sought your help for quiet fevers and twisted ankles?

Your breath fogged in the cold as you carried your saddle and led the horse onward into the velvety night of Velaris. In that soft hush, surrounded by lamplight and murmuring streets, you acknowledged what had been and what now was. A thousand changes had come to pass while you walked distant roads, yet here you were again—a piece of the past stepping into the present, ready to adapt and serve once more.

With a gentle tug on the reins, you guided your horse through Velaris’ winding streets until you reached a small inn known for accommodating travelers with mounts. The sign outside bore simple script and a painted image of a horse’s head, letting you know this was a place that catered to riders who needed both rest and a safe spot for their companions. A narrow stable area hugged one side of the building, the wooden stalls visible through an open arch, and the soft whicker of other horses drifted out into the cold night.

You tied your horse securely at a hitching post near the stable entrance, giving it a few soft strokes along its neck and murmuring quiet words of reassurance. The inn’s lights glowed warmly through its windows, promising respite from the chill outside. Carrying only what you needed for the night—your saddle and a small bag slung over your shoulder—you stepped up onto the worn threshold.

Inside, the inn’s atmosphere enveloped you like a comforting blanket. The interior was modest yet inviting, with low ceilings supported by dark wooden beams that lent the space a cozy, intimate feel. A large hearth crackled at one end, its firelight dancing across the polished floorboards and simple, sturdy tables. The scent of mulled wine and hearty stew drifted through the air, mingling with the faint tang of old wood and woolen fabrics. A few patrons sat scattered around, some nursing tankards, others finishing quiet meals, their murmured conversations melding into a pleasant hum.

Lamps hung at intervals along the walls, their warm glow illuminating the simple artwork—landscapes of rolling hills and starry skies, scenes that might be familiar to travelers who came and went. A rack near the door held thick cloaks and traveling staffs, and straw mats by the hearth encouraged weary wanderers to warm their feet by the flames.

Approaching the small counter near the fire, you found a stout figure in an apron waiting, brows lifting slightly at your approach. The innkeeper—a middle-aged fae with kind eyes and a no-nonsense posture—took in your travel-worn attire and the faint smell of stable hay clinging to your clothes without judgment.

“I need a room for the night,” you said, voice low but clear. You placed a few coins on the counter, enough to cover lodging and a decent meal. “And a safe place for my horse,” you added, gesturing out the door with a tilt of your head.

The innkeeper nodded, pocketing the coins and scribbling a note in a ledger. “You’ve chosen the right place, traveler. We’ve a stable hand on duty tonight, and plenty of hay and water for your mount. I’ll have your belongings sent up to your room—top of the stairs, second door on the right. Will you be needing dinner?”

The gentle crackle of the hearth made you realize how hungry you were. “Yes, please. Something hot.” The tension of your long journey began to ease as you spoke. Soon, you would have a warm meal and a quiet room, a moment to gather your thoughts before facing the days to come in Velaris.

The innkeeper nodded again. “We’ll have stew and bread ready for you in a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”

You thanked them quietly and made your way toward a table near the fire. Settling down, you let the warmth seep into your bones. Outside, the snow continued to fall lightly, dusting the night-silenced streets. Inside, the inn’s modest comfort wrapped around you, a gentle reminder that, for all the changes beyond these walls, solace could still be found in simple things: a crackling fire, a hot meal, and a secure place to rest.

You thanked the inn’s attendant who brought your things upstairs—your saddle and bag neatly placed in one corner, your personal items laid out on a small bench. As soon as the door closed, you set about making yourself comfortable. The tiny room was modest but cozy: a single bed with a thick quilt, a wooden chest for your belongings, and a narrow door that led to a private washroom. The lamp on the bedside table glowed softly, illuminating rough-hewn beams overhead and the simple woven rug underfoot.

The bath you drew was warm and fragrant, a rare luxury after so many months on the road. You sighed as the hot water embraced your tired muscles, steam rising to blur the edges of the lamplight. Every ache and tension slipped away, replaced by a gentle calm. You lingered there longer than you intended, letting the warmth and quiet stillness soothe the raw edges of your journey.

Eventually, you stepped out, drying off with a towel that smelled faintly of lavender. Pulling on more comfortable clothes—soft trousers, a loose tunic, and thick socks—you immediately felt lighter, more at ease. Settling into the single chair at the small desk, you opened your sketchbook. The pages bore neat sketches of rare herbs, diagrams of organs and nerve clusters, annotations in your own careful handwriting describing remedies learned in distant courts. You added a few more notes now, clarifying a technique you’d picked up in the Winter Court for combating frostbite injuries—how their healers used crushed frost lily petals to reduce swelling.

You’d barely finished jotting down a final sentence when a gentle knock sounded at the door. Crossing the tiny space in a few strides, you opened it to find the innkeeper’s assistant holding a tray. The rich aroma of stew—savory and warm—wafted into your room. You offered a quiet thanks, voice hushed as if not to disturb the hush of the night. The assistant nodded politely and retreated, footsteps receding down the hallway.

Placing the tray on a small round table by the window, you pulled up the chair. The stew steamed before you—thick and hearty, with chunks of root vegetables, tender meat, and herbs that reminded you of home. Next to it was a small loaf of crusty bread and a pat of butter, already soft enough to spread easily.

As you dipped your spoon and brought the first mouthful to your lips, the flavors bloomed across your tongue—rich, comforting, and exactly what you needed. Your gaze drifted past the rim of the bowl to the window. Beyond the glass, the Sidra River shimmered softly under starlight. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the night, catching in the glow of distant lanterns. Across the water, the Rainbow—Velaris’s famed artistic district—was lit with gentle hues, colors blending seamlessly into the darkness.

The scene was a masterpiece of tranquility: the star-flecked sky, the quiet city, the snow falling softly as if trying not to wake the world. You savored another spoonful of stew and leaned back, allowing the moment to settle around you. Here you were, in a city you’d left centuries ago, come home to take up a mantle left by your old mentor. So much had changed and yet this moment—warm meal, quiet window, gentle snow—reminded you why you returned. Comfort, safety, purpose, and memory woven together in a tapestry of starlit peace.

You finished the last of your meal, wiped the bowl clean with a piece of bread, and gently pushed the tray aside. The steady warmth of the stew had settled in your stomach, making your limbs feel pleasantly heavy. Outside, the snow continued its quiet descent, dusting the rooftops and the narrow streets with sparkling powder. The lamplight in your room seemed softer now, the hush of the winter night wrapping around you like a familiar old cloak.

Rising from the small chair, you crossed the room and extinguished the lamp on the bedside table. Only moonlight and the reflection from the snow-blanketed city remained, sending faint silver shapes dancing along the floorboards. You slipped beneath the quilt, the scent of wool and lavender drifting from the linens. The mattress gave slightly under your weight, a gentle cradle after so many hard beds and forest floors.

Your thoughts drifted naturally to the meeting you’d have the next day. Madja’s voice echoed faintly in your memory—her gentle, steady guidance so many years ago. Tomorrow, you would see her again, no longer as a wide-eyed apprentice, but as a seasoned healer returning to take up her mantle. The idea hummed softly through your mind, a mixture of anticipation and a quiet, nervous pride.

The distant murmur of Velaris lulled you: the soft creak of settling beams, the whisper of the Sidra’s current, the faint call of a night bird. Within moments, the fatigue of long travel and the comfort of a true bed smoothed away the edges of wakefulness. Your eyelids grew heavy and closed, shutting out the gentle glow of stars and snow.

Wrapped in warmth and memory, you drifted into sleep, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow would begin a new chapter—one you were finally ready to embrace.

---

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[galactic-magick]

A Collection of My Viktor x Reader Headcanons

Here’s the long list of headcanons I have about Viktor and my self-insert OC that’s been sitting in my notes app. Many of these will likely make their way into and be more fleshed out in my fics. I just have so much love for him and so many ideas that I had to post them.

Most are gender-neutral besides a couple. All the fics I’ve written in this AU so far are in my masterlist and in a series on my AO3.

Enjoy 😊

Drinks his coffee either black or with a shit ton of milk and sugar, no in between. You’ll catch him drinking the darkest roast in existence and then the next day he’ll be drinking a sweet milk Frappuccino or something

If you’re the same size or bigger than him, he likes to steal your clothes. Especially when it’s cold, he’ll layer a bunch of your sweaters, claiming yours are “warmer” than his

He loves when you play with his hair. It calms him down and soothes him like nothing else

Sometimes he feels bad he doesn’t have the arm strength to pick you up, so one time he asked Jayce if he could borrow his gauntlets

He can be very forgetful, but it’s never because he doesn’t care. Be patient with him his mind is a crazy place

He gets quite the ego boost when he realizes “talking nerdy to you” turns you on. He’ll purposefully start explaining science shit and get you embarrassingly flustered

He’s definitely a cat person. If you guys got one they would be basically attached to each other, to the point the cat would escape the house and follow him to work in the lab sometimes

Also likes to steal your hair and shower products. He loves all the scents and how soft they make his waves and skin

He can play the Viola, a skill his mother taught him when he was a kid. He’s very rusty but he’ll play for you occasionally

His favorite way to annoy you is poking you with his cane. He’s a little shit about it too, mainly doing it when you’re in the middle of something

When he works longer hours in the lab, you like to bring him snacks, only to find out Jayce is the one who eats most of them after you leave

He likes to see your face when you’re cuddling, so spooning isn’t really the go-to position. But if he does he’s not really partial to being the big or little spoon

He still has the toy boat he made as a kid. It sits on the mantle over your fireplace

He technically needs glasses, but his vision isn’t bad enough he has to wear them. He considers getting them only because you told him he’d look cute with them

If you’re afraid of bugs, he has no problem catching them and putting them back outside. He likes to let them crawl on him for a bit first though, he doesn’t mind them at all

If you ever get in a fight, he can be very stubborn in his opinions, and he often tries to fix the problem before understanding your side. Once he realizes that sometimes you just want him to listen to you, though, misunderstandings become much more infrequent

He loves food with lots of spices and strong flavors. Especially if you’re the one who cooks it

He snores when he sleeps, and pretty loudly at that. If you’re not a deep sleeper who can sleep through it you’ll probably need a white noise maker or something

He uses you as a fidget toy quite often, playing with your hands, massaging your arms and thighs, twirling your hair. Sometimes he’ll mindlessly start squeezing your tits, not even in a sexual way necessarily, just cuz they’re squishy

Wants kids with you, but is terrified of leaving your children fatherless if his disease gets the best of him

Everything in your house has the potential to be a new invention, you’ve lost count of how many appliances have been modified in some way

He likes puzzles, on the rare occasion he has free time to do them for leisure. He can even do those crazy multi thousand piece ones

One of his main love languages is definitely parallel play. He loves spending time with you even if it’s in silence doing separate things

Loves when you lay on top of him. He doesn’t care how heavy you are, you’re his favorite weighted blanket

He likes to keep his personal life private from most people, but never in the sense that he hides you. Everyone knows you’re together, but very few know how much you actually mean to each other

He leaves marks and hickeys on you even when he doesn’t necessarily mean to, simply because his canines are so sharp

Whenever he and Jayce are asked to travel anywhere to meet with Hextech investors, he always brings you with him. You couldn’t afford a honeymoon when you first got married, so he makes up for it by turning work trips into vacations

He likes to leave you love notes sometimes when he wakes up and leaves before you, but his handwriting is so messy you can rarely read them. He usually says what he wrote when he sees you next anyway though

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

Separate Yandere Malleus (Hubby), Rook (Hubby), Leona (Lazy), Jamil (Babygirl), Azul (Babygirl), Jade (Menace), Floyd (Menace) and Sebek x Female!Tanjiro Reader SFW and NSFW please?

She’s kind, helpful and supportive, always willing to help others and she doesn’t expect anything in return? How cute (Naive), and after getting a taste of her kindness and care, he’s not going to let her go (And is now very territorial/protective of his soon-to-be wife/wifey)

Why can I see Floyd saying ‘Wifey’? (Rook would just make poems upon poems about how much he loves calling her his ‘Darling’ or ‘Wife’ and would violently tremble in joy if she just looks at him Top Tier Romantic/Stalker)

Sorry if that’s a lot, I’m a little knew to asking about Smut Requests (But I love my Twst Men so much, especially Malleus, Idia, Rook, Jamil and Azul, they just need hugs)

This is SMUT, and consensual, despite being Yandere.

