#fountain stranger art

[fountainstrangerart]

Name: Lucky the 100th

Gender: Genderfluid, he/she/they

Class: Bard, Valor

Species: Kobold Lucky the 100th, the Centennial is the 100th kobold in his warren to carry that name, and carries great expectations. The kobold Lucky in his warren has always been very very lucky, even seemingly blessed and used their silver tongue to bring wealth and glory back home. She did this over 99 lifetimes, and they were honored for it.So when he died, the hatchery was closely watched, and Lucky 100 was given his things back to him as well as the highest expectation of them being a shining star when they hatched. What should have been another easy lifetime was flipped on its head. Lucky is unlucky in every degree, seemingly cursed, and visibly haunted, as even though he tries to carry out his usual duties he cant reproduce what the other luckys could. He still wants to be the person the others thought she would be, and very stubbornly works on to raise his family, and the dragon they serve even higher. *** DnD Comissions are open, DM for more details

[a-l-e-i-s-t-e-r]

I’ve been sleeping badly and not feeling the best right now due to some legal things going on behind the scenes; so here, have a stranger that turned their head quickly and was radiantly beautiful. This was done in a coffee shop with a fountain pen while I waited for my train, then had some colour added on in more fountain pen.

@be-gentle-with-littluns-2

[emilybarksdaleart]

"Such beauty. Surely you are one of God's own creations and not a descendant of those dark creatures who found no refuge on the Ark. Such beauty. Yet deadly."

Finally finished my larger Mermay project! Philip and Syrena, from the grossly underrated "Pirates of the Caribbean 4: On Stranger Tides"

[greenorangevioletgrass]

tuesday in the park (a.d.)

pairing: divorced!art x reader

synopsis: your alone time at the park takes an interesting turn when a little girl breaks the quiet, but maybe... her dad is a good company.

warnings: language, smoking, mention of divorce, lily is an adorable lil oblivious cupid, sooo much tension tho, maybe smut in future parts? idk

notes: i am back and pathetic bitch boy art has officially given me a brainrot. this is also very self-indulgent and heavily based on my irl experience (except the fact that it's art, sadly) soooo... enjoy!

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City parks are fucking depressing. Especially the industrial type that’s square, and covered in concrete and has, like, four trees. They’re all well-manicured and hung with string lights, but there’s still barely enough greens to call it a park. And to add insult to injury, a Tiffany’s installation art currently sits at the head of the park—a giant diamond ring in a lush velvet box the size of a Range Rover. It’s gaudy as shit, and the massive Aston Martin billboard overhead is an assault to the eyes. You honestly have no idea why you’re sitting here.

Oh, right. It’s like 2PM on a Tuesday afternoon in some downtown office area, so there’s nobody else there. You can just sit and smoke and watch the water spout from the ground in pretty patterns. The steady rhythm of the fountain jets quiets the chaos in your mind.

Inhale. Exhale. As the fountain hisses and ceases, hisses and ceases…

And then suddenly… another pattern.

A pitter-patter. Like little footsteps. Quick moving, and then it stops. Right to your left.

You turn your head and see a little girl sitting right next to you. Her white sneakers look so small next to yours. She pushes a lock of dark ringlets off of her face as she watches the floor fountain in quiet curiosity and awe.

It takes you a moment to realize you still had a cigarette in your hand. You quickly stub it out as far from her as you can. “Uh… hello.” You frown at your own words, but how the fuck do you talk to kids in this situation?!

But the kid looks up and smiles at you politely. “Hello.” she nods and then returns her gaze to the water bursting in canon.

You’re even more confused. She doesn’t even seem deterred by sitting next to a stranger—willingly, at that. “Well, are you… are you alone?” 

“No. With my dad,” she answers, light as a feather.

“Oh, good. Good.” You sigh in relief and look around for any sign of a parent, adult, anyone looking for a missing child. “Where’s your—”

“Lily! There you are!” A man’s voice cuts through the dull noise of the city. You turn around to see him rushing over to the little girl, grimacing apologetically at you. “Sorry. I’m not a negligent father, I swear. I just… turned around and this little monkey’s run off.”

The little girl—Lily, apparently— giggles as her dad throws her a look, gentle but firm. “You said we could watch the water fountains, Daddy!”

“Yeah, but don’t run off like that…” He rolls his eyes, though you notice his sharp jaw twitching with a hidden smile.  And then, leaning into Lily’s ear but still loud enough within your earshot, “And you certainly weren’t supposed to invade this nice lady’s personal space—”

“It’s no trouble. I was just sitting here,” you quickly wave him off.

“Daddy, can I play over there?” Lily points at the streaming water at the center of the park.

The man pulls a face. “I don’t know, Lil—”

“Come on, Daddy…” 

“No way.”

“Just for five minutes. Please?” She bats her eyelashes, and you can immediately tell it’s her father’s Achilles heel. Because as much as you try to stay out of the conversation, you can hear the audible sigh coming from him, followed by,

“Fine. Five minutes, okay?”

The little girl bolts off to the fountains, tiny hands reaching out to the jet streams, testing out how strong it is. Figuring out the fountain pattern and stepping on each jet right as it shuts off, one foot after the other. It makes you wish it was socially acceptable for adults to do that, too. 

“You’re free to sit and watch her from here, if you want.”

He looks at you, like really looks at you for the first time. At your rolled-up button-down, the chain around your neck with a pendant he can’t see under your collar. But mostly at your kind eyes—weathered, witnessed, but somehow not judging.

He pushes his short blond hair out of his face the same way the little girl does, and the similarity almost makes you laugh… if you weren’t so worried about making a fool of yourself in front of this handsome man. “You sure? I… didn’t want to intrude.”

You shake your head softly and scoot over on the steps, allowing him just enough space to sit down.

He notices the stubbed cigarette between your forefinger and middle finger. “You got another one on you?”

It takes you a beat to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh!” You reach for your pack of Camel, and offer it to him, one cigarette stick already pushed out for easier access.

He takes it with a polite smile, but then pauses