Warnings: Yandere, Stockholm Syndrome(?), naive reader, creampie, breeding(?), unprotected sex, all characters are adults, sex with the intention of having children, slight dumbification, Malleus has 1 dick (sorry monsterfuckers), somnophilia in Malleus’s

Leona Kingscholar

You supported him even in his darkest moments, no matter if he was rude to you back. You were there, and the way you would take Cheka when he wasn’t feeling super great really had him appreciating you in a way that he never thought he could before. So, once you had graduated, he asked you if you would marry him.

Of course, this comes from a much darker place in him. He was never going to let you go, even if you refused him. Luckily for him, though, you were in tears as you accepted his proposal, happy to be marrying the love of your life. You were wed rather quickly, with it being a small ceremony, and it was the first time you had seen Leona cry because you just looked so beautiful walking down the aisle. That moment was one you would cherish forever. 

Now, your wedding night was a different story. With how hard he was thrusting up into you, making you see stars. You could feel his cock pounding your insides, and you were thanking every god in existence that you married this man. You were two orgasms in already, and you were approaching a third, while he still had his first to go.

“Look at you, my naive herbivore being fucked dumb.” Just hearing those words made you falter and stutter your movements, but it didn’t stop Leona. He was making you ride him through your orgasm, and you were so sensitive. He let out a groan as he came inside you, saying, “I’m not stopping until you are filled with my cubs, baby, so you better keep going.”

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew you were the one when he showed you his cecaelia form for the first time. Instead of being disgusted or even afraid, you used a gentle hand as you played with the tentacles that were pulling you closer and closer. Eventually, you found yourself face-to-face with the Housewarden, and you threw your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a kiss. He immediately reciprocated, and he laid claim to you that night.

Years later, you both were married, and he was a successful business owner. You were in the upper-middle class of the ocean, and you both were talking about starting a family. You were already his housewife, keeping the house clean because you both agreed on it (and because he didn’t want you going anywhere that he didn’t have control over). 

You weren’t about to complain, though, because he had you in the missionary position. It’s a bit basic, but fuck did it feel good. He was desperate; desperate to fill you up, desperate for you to feel pleasure, desperate to push himself to another climax despite the overstimulation. Your legs locked around him as he started releasing ropes of cum inside you, and you had the orgasm of your life.

“I love you, honey~” Your voice was strained after about two hours of moaning. He laid down next to you, and you laid your head on his chest. He started drawing patterns on your back, and he said I love you in return. You leaned up and gave him a kiss on the lips, and then trailed it down his chest… lower and lower, until round 2 was started.

Jade Leech

You were his the day you burst into Azul’s office and demanded that your friends be let go of their contracts. Hardly anybody would have that amount of confidence, and he found himself obsessed. He’s stalking you, he’s making sure his brother knows that you are his territory and his alone. You could always smell that he was there, as he didn’t know about your keen sense of smell. But, you didn’t mind it.

Years later, you both were married, and it was an interesting marriage. Your in-laws absolutely adored you, Floyd tolerated you, and Jade was still as obsessed with you as he was back in your NRC days. In fact, he wanted to give you a reason to stay forever, so he brought up the idea of having kids. You had many siblings back in your home world, which you never found a way back to, so it was understandable that you would want a big family yourself.

So, that’s how you got here, you being folded in half, your legs being pressed to your shoulders as he pounded you into oblivion. For the past 4 hours, you have been in every conceivable position you can think of, and this was going to be your final one. If you wanted a big family, that is exactly what you were going to get.

“Darling, how many kids do you want? Do you have an exact number? Or am I going to fuck you and keep you full of children until you say that you don’t want anymore?” Just the thought of having so many kids made you orgasm. You realized that you wanted to be with this man for the rest of your life, and you wanted to be surrounded by a family that the both of you created, and you were definitely going to enjoy the process to achieve your newfound dream.

Floyd Leech

He claimed you as his also the day you walked into Azul’s office, as no one ever had the courage, bravery, or stupidity to do it. When he went to squeeze you, you wound back enough to headbutt him, making him drop you. From that point on, you had become his new obsession. You were the only one who could beat him in a fight, so it was kind of obvious that this would happen.

As much as you Floyd simps would probably want to be married to him, he’s just not that big on marriage. He’s not that big on commitment in general. However, he knows that he’s committed to you because he wants you to be committed to him. Plus, any thoughts against marriage flew out the window when he saw you stretching and yawning.

Hours later, your neck was covered in bite marks, some a bit bloody, but he just licked it all away as his cock was buried inside your cunt. He had cum inside you about 2 times by now, and your muscles were sore from being contorted into a multitude of different positions. He had a newfound need to make you his little wifey who was stuffed with his kids 24/7.

It wasn’t until there was a bit of a bulge in your stomach from all the cum he had released when he pulled out of you. You were on the verge of unconsciousness, but you felt his arms wrap around you and pull you close. His body was warm, the final lull to sleep that you needed. It was a rare but sentimental Floyd, where he watched you, in such a vulnerable state… marriage is the best option to make sure you are his.

Jamil Viper

You were the first thing he could actually call ‘his’. He did not have to give you to Kalim, and he was never going to let that happen. In fact, during his overblot, he made his feelings known to you by keeping you at his side. However, you wanted your Jamil, not the one controlled and bound by the ink. After, in the infirmary, he asked if what you said still rang true, and that was where you had your first kiss.

Skip to years later, and you both were married. He still works for the Al-Asim family, but you couldn’t ask for a better husband. He has told you about his hesitancy towards having children of his own, as they would most likely serve the Al-Asim family as well. You understood, but you still wanted to have children with him. He told you that you could have one child for now, and see where it went from there.

Round 1 started right then and there, in your kitchen. He bent you over the counter, railing you from behind. Before, whenever you both would have sex, he would use protection. This time, though, he went in raw, and it was the first time ever that you both truly felt each other, and damn did it feel euphoric. You couldn’t even think anymore.

Of course, this was not exactly a fitting place if you were going to conceive your first child. So, he picked you up into his arms and carried you to your shared bedroom once you had your first orgasm of the night. There were many more to come (get it?) and you were barely getting started. You will not be able to walk for two days, and you will be walking out with hickies… mostly in between your thighs.

Rook Hunt

When he first discovered you, he immediately started stalking you. However, he wrote you sonnets, limericks, and poetry of other sorts for your eyes and ears. He sang your praises, and to lastly win over your heart, he serenaded you properly, under your window. You told him to wait there, and you ran downstairs and glomped him, making out with him on the ground. If it weren’t for his desire to make your first time special, you would have probably conceived a child right then and there.

However, he did wait until marriage… which was less than a year after you graduated. He had a steady income, and he already had a cottage in the forest in the Shaftlands. He always had a fantasy of a big family in a cottage, being a hunter and having his beloved wife by his side as an equal in the home. He cherished you, making sure that he provided for you in every way you needed. You became a housewife, as you would like to be there to take care of your children.

Speaking of, not a single night has passed since your wedding night where you haven’t fucked like rabbits. Sure, you both were still young, but you had been talking about this since you both were in NRC. You felt like you were ready to take on the challenge of rabbits. So, every night, you were filled with his cum. You were claimed as his, with all the hickies all over your body, with the sinful stretch his cock always seemed to give you… it was heaven in Twisted Wonderland.

It did not come as a surprise that you fell pregnant merely a few weeks after your wedding. The news made your beloved hunter so excited. Now, you could never leave him for your world. You had children that tied you to him. During your pregnancy, he is a devoted lover. He makes sure all your needs are met, and that includes the needs that are in the bedroom.

Malleus Draconia

You were his first friend outside of his retainers. You showed him kindness, and you were not scared of him at all. That alone made his draconic instincts want to kidnap you and keep you all to himself. However, he was able to hold off just a little, and you came to him on your own. The rose you had presented him with remains preserved, even years later, as it is a token of your love for him. He was a bit delulu, but aren’t we all?

It was a big request to ask you to marry him, as you would become the queen of a great nation of mostly fae folk. However, you were up to the challenge, and the people loved you. However, there was great pressure for an heir. Again, you were up to the challenge, but you discussed it with your husband first. You both concluded on a large family, so that the children wouldn’t grow up isolated (and totally not because Malleus wanted to see you round over and over again).

That night, all the staff had been advised to vacate the corridor in which your shared chambers resided, as you were not able to quiet yourself. You went a total of 8 rounds, one of which you were passed out for, but gave him the ‘okay’ to fuck you through that brief nap. Any chance of walking was out of the question. You could barely lift your head, and you had to be tended to by maidservants for a week. Unfortunately, Malleus couldn’t tend to you himself, as being the King meant that he was busy.

The entire realm rejoiced at the news of your pregnancy, and you had the world’s best doctors at your disposal. Everyone was concerned about making sure that the heir survived to take the throne, but they were also a tad worried about them being half-fae and half-human, as it meant that their lifespan would be shorter than a typical fae’s. Neither you nor your husband cared, however, as you were just happy to start a new chapter of your lives together.

Sebek Zigvolt

His pride denied him the pleasure of accepting his feelings for you in the first place, and he instead wrote anonymous poems for you that he would leave at your desk. You had no idea who it could be, so when someone claimed it was them, Sebek shouted that it was he who wrote the poems and not the plagiarist. He looked like he was about to fight the poor unfortunate soul, but you placed a kiss on his cheek, telling him that you accepted his feelings and not the other person’s.

About the topic of marriage… he would prioritize being a knight first. However, when he sees a time in his career, he will definitely get married to you. He enjoyed that he was in Briar Valley often and he just needed to train new recruits, and he would return home to you cooking dinner. As for children, the topic would blurt out of his mouth as you voiced your sadness about being lonely. You loved the idea, and as irresponsible as it was, the way you looked at him with newfound dreams in your eyes, he carried you to the bedroom and started right away.

You had discovered that Sebek had a hidden breeding kink, and he loved seeing your face as he came inside you over and over. The husband you thought you knew was giving into the primal instincts deep within him, and you were loving it. His fangs had made their mark all over your neck and shoulders, claiming you despite the ring on your finger showing you were taken.

The Zigvolt family, as well as Lilia, Silver, and King Malleus, were all excited when you announced your pregnancy. However, only the two of you would know what sinful things took place for this to happen. Know that this is not your only child, even if you don’t actually have another one. He wants at least two, and he is willing to adopt.

[myownwholewildworld]

veni, vidi, victus sum (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: marcus returns from war with the worst news possible. a/n: considering that i started this story here by posting the end first... may i interest you in how it all started? c: i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. pure angst because i don't know any better. death of a secondary character. w/c: 2.3k

July, 106 AD

Marcus’ right hand shook uncontrollably. So much so, he had to wrap his left around the opposite wrist and squeeze as hard as he could, hoping to stop the tremor that suddenly took hold of his muscles and soul.

He hadn't even had time to wash off the mud and sweat. Nor to process everything that had happened in the last few days. Once his mission was done and dusted, only then and in the privacy of his own company, would he give himself permission to break down. He would be a terrible General if he let himself be dominated by emotion at such important moment for the Empire.

Returning from Dacia after an intense campaign, Marcus had been at the head of the Roman column that would carry out the offensive towards the east of the Dacian capital, Sarmizegetusa, while General Atticus, his inseparable friend to whom he would have blindly entrusted his life, and son-in-law to Emperor Traianus, led the battle towards the center of the town.

That week the Empire had annexed a new region that would bring great wealth. But Marcus, personally, had lost much more than what he truly had gained. Lady Justice had spoken, letting the balance tip completely in favour of collective Roman rule and not his personal one.

Marcus walked between the marble columns of a secluded hallway in the Domus Flavia, the public area of ​​the Imperial Palace on Palatine Hill, as if he was an umbra. He put one foot in front of the other automatically, his mind on a land more than six hundred Roman miles away.

The siege of the Dacian capital to the east had been especially bloody. The enemy had presented a good strategy; the thread of many souls being skewed by the Parcae on both fronts. Among them, that of his own son, Augustus. At eighteen years old, he had been a great military promise, the best candidate to one day replace his father.

If Marcus closed his eyes, he could still remember Augustus’ warm, battered body in his arms. His empty orbs, observing the infinite, reflected the horror of his last seconds in this world. A thick and rudimentary pilum protruding from his chest was a macabre picture Marcus would have trouble forgetting. Its tip so sharp, it had pierced through the segmented lorica with ease, embedding itself in his heart, blood still gushing out.

By the time Marcus’ knees hit the ground by Augustus’ side, Pluto had already claimed his son to join His ranks. The bloodshed had continued to unfold around him, a maddening dance of swords, as if the world had not just stopped —as if Marcus had not just lost the only reason that kept him standing.

His reality had just sunk into the blackest misery and the rest of humanity was there, present yet impassive, blind to his pain.

But there had been no time to grieve — not there, during the darkest hour.

An enemy sword hovered over him, and he had to react.

When the battle died down and his soldiers celebrated the victory, Marcus dragged the corpse of his only son to the edge of some oleanders, where he managed to dig a hole with the help of his gladius and his own fingers.

Time was of the essence, which prevented him from laying Augustus to rest following the rituals of the Roman religion. He could only place a bronze coin over Augustus' mouth as payment to Charon, the ferryman of the Underworld, before throwing dirt on him. He then had composed himself as best he could, letting the General's façade fall on his face, and headed east, unaware that his friend Atticus had suffered a similar end.

On one day alone, he had lost two of the most important people in his life.

His mind returned to the present. From his right hand hung the decapitated head of Decebalus, already so decomposed that there was no blood left inside. The coward had tried to escape to Ranisstorum and, in his last desperate moments, committed suicide when Marcus and another officer, Tiberius Maximus, were hunting him down.

Finding his enemy defeated by his own demons was an anticlimactic moment, given the events of the previous days. Tiberius circumambulated towards Sarmizegetusa again, while Marcus and his legion, along with Atticus’, returned to Rome.

He was defeated, physically and mentally. Marcus just wanted to finish that damned mission and return to his villa. An empty one, devoid of a family he once revered.

In the blink of an eye, he found himself in the throne room, with Emperor Traianus staring at him, a sardonic smile painting his lips. After placing the head of Decebalus at the feet of the Emperor, he gave his last report of war. When the time came to deliver the news that his son-in-law, General Atticus, had perished in battle, the smile faded from Traianus’ face. That would be a hard blow to recover from.

Marcus explained the details that had been entrusted to him, omitting the death of his firstborn and ending with the fact that Atticus’ legion was carrying his corpse through the streets of Rome at that very moment, heading to the basilica of the Domus Flavia to begin with the funeral rites.

At least one of the two would have proper burial.

He said goodbye with deferential courtesy and shuffled out of there. He still had one last assignment: to inform the wife of General Atticus and daughter of the Emperor, you.

With heavy feet, Marcus ambled towards the most private wing of the Palace, the Domus Augustana. One of the maids guided him through the unfamiliar corridors, leaving him in front of a basin raised on a half column. Marcus took the hint, realising that there was still dirt—and specks of dried blood—embedded in his face. He did as he was asked, drying his skin with a linen cloth, before resuming his pace.

Finally, they stopped in front of double doors, and the maid knocked.

A minute later, they swung open.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Marcus bowed his aching back, keeping his eyes on the expensive stone that lined the floor.

“Domina mea (my lady),” he greeted you with deference.

Keeping busy while worry stalked the back of your mind was a colossal task. One you should have been used to by now, but it was nonetheless nerve-wracking.

Having to wait around until you heard news from your husband was not how you wanted to spend your days, but for love you had to. For Rome, you had to. Your husband, Resius Atticus, was your father’s most trusted ally, which meant he was kept away from you for long nights.

You flicked through the pages of the shabby parchment, its ink slowly fading with the passage of time. Finding yourself reading the same paragraph again, you decided to put it aside. You curled up on the chaise lounge, hugging your knees as the sun filtered through the slit window — a ray of sunshine kissing your skin, leaving a warm trail.

Closing your eyes, you revelled in the rare moment of quiet, of peace, a smile lingering on the corners of your mouth.

A knock on the door swept the instant away, and then your heart fluttered uncontrollably.

Today was the day when Resius was meant to return. To his duties in the court, but also to you. You looked forward to settling back into a routine with him, lazy afternoons spent by the private gardens, talking sweet nothings to each other. Despite the years spent by his side, you didn’t tire of him, of your unbreakable relationship.

So, when you swung the double doors open with a pearly smile tugging at your lips, you did not expect to see your husband’s best friend instead.

Your heart suddenly stopped in your chest, swelling to an uncomfortable point. It stretched, a crawling feeling tearing your skin apart from the inside out.

Widened eyes, they locked on his, searching for answers and finding none. Marcus wore an impassible expression, but the way he averted his glassy eyes told you everything you needed to know.

This could only mean one thing. Your worst nightmare taking form, escaping from your dreams and filtering into reality.

Still shocked, you saw the server scurrying away, leaving you alone with the General — but not your General.

“May I come in, Augusta (Imperial Princess)?” his soft voice broke through your blocked eardrums.

Jarred, you nodded, stepping aside to let Acacius in.

You stood there, numb and confounded, your brain trying to find another reason for General Acacius’ visit.

“Please, let us sit down,” Acacius spoke gently, a firm hand on the small of your back guiding you towards the chaise lounge.

This truly felt like a dream, ethereal and foggy, something your vivid imagination had come up with during an unrequited afternoon nap. That had to be it, because this could not be it. You still had a thousand lives to live besides Resius — you had prayed to the Gods for his safe return and they never failed you.

Under Acacius’ direction, you sat down, the pillow underneath giving way to the weight of both of you.

“Domina mea, I regret to be the bearer of bad news. General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword, defending two of his fallen soldiers from certain death,” his words shook your system, the numbness taking hold of all your being.

Silence lingered, and you both sat there with eyes fixed on nothing.

This just wasn’t real, couldn’t be. You refused to register such cruel information, shaking your head to unhear what had been spoken aloud.

“No, you have to be wrong, Acacius. I am sure you are,” you finally replied, eyes looking for his tired orbs. A hand flew to one of his resting on his knee, squeezing it tight. “You are wrong. This must be some twisted joke.”

Acacius’ sight did not lie though. You could see the pain emanating from his eyes, the utter bareness they exuded. With pursed lips, he just stared at you, his free hand hovering over yours on his knee until he stroked it warmly.

“I am truly sorry, Domina mea. I… I wish I was lying,” his voice faltered momentarily. “I lament not having been by his side. Had I been, I would have gladly traded my life for his. I would have…”

Acacius did not finish the sentence, because the wail that tore through your throat interrupted him. A fresh wound split your chest in half, all emotions pouring out in a sudden burst. Tears welled up, blurring your vision, and you clutched at your chest, your lungs shrinking with your heart. A burning sensation filled you and then deserted you, leaving you empty, cold — broken.

Losing Resius was a death sentence to your heart, to your soul. To all you were and would be. Life would not—could not—be the same if he was no longer brightening it for you. Hope was no longer your companion, the easy happiness that usually shimmered within you all gone with the blow of a few simple words.

Something crawled inside you, twisting and twitching and breaking and consuming. Something dark, something sad, something shattered. Grief suffocated your heart. This was not pain, this was torment. Living hell.

The raw intensity of it all clouded your mind. Your fractured soul looking for a chink of solace, wanting to cling onto a sliver of hope. Before thinking, you let go of the dam of your emotions, sobs flooding your mouth, as you turned around and hugged Acacius.

Little did it matter the blood and dirt on his worn armour, you needed the comfort of a friendly shoulder. Acacius would understand your pain, the suffering that crushed your soul, because he had also lost his best friend. The two of them had been inseparable for decades — you both had lost someone important that day. He would understand. You knew he did.

Threading your arms around his shoulders, you cried your sorrow in the crook of his neck, kind palms rubbing your back, commending your pain to leave your body. So, you wept until your eyes were bloodshot, until they itched and dried like a river during the worst drought of the century. Trickles of tears stained your cheeks, lashes clumping together under the heaviness of tearful dew.

Time was lost to the dragging pain, and only when Acacius’ hands stroked your shoulders, did you venture a look in his direction, leaning back. The naked expression on his face told you how much agony he carried. The soreness his eyes distilled was on par with yours.

“I am sorry for your loss too,” you offered your condolences. After all, he had lost his best friend. “I trust that your son Augustus found his way back home safe.”

Before their departure, Acacius and his son had paid you both a visit, a meal shared at night between old friends’ jests and company. You remembered Augustus’ enthusiasm to make his father proud on their first campaign together. How Acacius had looked at his heir with adulation and pride — the apple of his eyes. Acacius’ wife had died during childbirth, which had only reinforced the close relationship between father and son.

A feeble smile loitered on his mouth, a brief nod putting your mind at ease. Neither of you needed more suffering tonight.

“He is resting now,” was his succinct reply.

But Acacius always was, so his reassurance soothed your soul a little.

At least Acacius and his son had made it out alive.

[lizardboiii]

Tongue Tied┃One Piece - Pt. 2

[Protective!Dracule Mihawk x Poneglyph Speaking!Reader]

│Summary: Washed up on a gloomy shore, your only solace is a dark an empty castle. Yet, when the castle's only resident finally returns, you are met with an undeniable problem. The language you speak is completely dead to his world.

"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."

"𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐!"

・❥・

│cw: SFW, 18+, unfortunate slow start

│wc: 1.4k

│chapters: I II III

│notes: accidentally wrote the reader as such a golden retriever lmao. also, please let me know if the switch between languages is getting hard to understand! shorter chapter cause i'm overworked ;(

・❥・

│Chapter II: Golden Hour

Ever-eerie. Ever-present. Ever-gold. 

The undeniable sensation of watchful eyes consumed you as you haunted the castle’s halls. They followed from vestibule to vestibule. The source of them hiding somewhere in the darkest of corners. Sometimes…Goldy seemed more phantom than man.

It was foreign at first, the omnipresent feeling of sharp eyes piercing through you. They reigned supreme. Placing every action you made on trial, Goldy played the judge, jury, and executioner.

Eventually, you learned to pay his stare no mind, preferring to slowly attempt communication with the ravenette in your native tongue. 

The aforementioned man merely allowed you to rattle on. He treated your voice as if it was simply background noise, disregarding your presence like a lesser being. 

Goldy’s pride scarcely made a dent in your determination. In fact, after a few days had passed, you no longer clung close to the walls, favoring to follow the massive man around like a lost duckling. 

Your previous isolation had made you needy.

Before you knew it, you and Goldy had developed a routine - whether he liked it or not. Your day started earlier than most. The sun just barely rising before you stirred awake from a restless sleep. You found Goldy preferred to slumber longer. His form not stalking the halls till an hour later, possibly more.

Until then, you’d pad around the empty halls. You walked with no destination in mind, noting any foyers you preferred over another. And when you scoured the entire castle - you’d start again. The soles of your feet wore into the stone. You were sure if you looked hard enough, you could see the beginnings of a path in the shape of your feet.

At last, Goldy would awaken. He moved with little disturbance, often evading your notice. However, whether he was outside refining his skill in the art of sword or simply relaxing in the parlor, you always managed to find him.

Today was no different. 

You had been meandering throughout western wing, absentmindedly tracing the serpentine engravings of the coffered ceilings with your eyes. Then, a wedge of light caught your attention. 

You dropped your gaze, glancing out of one of the many floor length windows. Its cracked windowsill framed a direct view of the northwestern courtyard. 

Through the quickly fading golden hour, you could just make out the form of Goldy. He sat passively in a cushioned chair facing the sea. 

A fresh newspaper was clutched in his hand while the other held an opaque chalice. Across from him was a chess table. However, no second chair existed for another player to claim.

You smiled at your discovery, you had found him faster than usual. It didn't take long for your form to gently glide towards the window. Curiosity consumed you. Standing before the window enthralled, you watch every movement Goldy made intently. 

When he yawned - so did you. 

When he rubbed his chin - you followed in suit. 

When he re-crossed his legs - you shifted your feet.

Your mimicry didn't last long. As quickly as you noticed him, he noticed you. Without warning, Goldy’s eyes flung to your own, drilling into them. You jumped in surprise. Even after a week of dancing around each other, you still couldn't get used to their divine aureolin. 

Regaining composure, you grinned at him with a wave. Goldy ignored your hospitality. He was quick to return to his newspaper, feigning ignorance. However, you were sure he understood what would come next.

You barreled towards the courtyard. Skipping steps and slamming doors, you easily found your way to the grumpy man. Goldy remained unfazed at your sudden appearance. 

You walked beside his chair with a large smile, excited to talk to someone other than yourself. 

“𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐!”

Your voice drew a puff of air from the man, his eyes shifting to you for only a moment. You hummed at the attention. Plopping down on the ground, you rested your head against the arm of his chair.

“𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?” You beamed at the man above you.

Flip.

You turned your gaze to the sea, “𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕?”

Flip.

Your composure began to waiver, “𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢? 𝙸 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝!”

Flip.

Finally, the smile you forced dropped, “𝚂𝚘𝚖𝚎��𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎.” You picked at the grass beneath you, “𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎.”

A long sigh made you jolt in surprise. Goldy tossed his newspaper on the side table next to him in annoyance. Two firm fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“Just what are you chattering about?” 

You perked up at the response, returning your gaze to the ravenette, “𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚠𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢?”

He met your excited gaze coolly. You could practically see the gears in his head turning, frustrated with the fact he wouldn't be able to pull answers from you.

Goldy leaned his head on his hand, refusing to move his eyes off of you, “What am I going to do with you?”

Your mouth curved into a small smile. Although you couldn't understand him, you've determined your second favorite thing about Goldy was his voice.

You turned back to the sea solemnly. Even though you could see his imposing figure, hear his rich cadence - it was as if nothing had changed. You still felt so utterly alone. 

The crashing waves called you home, beckoning your aching heart. Beyond them, bobbing up and down, Goldy’s ship offered itself. A way back home. 

A way back to sanity.

Pointing your finger at the ship, you snapped your head over to the older man, “𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚝!”

Goldy raised a sharp brow at your sudden outburst. 

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to articulate your thoughts. Determined, you pointed at him, “𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢.”

Then, you pointed to the ship, "𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝.”

A low rumble escaped his chest before he gestured to himself, “Goldy?”

You shook your head enthusiastically, “𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚢!”

“You named me?” He spoke more to himself than you, rubbing the pointed edges of his beard. Displeased, Goldy quickly shook his head, “No.”

You tilted your head in confusion. Had he rejected the name? 

Goldy swished the glass in his hand, “Mihawk.” 

You tasted the name on your tongue, carefully mouthing every syllable, “Mi-hawk?”

A faint smile grew on his face, “Mihawk.”

Grinning, you signaled to yourself, “(𝚢/𝚗)!”

“(𝚢/𝚗)?” He placed the chalice to his lips, “You’re quite a troublesome brat, “(𝚢/𝚗).”

Your stomach flipped at the sound of your name. You hoped he'd say it more.

Pointing at the ship once more, you called out to him, "Mihawk. 𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝.”

Mihawk followed your finger, “𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝?” His brows furrowed slightly before relaxing, “Do you want my boat?”

He stood suddenly, as if he connected the dots he had been chasing. Ignoring your confused form, Mihawlk allowed his long legs to lead him to the path back to the castle. He looked back only for a moment. His large hand beckoning you to follow in suit. 

You stood quickly, fumbling over your own feet. You couldn't lose this chance. 

Mihawk walked briskly, winding through the castle halls before he led you to large french doors. You had seen them before during your morning strolls. However, you were never able to investigate what was hidden behind them. Mihawk kept them under lock and key. 

Reaching inside his pocket, the aforementioned man pulled out a small silver key. It glimmered under the sunlight enhancing the skull design on its embossed head. As quick as he revealed it, he unlocked the room.

The door swung open ominously. The darkness of the room seemed to creep out into the hallway, dying the floor black. Even so, Mihawk entered the room without hesitation. You wasted no time following close behind.

Eventually, Mihawk allowed himself to relax in an armed car across from the room’s fireplace. Taking out a pen and paper, he offered the utensils to you. You gladly accepted them. 

Twirling the pen in your hand, you tried to ignore Mihawk’s piercing stare. 

First, you began to draw a boat. Beneath it you labeled:

“𝙱𝚘𝚊𝚝.”

Next, you drew an arrow leading to a small island with a house on it. Beneath which you wrote:

“𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎.”

Looking up from your drawings, you smiled at Mihawk eagerly. However, your grin quickly dropped at Mihawk’s expression.

You had never seen Mihawk’s face get so pale.

“This is impossible.”

Mihawk snatched the paper from your grip. 

“How could you possibly know…”

His eyes searched your writing frantically.

“Poneglyph.”

・❥・

[solavita]

the early morning — aegon targaryen

pairing ; aegon targaryen x fem!reader

words ; less than 1k

summary ; an early morning between you and your lover, aegon targaryen.

warning(s) ; fingering, mentions of death?, light fluff.

In the darkest moments of the morning, just before the world awakens, Aegon Targaryen is truly yours. It is in those fleeting hours between the dying of the night and the rise of the sun that the burdens of his bloodline melt away, and the man behind the crown finds his way to your bed. When you had closed your eyes, the sheets were cold and empty, the silence of the night vast and unbroken. Now, with the first glimmer of dawn creeping through the heavy curtains, you feel the shift of the mattress, his presence as familiar as it is haunting.

You hadn't heard him enter, though you knew well enough when he must have come—somewhere between the witching hour and the first whispers of birdsong. The hours in which shadows clung to his skin like a second mantle, and the weight of his duty as prince was a curse carried back to your chamber.

Later, perhaps, you would ask about where the night had taken him, but for now, you merely watched him. His silver hair, once blazing in the light of day, now appeared almost spectral, gleaming faintly in the low glow of the candle that had burned down to its final flicker. The deep scars on his hands—those long, deft fingers which had known both the steel of swords and the delicate weight of crowns—rested against the curve of your waist. Beneath the rich silks and furs, his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath, yet there was a tension even in his sleep, a coiled force held within his every exhale.

You shifted slightly, turning to face him, careful not to disturb his slumber. His dark lashes, long and curled like those of a boy, lay against pale skin, a stark contrast to the shadows beneath his eyes. Even in sleep, Aegon looked like a ruler carved from ancient stone, cold and beautiful, touched by the cruel weight of destiny.

His violet eyes fluttered open, catching the faintest hint of the coming dawn. Though groggy with sleep, there was an intensity in his gaze as if even in this sanctuary he could never truly rest. He looked at you, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You watch me as if you expect me to disappear,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep, but edged with something darker. His grip tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, until your body lay draped over his.

Straddling his hips, you ran your fingers along the length of his chest, tracing the scars that littered his skin. The faint pulse beneath your touch was steady, though his body felt tense, like a sword waiting to be unsheathed. His silver hair, splayed across the pillows, gleamed like the edge of a blade, and his violet eyes—sharp, unrelenting—reminded you of the ancient dragonfire that still burned in his blood.

“I watch to make sure you’re real,” you murmured, voice soft as your lips ghosted over his, teasing, as you pressed a gentle kiss to the line of his jaw. “Some nights, you return as a ghost.”

Aegon chuckled low, though the sound held no real warmth. His lips quirked into a sardonic smile as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps I am a ghost,” he whispered against your skin, voice a breath away from dangerous. “Wraiths, after all, belong to the night.”

You tried to retort, but he silenced you with a kiss, his mouth claiming yours in a way that left no room for resistance. It was an unspoken reminder that, no matter how tender these stolen moments seemed, he was still a Targaryen—born of fire, tempered in blood. His tongue slid past your lips, tasting of smoke and something bitter, a flavor that lingered long after the kiss broke.

But he wasn’t done with you, not yet.

Before you could recover, he rolled his hips forward, a deliberate grind that sent a shiver through your body. His smirk deepened at the sound of your sharp intake of breath. "You like playing these games, don’t you?" he whispered, voice laced with both amusement and warning. His hands moved down your sides, calloused fingers gripping your hips with bruising intensity, guiding you into a slow, torturous rhythm.

"Your games bore me, Aegon," you teased, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "I’m only here to remind you of what you leave behind when you disappear into the dark."

"Then remind me," he growled, teeth grazing the delicate skin of your throat as he left marks that would stain your skin for days—signs of possession, reminders of the dragon’s claim. His lips, once soft, now pressed against your neck with a brutal tenderness, as though he was both worshipping and devouring you. You felt his hunger in the way he kissed you, in the desperate grip he had on your waist, the insistent way his hips bucked beneath yours.

You couldn’t help but think, in that moment, how dangerous he was—how dangerous it was to love a man like him. Aegon Targaryen was the embodiment of something raw, something unbreakable, as though the fire that lived within him would one day consume everything in its path. Yet, despite that danger—or perhaps because of it—you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him.

But as he pushed you down onto your back, his fingers slipping beneath the thin fabric of your undergarments, spreading your slickness with a low, predatory groan, you realized that you never had a choice. You were bound to him as surely as he was to the throne, to the dragons, to the legacy of his family. His fingers thrust into you with deliberate intent, preparing you for something that you knew would leave you breathless.

As he worked you with the same ruthless precision that he ruled, you clung to him, drowning in the intensity of his presence. And as your world collapsed into the feel of his body over yours, you understood just how inescapable he was—Aegon Targaryen, the dragon king who held you in the grip of his fire, claiming you over and over again.

What you could not know, as you lay beneath him, lost in the tempest of his touch, was that his mind was already elsewhere. In the dead of night, Aegon had searched for something—a ring, a crown of his own making. Soon, he would offer it to you, asking you to be his queen, to stand beside him in the darkness of the throne.

And you would belong to him, just as he belonged to the fire.

[transalphabf]

1000th Post - My Prince

Your kingdom had been at battle for ten years now, starting when you were but a child, you didn't know why or how it started, but the war with the neighbouring kingdom had been long and bloody. The enemy had cut swathes of land apart until they were finally at your door.

A general entered the throne room, where you stood as the last member of the royal family left in the kingdom. Your mother had fled to her home nation, your father cut down in battle, sisters had gone with marriages elsewhere or with your mother.

You, the crown prince, remained. You held your head high as you were surrounded by the filthy animals that had taken your land.

These wolf warriors, as they were known in their own kingdom, with their foul Lupine Lord were not justified in what they did, in battling your people over false claims.

You snarled and snapped when they came too close, but otherwise didn't move. You were their captive already, they had no right to touch you.

Then, their King entered. They all fell onto one knee as he swept into the room.

His dark eyes drank you in, and he approached you without fear, markings along his face indicative of his fur markings when he transformed. It was an unsightly thought, that a man could shift his skin into that of an animal's.

He showed no fear as he drew close to you, taking hold of your face in one of his large, calloused hands. You thrashed and tried to hit him, but he took hold of your hand when you tried to strike him.

"You will be my bride, and we will end this war now. No more blood need be shed because your people are pelt hunters." He commanded. You felt your blood drain from your face. Forced marriage? Yes, it would save your people, but you didn't want to be his bed warmer...

He growled lowly, and you felt yourself whine in response, his hand tightening around your throat.

"We will be married now, in the way of my people, meaning you'll be bound to me. We will have a public ceremony later." He instructed, and the warriors and generals around you whistled and hooted in their lewd, filthy joy as their king pushed you towards the throne, your father's throne, the throne that would have been yours.

They'd all watch as he took your virginity right there. You kicked as he tugged at your trousers, exposing your cunt to the cool air of the room.

The watchers howled with excitement. The king grinned wolfishly, not having known you were able to bear his children. He wouldn't even need to make the effort to prep you. You thrashed in his grip as he gripped your hair and bent you over the arm of the throne, your hands gripping at the other arm to prevent your face being smashed against the wood as he began to rub at your cocklet, the sensation of pleasure making you gasp and arch up instinctively, not expecting such a feeling to be caused by someone else. It felt different to when you rubbed yourself in the darkest hours of the night.

He then brushed something large and hot against your thigh, smearing wetness against you as you began to fight again.

Then, his thick, hot cockhead pressed into your untouched cunt, sheathing every last inch into you without waiting for your body to adjust to the invasion. You cried out as the tip kissed something deep inside of you, and as the king began to move inside of you, leaning down to huff against your throat.

"You're so fucking tight, my prince. You're going to bear me a whole litter of pups, and you're going to love it. I can tell already, your cunt is so desperate that you're dripping with need already." He taunted, before humping into you roughly, the soldiers jeering, some of them rubbing their cocks as they watched you.

The sounds being forced out of your slutty body embarrassed you, because you sounded so desperate for the way the king was using you. He was pressing against everything inside of you, and your traitorous body was loving it. You could feel something building inside of you as he continued drilling you.

Something began to swell at the base of his cock when it pressed into your cunt. Your eyes went wide as you realised the rumours that their cocks were wolfish... were entirely true. And you were going to hang off of his knot like a common bitch.

You began to fight again, trying to break free, which just made him moan and growl against you, and his cock throb and feel bigger as he pounded you harder.

"That's it, fight back, makes you go so tight on my cock." He taunted, before something inside of you gave way, and your whole body tightened up as you came on his thick, invading cock, which in turn caused his knot to be pressed deep inside of you and swell up, locking his cock inside of you, the tip pressed against something deep within - your cervix - as he began to pump you full of his thick, hot cum, spurt after spurt of his potent seed ensuring that you'd bear his heirs.

The kingdom was taken.

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(remove the spaces)

[bloatedandalone04]

Love Like Ours

➪the one where you and jj sneak off during a keg party for some alone time.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, making out, alcohol consumption, groping, pda, indications of smut, hi i finished season one in a single day and couldn’t help myself, mwah

Word Count: 1.5k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ THANK YOU FOR 4.5k FOLLOWERS

Agreeing to have a kegger at the beach was not something you wanted to do, especially after you found out that JJ had taken the gun from that dingy, sketchy motel room. But now that darkness had taken over and left the beach drowning in shadows and the moonlight, and now that you had consumed a fair amount of beer and booze, you were very happy you ended up going instead of staying at home by yourself.

JJ, your oh so poise boyfriend of two years, was by your side, a red cup in his hand and his arm thrown over your shoulders. The beer in the cup was spilling onto you, but you were far too gone to care at this point, and you only laughed as the amber liquid rolled down your arm and got absorbed by your shirt.  

His signature red hat was placed on your head instead of his own in a not so subtle claim of territory over you, because in JJ’s eyes you were far too good for him and completely out of his league, but you���d never catch him admitting to that out loud. 

It was dark, but you were still able to see the pink blush that formed on JJ’s neck and face at the amount of beer he’s consumed since the party started. “We should have a fire,” you suggest in a dreary tone and JJ’s eyes widened as if it was the best idea he’s heard all night. 

“We should totally have a fire,” he agreed and finished off the drink before tossing the cup aside. “How do we make a fire?” He couldn’t finish the question without laughing, and you join in as you cling onto his muscle tee to steady yourself.

“I don’t know,” you answer and look around the sand. “Sticks. We need sticks.”

You step away from JJ in order to begin your quest of finding something to start a fire with, and he watched with hooded eyes as you stumbled along the sand, a small and content smile on his lips. “Hey, JJ,” John B greeted as he slung his arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “What is our girl doing, man?”

“Our girl?” JJ scoffed just as you made your way back to him and threw your body against his, draping your arms around his neck as you connected your lips in a kiss. He kissed you back, stepping away from John B until his arm fell back to his side. “Think you mean my girl.” He mumbled once he pulled away and you grinned up at him, pressing multiple kisses to his cheek. 

“Glad the two of you don’t give a shit about the no Pogue on Pogue macking rule, huh?” John B laughed and drank from his own red cup. 

“Nah,” JJ confirmed, wrapping his arm around your middle. “Think we stopped caring about that rule a long time ago, right, baby?”

You nod and tug him away from your friend. “So long ago,” you agree and turn away from him but keep your hand firmly bunched up in his shirt. “Sticks, JJ, we need to go find sticks.”

John B furrowed his brows and laughed as he watched you and JJ drunkenly stumble towards the darkest part of the beach. “Yes, sticks,” JJ replied and wrapped his arms around you from behind. Before you could wander off again, he pulled you back against his chest, making you release a surprised laugh. “I don’t want to have a fire right now, babe, I want to get you alone.”

You blush and lean back against him. “We kinda already are alone,” you point out, but you still had to raise your voice over the music and loud chatter around you. 

“More alone,” he reiterated and leaned down to press a kiss to the side of your neck. He pulls away and grabs your hand, guiding you towards the path that leads up to the docks. “Come on. Come with me.”

You laugh and allow him to tug you along with him back up the dirt path you came down a few hours ago. “Where are we going?” 

“Away from all the noise,” he answered and threw his head back with a loud groan. “God, is there usually all this noise?”

You laugh again and stop, pulling your hand from his just to grab hold of both sides of his face and press a deep kiss to his mouth. Any other complaints die on his tongue as he kisses you back, his hands reaching up to tangle in your hair that was messy from the late night breeze off the water. 

The noise was fainter now, but you could still somewhat hear the conversations of both the Pogues and Kooks, informing you that you weren’t quite isolated from the party yet. 

You run the tip of your tongue along JJ’s bottom lip when he tries to deepen the kiss, then pull away with a teasing smirk. “I thought you wanted to get me alone,”  

JJ matches your smirk and leans down to kiss the skin below your ear, and the quiet moan you let out had him laughing to himself. “Sorry, I got distracted,” he says and tangles his fingers with yours again. “Let’s get out of here.”

You follow him back up the path and along the boat docks until you reach one that very clearly belongs to one of the Kooks. It was massive and put all the boats you’ve been on to shame, so when JJ dared to step onto it with a questioning look in his eyes, you were powerless to stop yourself from going after him. 

He holds his hand out to you and you jump from the dock and onto the boat with a small squeal, and then you are back in your boyfriend’s arms as he connects your lips again in another deep kiss. 

You laugh into the kiss and run your hands up his sides under his shirt. “Whose boat is this?” You ask in between rushed kisses, and JJ pulls away to glance around the abandoned and dark boat. 

“I have no idea,” he replied and kissed you again, making you grin against his lips. His hands slid up from their place on your hips and began squeezing at your chest, and the air was quickly getting hotter and hotter. Your own hands move to grip at his biceps, and his sleeveless shirt gave you perfect access to them. They flex under your touch and you moan at the feeling as JJ backs you up against the wall of the boat. “I want you.”

You break away and tilt your head back against the wall as he begins placing open mouth kisses to your neck. “Here?” You breathlessly ask and softly dig your nails into his skin. 

“Why not?” He questioned, reaching behind you to slip his hands in the back pockets of your shorts. “How hot would it be to fuck on some random persons boat? Only we’d know what happened on it whenever we pass by this thing in the water.”

The invitation was definitely tempting, and you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want him, too. The idea of fucking against the wall of a Kook’s fancy yacht had you growing more and more needy for him, and you could feel him pressing against you in his shorts as he also grew needy for you.

You turn your head and can faintly see the outlines of the party goers further down the beach, and the semi public setting of this little makeout session had you moaning rather loudly. 

Turning back to him, you kiss him and brush your tongue against his, tangling your hands in his blond hair and tugging on it. “Think John B was feeling a little left out back there,” you change the topic as JJ unzipped your shorts. “Almost made me feel bad that he’s alone now.”

“Don’t,” JJ practically begged, giving up on his mission of ridding you of your shorts in order to pick you up and hold you against the wall. “Please, do not make us go back there. John B’s fine, I promise. He just wishes he has what we have, but this is just for us.”

You bite down on your lip and tightly wrap your legs around his waist. His words were sweet, and this was a side of JJ that only you got to see, and on the rare occasion. “We’re pretty good together, huh?” 

JJ groans and pulls away from your collar bone to look you in the eye. “We’re amazing together,” he corrected and you grip his shoulders to hike yourself up a bit higher, his hat falling off your head in the process. 

“He’ll be fine,” you state and pull at JJ’s hair. 

He closes his eyes at the tug and confirms your words, “He’ll be fine,” 

You smile and kiss him for the hundredth time today. “Now, what were you saying before? Something about only us knowing what happened on this Kook’s boat?”

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Beyond Hope

Author's Note: I'm in denial.

WARNING: SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

Pairing: Adar x reader

______________________________________________________________

The moment you see him, you forget everything else. The stillness of Valinor, the golden light that wraps around the edges of the horizon, the gentle whisper of the sea—they all fade into nothing as you run toward him.

“Aruvian,” you whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He stands, the familiar, angular face that has haunted your dreams now softened by the weight of death, but the sight of him—alive, whole, no longer burdened—makes your heart race. You see it in his eyes, too, the disbelief, the raw ache of too many lifetimes apart, and the quiet realization that you are here, in front of him, after all this time.

He startles at the sound of his old name, the one he left behind millennia ago- left you behind.

His children—the ache of their betrayal and despair at their fall to Sauron—seem distant now, muted. The scars of battle, of the millennia he spent fighting in vain, have faded. Only peace remains here.

You hesitate, for just a moment, wondering if he will blame you for leaving him in his darkest hours, not that you had much of a choice. You stop a few steps away, running your eyes over his form again and again. Tracing his features and scars-some new and some you know the very texture of.

Adar- your Aruvian, takes a step back, fear flickering across his face and for a moment, terror grips your heart that he does not remember you. You bow your head in acceptance of his hesitation, but then strong arms are around you, pulling you into him with a force that feels like the world itself is righting all the wrongs it has ever known.

“It is truly you,” he breathes into your hair, his voice cracking. “I never thought...”

“You’re free,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, letting the warmth of him melt away the fear that he might reject this, reject you. “The Valar have granted you peace. For what you tried to do—for them.”

He pulls back, looking at you, a question in his eyes. “For my children?”

You nod, tears in your eyes. “Your efforts, your desire to give them something better, to find them peace... it granted you clemency. You were not forgotten.”

A flicker of sorrow crosses his face—old pain, wounds that cannot be erased, even in this place. But then, slowly, his lips curve into a smile, and it is as if the very light of Valinor burns brighter, casting golden rays over everything.

“I was never certain I could be forgiven,” he says, voice rough. “I was ready for oblivion, for anything but this.”

“You’ve earned it,” you reply softly, touching his cheek. “And you’ve earned us.”

He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, the weight of eternity does not feel heavy. It feels like home.

“I waited,” you say, voice trembling. “So long, I waited.”

“I know,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “And I searched for you in every shadow, in every moment of despair. But you were here. All along.”

There are no more words. Only the sensation of him, whole and real in your arms once again.

The air between you hums with unspoken words, the ache of centuries, the longing that held you both through lifetimes apart. Again, his forehead rests against yours, and for the first time in so long, the ache begins to ease.

His lips hover near yours, breath mingling, and he catches your eye- almost asking permission. You smile up at him and gently grab his wrists were they frame your face. When his lips finally meet yours, it is soft at first—tentative, as if he still cannot believe this moment is real. But then it deepens, and the gentle hesitation gives way to a flood of emotions, overwhelming and fierce.

Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss is a reunion of souls, a desperate claim on the love that has been denied for too long. He kisses you like a man who has wandered through endless darkness and finally found his way back to the light.

There is no more space between you, no more doubt. The warmth of him wraps around you, grounding you, reminding you that you are here—together, after everything. His hands hold you like you are precious, like the very idea of losing you again is unbearable.

When the kiss breaks, you’re both breathless, foreheads still resting together, hearts pounding in sync. He pulls back just enough to look at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw.

“Gi melon,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion, and you know it’s true. You’ve found your way back to each other, and nothing will ever separate you again.

He leads you down a quiet path where the soft hum of life continues, the breeze gentle, fragrant with flowers that never fade.

Finally, you are home.

[nobodysdaydreams]

I already know the Wizard is probably gonna be so scared of Dorothy for so many reasons.

First of all, she’s from our world and from the same region of the US, so she knows exactly where he’s from and the technology he’s using to fake his magic. In fact, if time in Oz and Kansas/Nebraska are moving at the same rate, Dorothy should be from a time period ahead of when the Wizard came to Oz and should be able to easily explain most of his “magic”.

Second of all, the Grimmerie’s prophecy is that it will be read by someone from the sky in Oz’s darkest hour. Obviously, that’s Elphaba counteracting the Wizard, but the Wizard has everyone convinced it was him fixing things after the drought. But now, Oz is under “threat” of the witch and a young girl from his world shows up, kills the sister of the Wizard’s enemy, and has a dog with her, possibly a talking one. Everyone thinks Dorothy is super powerful, she fits exactly what the Grimmerie predicted, and she has everything she needs to expose the Wizard. He’d be terrified.

This is how I picture it going down:

Some guard: “The girl is quite powerful, sir. She came from the sky and immediately killed the Wicked Witch of the East. She claims it was easy, unintentional even!”

The Wizard (to himself): “Nothing to worry about. That was technically Morrible’s doing, the fact that she came from the sky is coincidental. I’m certain she has no real power.”

The guard: “She also acquired the dead witch’s shoes and when the Wicked Witch of the West showed up to take them, it was discovered the witch had no power over the girl.”

The Wizard (trying not to freak out): “You mean…Elphaba was powerless to stop this new witch-killing visitor from the sky? One that killed her sister and stole her property? You don’t say. And um… did the girl happen to say where she was from?”

The guard: “Yes. Kansas. She claims it’s a place without magic or talking animals.”

The Wizard (slowly becoming paranoid and trying to play it off): “Oh really? Haha… how silly. Never heard of a place called Kansas or anywhere without magic seeing as I’m clearly a powerful Wizard. And um… where is this girl now?”

The guard: “Why, she’s on the way to the Emerald City right now along with two animals, a least one of which can talk, and two men cursed by the Witch of the West. Apparently, they want to see you, specifically.”

The Wizard (sweating): “They want to see ME? I mean um…who wouldn’t? Haha… but whatever for?”

The guard: “Well, they’re demanding you fix the condition of the two men the witch cursed, give the girl passage home, and help the talking lion overcome his trauma. Seeing as they are celebrated throughout Oz for killing one wicked witch for us, surely it is appropriate and well within your power to grant their requests immediately.”

The Wizard (slipping into madness and frantically trying to hide it): “Indeed it is I am a generous man yes, and I can totally do that for sure, yes of course, I have the power, but first, let’s take them all prisoner upon arrival just in case can never be too careful these days.”

The guard: “Sir… are you saying you want us to…”

The Wizard (shouting and trembling in fear): “Throw that little girl in prison, put those Animals in cages, and keep the two the witch cursed out of my sight! Tell them I’m busy! Tell them I have the flu! Tell them I’m out of town! Any excuse, I don’t care what it is, and whatever you do, DO NOT let that girl escape!”

By this point, the Wizard is paranoid out of his mind, assuming they are on the way to kill and/or expose him and given the company Dorothy keeps, it’s unlikely the Wizard will be very successful in getting her on his side. His goal would likely be to cage the Animals, find a way to deal with Boq and Fiyero (if he even recognizes them), and capture Dorothy as a potential enemy.

Maybe Elphaba writing “Surrender Dorothy” in the sky with her broom in this version of the story isn’t asking Dorothy herself to surrender, but demanding the Wizard to give Dorothy up because he takes her prisoner out of fear that she will expose him and the Wizard lets her go on the condition that she proves her loyalty by killing the Witch. The Wizard probably figures it’s a win/win for him: either Elphaba or Dorothy will die, and one of his enemies will destroy the other. What he wouldn’t expect is them working together, because as far as he knows, Dorothy has stolen the witch’s sister’s shoes and befriended two men cursed by the witch.

[hanasnx]

code mistake

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: sexual content | mild gunplay | sexual harassment | flirting | enemies to lovers

“Now, where do you think you’re goin’?” The deep, digitally edged voice of the ARKHAM KNIGHT miraculously cuts through the ringing in your ears. The bullet hole dug into the concrete above your head smokes, and you breathe in its fumes, your hands over your head in a defensive pose. His warning shot. Laying on your stomach, you’d attempted to crawl away, and at the sound of his heavy boots sauntering after you, you’re secure enough to lift your head. You check his location, and he’s right on top of you.

“Wait!” you plea, raising a hand to him only for his glove to clamp around your wrist. Your socket aches as he yanks on your arm, lifting you in a swift motion to cup his forearm under your thighs and sling you over his shoulder. Your stomach makes contact with it, the air in your lungs huffing out with a groan as he straightens to his dizzying full height. “Let- me- go!” The fear of his gun had worn off, now carrying you to a car he’d called for back-up while you thrash in his grip.

“Easy there, little miss.” His one arm strapped around your legs by the inside of your knees, keeps you secure as he jostles you, making you emit another yelp from his shoulder digging into your diaphragm. “Wouldn’t want another accident, would we?” Your hands brace against his lower back, picking yourself up to observe your surroundings. The wreckage of the militant car you’d crashed lies waiting for Batman to inspect it. Surely you made sure the driver crashed for good reason, and you’d rolled out at the last second. Unscathed save for a few bruises and scrapes. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take good care of you. Until I don’t need you anymore.”

You bend your spine to glare at the back of his helmet. “He’s gonna find you.” you claim defiantly, pressing your lips into a thin line as he approaches the new car.

“Yeah? Let him. That’s what you’re for.” A queasiness sets in the pit of your stomach. The combination of adrenaline, your unfortunate circumstances, and the fact you’re leading Batman right to this enemy. “You got quiet there, sweetheart. You shocked?” his proud remark is met with your rally, sharply inhaling through your nose and opening your mouth to bite back when you’re interrupted. You squeak as you’re thrown into the backseat, your ass hitting the cushion and bouncing to a stop as he climbs in after you. There was no time to let you adjust before he invited himself in, his knee resting on the outside of your leg with the sole of his shoe planted firmly on the floor of the car. You see how he gently sways in his standing position as the vehicle departs, and your mouth dries from his compromising straddle. It’s disgustingly intimate. “If I didn’t know any better, babygirl, I’d say you’re enjoying this.” An indignant expression takes over your countenance, scrambling until your back hits the opposite door. He chuckles, sitting down where your legs once were on the seat. Leisurely, he rests his wrist on his propped up knee, keeping his gun handy. It taps and your breathing intensifies.

So as to not make any sudden moves, you’re tentative in your action to sit forward, and you keep your eye on him from the side. “Where are you taking me?” you question, failing to entirely conceal the quiver in your voice. He and his militia had plucked you from the Clock Tower, having been aiding the Bat in his endeavor to take back Gotham in its darkest hour.

The Arkham Knight shifts in his seat, and you hear a jingle. “Oh. Almost forgot.” There’s a tone of amusement in his phrase as he invades your space again; instinctively you shy away, but he snatches your wrist, raising your arm and cuffing you to the handle on the roof. “Can’t have you trying to get away again.” You wish you could stop hearing the grating technical noise of his mask when he talks, whatever he uses to veil his true auditory signature from any voice recognition. When you face him, you’re taken aback by how much closer he is to you. The eyes of his helmet remain on you as you press yourself to the window. Harshly, his hand comes to pinch your jaw between his fingers and his thumb, and your brows knit together as he examines you, adjusting you side-to-side. “What’s so special about you, huh?”

You yank out of his hold, incredulous over his question. “What are you talking about?”

“The Bat. He’s coming after you. Shouldn’t matter to me why, but it does. He got a little thing for you?” The knuckle of his index finger brushes up your thigh flirtatiously, and you jerk it away.

“No.” you answer.

“You sure?” A lilt of surprise to his tone has you bewildered, eyeing him up as he hums. “That’s lucky.”

The crease in your brows deepen as a curl of disgust tugs at your upper lip. “Is it?”

His arm stretches up, revealing the view of his gun in his other hand, reminding you of its ever-weighing presence. Suddenly your boldness is once again depleting, you don’t notice until it’s settled that his arm now rests behind your head on the back of the vehicle seat, curling around you, tucking you into the space in his side. “Sure. You know, there’s not much to do up at the safehouse. We could…” as he trails, the end of his weapon seeks you out, and your heartbeat quickens at the sight of a gun tracing down your chest. “have a little fun of our own while the Bat catches up to us,” Its tip hesitates at the neckline of your shirt, and you exhale deeply, caving in your chest with a gulp. The gun catches on the hem, tugging it down enough to show him your cleavage. “how’s that sound?”

[herfinestblog]

JEALOUS GIRL !

SYNOPSIS. Casual flings are supposed to consist of boundaries and no strings attached but what happens when feelings get in the way?

FEATURING. gojo x fem! reader

VIEWERS DISCRETION. fwb, unprotected sex, pet names: gorgeous and sweetheart , fuck buddies to lovers, missionary, mentions of jealousy, size difference , toru and reader are both in their 20s, sensual sex .

“Were you jealous, sweetheart? Seeing me with another woman other than you?”

You? jealous? never. You could never be jealous of seeing another woman with satoru gojo. It’s not like the two of you were together anyways. He was only the man who fucked you dumb whenever you called him over in the middle of the night. Did you like the monster that rest between his legs? maybe. did you like him? of course not. . . right?

Maybe you did tend to grow a little vex when he flirted with other women and having them flack around him like he was some type of eye candy. You weren’t to fond of sharing him with other women. But you couldn’t blame them. Satoru had the charm and the looks that could let him woo any woman he wanted— including you. Maybe your feelings did start to grow. You knew Satoru wasn’t one to necessarily stick to one woman and settle down. or so you thought.

Just a mere friends with benefits. There was no surprise forming a friends with benefits with the blue eyed playboy, Satoru Gojo. The first time he did fuck you was when you were both drunk at a party, sucking away at each other's faces which lead you both with your clothes scattered on the floor and in the same bed. The way Satoru made your body feel that night wasn't something to forget.

“mhm. I could never be jealous. .” You moaned lying straight through your teeth. his cock stretching you out as your back arched. Satoru grabs your leg hooking his hand underneath the curve of your knee. “Never? Tsk, liar.” Satoru chuckled rolling his hips and somehow pushing himself deeper into you. “Fuck. The way ya clenching around me says otherwise,” he mumbled as you squeezed around him.

“S-shut up.”

Satoru left wet kisses up your chest and that spot on your neck that made you weak. Satoru slaps his heavy cock over your wet cunt before aligning himself with hole. You moaned when his cock slowly split you open. He’s so big. You can never get over the stretch of his cock, no matter how many times you and Satoru have sex.

“Tell me, gorgeous, You want me all to yourself yeah?” He lifted one of your legs placing it over his shoulder. The angel allowed him to dig deeper. His cock hit that spot inside you that made your toes curl and eyes become glossy. With each stroke, he fills you clenching around him. You were too busy moaning to hear what he was saying.

"Answer me." He whispered in your ear kissing your cheek. His thumb harshly rubbing at your clit made your legs tremble. Was it selfish to want Satoru all to yourself? You weren’t his and the same as him to you. You both are single individuals that can freely sleep with anyone you want to. But you didn’t want anybody else. You only let Satoru touch you and claim your pussy at the darkest hours of the night as he pleased. You surely don’t just want to be fuck buddies with him.

He knew his way around your body. Maybe it was the way he fucked you. he would fuck you dumb on his cock filling you to the brim with his cum. Other times he fucked you slowly like he didn’t want to break you. Or maybe when he would whisper sweet nothings in your ear and holds your hand as you cum together.

Even the little things he did, made you shamefully wet. When he would rub his colossal hand on your thigh while you’re rambling to him about your shitty job or when he's making.

“Yes. I want you ‘toru!” Your heart pounds rapidly in your chest after making your confession. Your skin collided together as he thrust into you. somehow going even deeper, the feeling almost has your eyes rolling back. Satoru lets out breathy moans every time you clench around him. Storu was someone you didn't know you needed until you found yourself craving for him.

“I know you do.” He said letting out a breathy chuckle and a smile forming on his lips.

Cocky bastard. The buff man put his weight onto you as you squirmed. your bottom lip poking out as you whined. Satoru lips brushed against yours before smashing his lips onto yours kissing you sloppily. Moaning into his mouth. He knew just how to make you weak. “mm fuck. I love you, gorgeous. Love having you as my good girl.” Satoru liked have a pretty girl like you in his arms.

“You love me?” you mumbled against his lips struggling to kiss him back. he just knew how to make you weak. the lewd squelching your pussy makes as he drills his cock into you has your eyes rolling back. “ ‘course I do.” He watches your lack of ability to look him in the eye while he fucked you. babbling about how good he’s fucking you. "S-Shit. I'm close ‘toru."

"Hold it for a little longer, baby." He’s so sensitive. he continues to thrust into you. His thrusts become more forceful, each one sending you both closer to your orgasm. he’s hitting your cervix making you cry for him. He’s watching the faces you’re making as you whimper underneath him. Satoru could never get enough of you. he’s addicted to you.

“Toru I can’t hold it much longer.” He’s moaning with you as you gush all over his cock. “It’s alright, baby. Let it all out.” Soon shooting spurts of his thick cum inside you before falling on top of you. Storu nearly collapses onto you, panting heavily. He stayed inside you a little longer catching his breath before you whine when you feel him twitching inside you. He pulls out, his cum flowing onto the sheets.

[weaveandwood]

Stay

Smutty one-shot based on a prompt from this list. Will tell the prompt at the end!

Pairing: Gale x Female Tav Words: 2.2K Summary: After spending the previous night confessing feelings and spending the night entwined in the stars, Gale and Tav enjoy the evening together at camp. warnings: vaginal sex

Tav lounged against a plush pile of pillows with a book in her lap and held out her cup for a refill as Gale popped the cork on a second bottle of wine for the evening, a reward for making through another tough day in the Shadow Cursed Lands. Retreating to Gale’s tent in the late hours of the evening when everyone went back to their own tents, spending the hours drinking wine and reading, talking, or flirting (though neither would openly admit to the flirting) had become their habit as of late. At a certain point, Tav would remark on the time and how they had another long day ahead of them before heading back to her tent to spend the darkest hours of the night alone, her hand traveling down her own body and imagining it was Gale’s as she brought herself her own pleasure. 

After last night, though…would a night spent confessing love and being entwined in the stars change anything? 

Laughter turned into gentle teasing about the way he always pointed his finger up when he thought he had someone backed into a logical corner, the way she snorted when she really laughed, the way he spent more time looking for discarded books in locations than looking for gold or food or actual items of use. 

“Well, if I didn’t look for books, we wouldn’t have nearly the ample reading material we do now for our evenings together would we? Then you wouldn’t have any reason to come into my tent each night,” he took a sip of wine. “And I would be dreadfully sorry for that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and took a long drink from her cup, finishing it. “Fine, fine, you have me there, I can’t argue with that. I do enjoy our evenings,” she smiled, feeling a heat crawl up her neck to her cheeks as she returned her focus to her book. Or attempted to, at least - she could think of a litany of reasons to come into his tent at night, several of them coursing through her mind at that very moment. With that, she knew the hour was getting late. The wine was starting to go to her head and her cheeks were flushing much easier than they ever would in daylight. She should start to make her way back to her tent. 

Engrossed in a passage, she heard a rustling of fabric and felt a comforting presence next to her. “Get lonely over there?” she smiled, still looking at the book. 

He leaned across her to refill her cup again, the second bottle of wine now empty  “It looked like you needed a refill, but you were so lost in words I wouldn’t have dreamed of interrupting you,” he said softly. His mouth was so close to her ear, she could feel his warm breath on her neck. The tent suddenly felt like they were back at the Grymforge, impossibly hot. 

“Hmm, perhaps, but it’s getting so late. Maybe I should go,” she whispered, starting to slowly close her book - not really wanting to leave, but not wanting to assume anything. 

“Surely you don't want to go to your tent?” He asked, pressing his lips gently to her neck. She closed her eyes, feeling the flush in her cheeks redden. Gods, that felt good. 

“Where else would I go?” she asked, tilting her head slightly and granting him more access to the sensitive skin she wanted him to lay claim to with his mouth.

He continued kissing her neck, up to her earlobe. “You could stay,” he whispered before placing his hand under her chin, turning her to face him. He looked at her through half-lidded eyes, his gaze trailing from her lips to her own eyes, then back again. He took the book from her lap and gently placed it behind him. There would be no more reading tonight. 

“I could stay,” she whispered back. 

He crashed his lips against hers, the first time they had kissed again since their confessions to each other the night before. Words of love and a chaste kiss followed by a wondrous vision of Waterdeep, then limbs tangling as they bonded in the Weave, it’s gentle strands wrapping around them and becoming one with them as she experienced a feeling she wasn’t quite sure she’d ever experience again - something more than pleasure, more than peace.

Still, as she parted her lips for him and felt their tongues sliding together, she couldn’t help but feel like this was better somehow. 

She turned her body toward his and brought her hand up, wrapping it around the back of his neck to pull him closer and kiss him deeply. Warmth consumed her as they pressed together, breaths growing heavier as hands explored the other’s body. He tasted heavenly, she wanted to drink him in. He broke the kiss and went back to her neck, removing any reservations she may have had once he lightly sucked on a spot that sent a jolt throughout the entirety of her body. Heat started to pool in her abdomen - she already felt as if she was on fire just from a kiss. 

“Gale,” she whispered, her body molten as he moved his hands from her thighs to her waist, slipping under the hem of her shirt. 

“Tav,” he whispered back against her skin as his fingertips brushed over her stomach before dancing a light path up to her small breasts. He moaned against her neck as he felt the bare skin, her nipples starting to harden under his delicate touch.

She reached for him, her fingers fumbling with the ties on his wrap top - first the outside, then the inside fastening, slowly revealing more of his beautiful skin that he was so reluctant to show on a normal day. She pressed her lips to his neck, hearing his soft exhale as she did. She followed the path of the orb, placing gentle kisses on his collarbone, the center of the orb itself. It didn’t frighten her, not anymore - it was a part of him that they would overcome, just as they overcame everything that had been thrown at them so far. 

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders before reaching for hers, pulling the thin fabric over her head and tossing it across the tent. Her eyes trailed over his chest, feasting on him. Gods, his body was unreal - she never would have guessed that was how he looked under his layers of clothing. The projections from the night before implied it, but seeing him before her, in person - she could not have imagined how perfect he was as she followed the line of dark hair from his chest down, down, down, until she could see how much he desired her, his hardness showing under his thin linen pants. What really got her was the way he was looking at her, like a starved man being shown his first meal. Ravenous. 

He placed his hands on both sides of her face and kissed her again, harder and hungrier than before. As if he wanted to devour her - she would let him, gladly. She reached between them, feeling him twitch through his pants as her fingertips brushed against it. He groaned into her mouth before breaking the kiss, panting. 

“I want you, Tav.” 

“I’m yours to have.” 

Both of them made quick work of removing the rest of their clothing, now discarded in a wrinkled pile across the tent with Tav’s shirt. Tav felt his hands immediately move to her hips, his soft lips on her shoulder. 

“You are so beautiful. I want to spend every hour of the day tracing each freckle with my lips,” he said in between small, lingering kisses as he did just that. 

“Gale, we would be here for three days if you did that,” she laughed before moving her hand down his chest, then his stomach, finally wrapping around him and feeling the soft velvet of his skin for the first time. The fire inside her burned hotter as she started to stroke him. 

“I see no problem with that,” he moaned as the breath caught in his throat as her hands moved up and down the length of him. “Gods, that feels so good, Tav.” 

She hummed as she felt him get even harder in her hand. She needed him inside her. Now. 

Placing a hand on his chest, she pushed him from his kneeling position to lounge back against the pillows where they had started their evening. She climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. Normally she would want to take her time with him, but the wine was making her bold and impatient.

“I want you. The real Gale - the one here in front of me right now. Let me show you the stars in my own way,” she said as she wrapped her hand around him, hard and ready for her, guiding him to her entrance. He started to close his eyes as the heat and slick wetness from her body made contact with his.

“No, look at me,” she whispered, looking into his warm brown eyes as she slowly lowered herself onto him agonizingly slowly. She groaned as she felt herself give around him, taking him fully inside her. How could he have a preference for astral pleasure over this? This felt so perfect. She would see to it his mind was forever changed.

Gale moaned, his fingertips digging into the skin of her waist as she started to rock her hips back and forth, slowly at first, then picking up speed as they got used to each other’s bodies for the first time. She leaned back, placing her hands on his thighs behind her. His eyes moved from her face down to where they were joined, now on full display. His eyes darkened with lust as he watched her - watched her ride him, watched her arch her back, watched her grab her own breast and bite her lip as she called out his name. He couldn’t help himself as he tensed his thighs and started matching her movements with thrusts of his own. She leaned down to kiss him and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to his body as he thrust harder, faster up into her. 

“Yes…yes…” she panted. “More…please, Gale, I need more.” She had been with others before this, but gods this was on another plane. Weeks of attraction, tension, flirting - it all led to this. She had never felt this good. Her body was buzzing with electricity and he was lightning ready to strike. “Take me Gale, make me yours.” 

He groaned at those words and in one smooth movement, she found herself on her back, Gale between her spread legs. “I want to take my time and devour your sweetness, but since you asked so nicely…” he said, trailing off as he entered her with a quick thrust that made her cry out in pleasure at the sudden feeling of fullness as he pressed fully into her. He pulled out completely before thrusting back into her, the hard movements making her whole body jolt as she arched against the pillows. He hooked his arms under her knees, lifting her legs to his shoulders to let him go even deeper, each hard thrust punctuated with a snap of his hips as he buried himself within her. He moved his hand between her legs to trace soft circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Her body jerked. The sensation of him moving in and out of her roughly, the sound of their bodies hitting together, his light touches between her legs, the heat in the tent making them both slick with a thin layer of sweat…it was too much. She was ruined for anyone else now - no one would ever be able to make her feel the way he did. A tightness began to form deep in her abdomen. She reached out to grab his thighs, her nails digging into his skin. She could sense he was as close as she was, his thrusts getting faster, less controlled the more she tightened around him.

“Gale I -“

“Tav -” 

They both cried out loudly as they each reached their own climax, rushing to the peak and toppling over it, pleasure crashing over them in seemingly unending waves as she shattered around him and he filled her with his own release. 

Panting, he pulled out of her, collapsing down onto the pillows beside her. She couldn’t help but smile - he looked more disheveled than she had ever seen him. She turned onto her side, facing him. 

“I love you, Tav,” he said, his face now softened with emotion as he came down from his high.

“I love you, Gale,” she replied, smiling at him. “So, did I make you see the stars?” 

He laughed, “My love, I’m still seeing them, I am absolutely ruined. You are never leaving this tent at night again.”

She nodded. “I could stay.”

Prompt: "You could stay."

[iiseult]

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝒾𝓋𝑒: 𝒢𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈

CWs →  FLUFF, angst, depression, themes of war and death, historical inaccuracies, slow burn, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, eventual smut (once reader and baldwin are both over 18), leprosy, time-period accurate sexism

Wordcount: 3.5k

Note: For those of you who have been waiting for actual fluff for like five chapters, I hope this is satisfactory. The next chapter is probably going to involve smut, so maybe that will give you something else to look forward to! Enjoy!

The following days were the darkest you had ever known. The palace was eerily silent, half of the staff left with nothing to do in the absence of their King. There were no more tears, and no more talking– there was only waiting, agonizing waiting. You could not bring yourself to leave the fortified stone walls of your home, not necessarily for fear of a raid by Saladin’s troops, but more for fear of leaving your post at your window and missing a sign that Baldwin might be returning. Whatever that sign might be– a flag, a cross, a messenger, you didn’t know–  but you would surely know once you saw it. 

For that reason you took all of your meals in your bedchamber, dressed perpetually in a white linen nightgown. Though she had tried and tried, claiming that looking better would also help you to feel better, Matilda could not convince you to get dressed. To you, there was no longer any reason to get dressed and presentable, let alone get out of bed. The only thing that could help you now was seeing your husband living and breathing, in the flesh. So in this way, the days faded dimly into dark nights, and those dark nights into fair-weathered days, whose blissful sunlight and blue skies mocked you and every other citizen of Jerusalem. Still he did not return. You stayed at your window for hours every night, fighting the heaviness of your eyelids and the sag in your shoulders, but inevitably passing into the realm of sleep from pure exhaustion, hunched over the sill with your head resting on your arms. You would wake in that exact same position every morning, accompanied by aches and pains in your muscles. 

One night, there was thunder. You thought bitterly that it would be the perfect weather to reflect your brooding and negative mental state, that it only made sense for there to be a rainstorm, bring it on, but then there was the issue of there not being a single rain cloud in the sky. It was the clear amber sky of an autumn evening just around sunset, annoyingly picturesque, and dappled with only pink and orange stratus clouds. But there was the thunder, a deep, constant rumbling, perhaps growing even louder by the minute. Yes, you were certain now your ears were not playing tricks on you and that it was growing closer and closer, resounding low, and sustaining. In fact, you could feel its very vibrations rattling your teeth in their sockets. A flame of hope ignited in your heart. 

You leapt to your feet and ran to the window, and you saw over the horizon a dark mass approaching. It was as if the raincloud you had ben searching for was on the ground instead, rolling in for the storm. But it was not a raincloud. It was an army. 

The first rider appeared, distinct from the others because he was moving ahead of them. The thunder was the sound of a thousand horses’ hooves hitting the ground. Your heart dropped and your eyes frantically searched for a flag or an emblem, anything that could tell you which army this was. Given the circumstances of the battle, a large, very logical part of you knew it was Saladin and his men. The low chances of Baldwin’s 4,000 poorly trained soldiers beating out Saladin’s 20,000 had been present in your mind all along. However, the tiny part of you that was illogical needed proof, needed confirmation that it was not simply the soldiers of Jerusalem, returning home in glory. 

Now you could see more horses, more soldiers, a score more than you had ever seen at one time before, all charging in your direction, creating a terrific rumbling sound that drowned out all else. Then appearing from over the horizon was the sign you had been searching for; the flaming golden cross of Jerusalem! They had come home! Tears sprang to your eyes as you watched that beautiful God-blessed cross-bearer speed past the stone palace walls and onto the grounds, followed by a steady stream of warriors. You swallowed back tears to avoid your vision clouding over and watched in amazement as that indistinguishable mass of soldiers transformed into a group of individuals, each a man with his own thoughts and feelings and loved ones. Your heart jumped back up into your throat from where it had fallen earlier. Jerusalem was victorious, they had won! But had he survived? 

You tore your eyes away from the window and began to run, throwing open your bedroom door carelessly. As you did, you saw that you were apparently not the only one who had noticed the troops upon their return, and the hallways were abuzz with life. Servants ran about here and there, clamoring to see out the windows and catch a glimpse of the cross that they so loved, so they could see and believe the good news for themselves. Some laughed, and some cried. Matilda was there. You ran by her as you barrelled down the long corridor, heading for the grand staircase. She called after you, but her voice only succeeded in falling in with the muddled cries of all the others, exclaiming as they were. Shouts of jubilation echoed off the impressively high ceilings and carried throughout the space, filling it entirely. It was a beautiful sound. 

You descended the staircase quickly, quickly, dizzy from the spiral shape of it, your legs pumping as best they could. Another pair of footsteps followed in your wake, and Matilda’s calls persisted, but the rushing of blood in your ears overpowered all else. Finally, you rounded the last bend and came out into the downstairs corridor, illuminated by flickering torches mounted in wall sconces. They threw your shadow large and imposing against the flagstones, making it almost seven feet tall, and dancing wildly in the wind you created in your haste. Matilda could not keep up. 

The giant oak doors of the entrance loomed above you, very stately, and so impressive that they usually required multiple boy servants to open them. It was held closed by a series of iron bars, chains, and bolts, which shone in the orange light, challenging you to best them. You got to unhooking the lower latches that you could reach and called for someone to handle the higher ones. A wide-eyed servant boy, though very much afraid of you, rushed to your aid, quickly sliding the bolts and turning the locks above your head. Soon, they were all undone, and rather than wait for the boy to find another to assist him, you slammed your shoulder against the giant, solid slab of wood and grunted, “help me!”

“Your Majesty!” The boy called, panic evident in his voice, “Please allow me to find a-” But you cut him off before he could finish that sentence, growling in frustration and shooting him a menacing glare. He gulped and without further ceremony, helped you push open the doors. As soon as the crack between them was large enough, letting a sliver of fading daylight paint the flagstones pink and yellow, you pushed through them, out into the real world. The boy rushed after you, and behind him was Matilda, something clutched in her hands. 

Summoning all your strength, you ran, gulping down great lungfuls of the smoky evening air. Your eyes searched, wide and unblinking, as your legs carried you closer to the legion of armor-clad men on horseback. Besides about a thousand identically-shaped silhouettes, you couldn't make out much of anything in detail. No way to tell yet, you had to get closer. Your feet slapped the earth, bare as they were, the sound ringing out shrilly in your ears. The soft flesh stung and turned pink, but you were becoming numb to external stimuli and it made no difference. Your arms swung wildly at your sides, and your hair, whipped into coils by the wind, lashed at your face. There was a growing ache in your chest, but still, you were getting closer. So close that now, you could make out a figure. And suddenly, he was there. 

You knew him immediately by his silver mask, glowing in the sun, and his billowing white robes, though they were stained with sprays of brown and red. You ran and ran to him, calling his name and waving your arms, hoping to capture his attention, but it was all so very unnecessary. He had seen you the second you barrelled through those doors, known you by the shape of your body and your movements, even at such a great distance. Quickly, but as if moving in a dream, he brought his stallion to its knees and dismounted sloppily, nearly tripping in his haste, but it was no matter. His mask slipped, lubricated by his sweat, but he paid it no mind. In dreams, he was never able to move fast enough, as if his muscles were stuck in molasses, always preventing him from getting where he needed to be. This time was much the same. He simply could not reach you fast enough, could not feel the safety of being in your arms soon enough. But he ran, his feet digging into the ground, desperate to find purchase, beating into the soft earth viciously. His heart pounded just as hard against his ribcage, which had already sustained a brutal battering earlier during the battle. But now he could make out your face just a little, the curve of your nose and the dark line of your lips. 

The white linen rippled frantically around his flaming, aching body, which he pushed to its absolute limit, trembling from exhaustion though it was. Faster, he commanded it, faster! And somehow, it listened. 

The two of you drew closer and closer until you could see the way his mask was askew, dangling around his throat like a gaudy, oversized necklace. He seized it in his gloved hand and ripped it away carelessly, breaking the string that held it to him and letting it fall. It hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled away. As your teary-eyed smile came into focus, he desperately clawed at his hood and chainmail veil, discarding those, too, in one fell swoop. Those golden tresses, caked in sweat and blood, sand and earth, rain and battle, flowed freely behind him, cleansed by the wind. 

Then you were upon him, there in your nightgown and unwashed, untethered hair and without any shoes, and yet with the biggest smile he’d ever seen, and could all of that really be for him?

You collided with him roughly, unable to stop due to the momentum, and you heard a puff of air pass his lips. A sob passed yours. For the first time, you knew what it felt like to throw your arms around his bare neck and hold him close, and to cry into his shoulder. He held you, too, a bit hesitant and stiff at first, but soon he softened. His arms wrapped around you and his hands rested on your shoulder blades, and he cried. It was silent save for the few sniffs he gave. He let go of himself and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your warm, rosy scent straight from the source, tears sliding down his golden-blond lashes and landing softly in your hair. He said nothing. Everything he wanted to say, you had already read from his letters. It was your turn to talk. 

“I read them,” you cried miserably, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. So much regret, so much wasted time. He knew it all, he saw it there. 

“I read them all, and I love you,” you said, then redoubled your efforts, burying your face in him and drawing him somehow closer. He almost believed that his arms would slip right through you and you’d vanish any second, so he cherished every second of your warmth. But you didn’t. You stayed. He broke away for a second, only to sigh in impatience and violently rip off his gloves, whipping them to the ground behind him. The satin sank into the mud. 

With his naked hands he carefully, almost timidly, stroked the small of your back. It was something he’d always wanted to do. He did this until he was fully convinced you were real, and here, and not just a pleasant vision conjured up by his post-battle delusion. But you felt firm and warm and alive beneath his hands, the fabric of your nightgown the very thinnest of barriers.

He slid his palms up to your cheeks and looked into your eyes. So full of love, they were, full of fear and relief and joy and love. You gasped, feeling his calloused hands burning their print into your cheeks. He grinned at the privilege of touching his flesh to your very own. You parted your lips, wanting to say something, but you could make no sound. You could only stare wide-eyed at each other, loving in silence. 

Behind Baldwin, his army stood still and looked on. Their horses stamped but did not move. The men did not know what to think, or how to behave. On the one hand, they were witnessing something very special; the pure, young love of their master and his betrothed. On the other hand, they were staring at a lady dressed in only undergarments, sharing an intimate moment with her man. Some of them blushed, and some smiled. But nobody, absolutely nobody, could bring themselves to look away. 

Over your shoulder, Baldwin could see the palace staff lined up in front of the great doors, some hunched over in tears of relief and joy, others standing tall and triumphant, filled with pride for their nation. Among the latter were his lady sister Sybilla and her son, and Matilda and Amelia, though they were too far away for him to see. Still clutched in Matilda’s hands were a pair of your shoes, which she had been intending to give to you to put on before you ran outside. As soon as she heard the army approaching, she’d known you would abandon everything and go to him. 

Baldwin pulled you into his side with his left arm, and with his right, he cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted to the sky, his voice ringing clear across the field, “Today, we have won a great victory!” 

In an instant, the field erupted into cheers and shouts of rejoicing, almost deafening in volume. You laughed and smiled up at your husband, whose eyes reflected the pink and purple sunset on the horizon. Then he led you towards the castle, just the same way you had come before, only slowly and fulfilled this time. As you looked at him, your eye caught a glint of something gold and glittering against the bare skin of his neck. 

“Heavenly Father, thank you.” 

Together, you walked home. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

A feast was thrown to celebrate Jerusalem’s victory, and for the first time in over a year, Baldwin sat at the head of the table with his Queen at his side. He wore no mask, and no bandages on his face, and he was adorned only by the golden crown that sat atop his cornsilk curls. So many nobles had greeted the two of you that you lost count, but there was one man in particular that stood out, and his name was Reynald de Chatillon. 

His beard was red and scraggly, spreading across his chin like a wildfire and complimenting the equally red hue of his face. In fact, his skin was florid all over; it wasn’t limited to just his face, though his pudgy cheeks were mottled with patches of red, and full of craters left behind by the pox he’d had as a boy. The pox had almost killed him, but it seemed nothing could snuff out his lifeforce, least of all a silly illness, so he just went on living. The same was true of him when you met him at the feast. Despite his constant brushes with death on the battlefield, he was likely the most alive person in that room. An insane, cruel look glinted in his perpetually open, bloodshot eyes– you weren’t sure you ever saw him blink– and his lips shined wetly beneath his mustache, for he was constantly licking them, his fat pink tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth like some kind of tic. But it wasn’t a nervous tick, and that you could be sure of, because Reynald de Chatillon was never nervous. He was a warlord, equally bloodthirsty and wine-thirsty. Mean, short, fat, and clever, though he didn’t look it. Perhaps therein lied his power. You shuddered to think of how he must appear to his enemies. Thankfully, he was on your side, at least for now. 

Reynald entered with his wife, two sons, and three daughters in tow, and to your surprise the girls were rather delicate and pretty, despite harboring the genes of their brutish father. Each of them had fine and flowing red-blonde hair and fair skin, indicating a life of luxury. Both sons were brawny and imposing, though one was much taller than the other, and perhaps more slender. But absolutely none of the children inspired fear the way their father did. You decided that you did not like him, but at that moment, you couldn’t help but at least respect him, just a little. After all, he was apparently an integral part of Baldwin’s army, given the fact that he was invited to the feast, and you had heard that he was one of the main forces that had led Jerusalem to its bloody victory. 

Just as everyone had said, Baldwin was an excellent King, as you came to see for yourself that evening. He held himself with grace and humility, and his kindness inadvertently demanded the respect of others. In a way, he was just as powerful and intimidating as Reynald, but he greeted his soldiers and knights with gentle, welcoming words and tasteful compliments. You couldn’t bite back your smile as you watched him interact with his guests. It truly was just as you had been told. He was a great King, and a great man. You hoped you could be an equally good Queen. 

Though you were each too busy greeting and entertaining guests to really converse, you and Baldwin stole secret glances at each other whenever there was a second to be spared. Sometimes those seconds between you lined up, causing you to accidentally make fleeting eye contact, only to both look away hastily, knowing you’d been caught by the other. He’d blush, and you’d fiddle with your sleeves, and as subtle as you might have thought you were being, most everyone noticed anyway. To see a young King Queen, so green behind the ears and so obviously infatuated with each other, was something to be read about in fairy tales and great love stories from ancient times, but not to be seen in person. Reynald’s daughters whispered to each other and giggled behind their hands. It was a bit of a scandal. 

When the feast had finally concluded and the last drunken guests trickled out of the great hall and to their respective rooms where they were put up for the night, you and Baldwin finally turned to look at each other without embarrassment. A grin spread across his face, and then one broke across yours, too. Finally, a moment alone. 

Since his return, the two of you had decided to drop the formalities and titles, opting to simply call each other by name, at least when you were in private. He took both of your hands in his and held them gently. 

“Y/N, you make such a wonderful Queen.” 

You couldn’t help but beam. 

“You are the most perfect King. And everybody says so, Baldwin.”

He looked down at the table, shaking his head and blushing a little, but his smile never faltered. Then he furrowed his brow, opening his mouth quickly as if he were about to say something, and then thought better of it and closed his lips again. You raised an eyebrow and squeezed his hand gently. 

“What is it? You were going to say something.” 

He smiled a little and only shook his head, still gazing down at the table, but you persisted. “You can tell me anything, you know. I’m your wife. Now, please,” you urged. He looked up at you, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes as he raised his head again. He held your hands a bit tighter for support and took a shaky breath before asking, “Would you…maybe…want to sleep in my room tonight?”

//taglist: @eatmeandbirthmeagain @lzsia @likeanecho344 @lunargraveyard @yoursoulisinyourkeepingalone @stickparrot @ainselthegreat @luigisang @sad-bag @vamp-hira @madeleinerosexxx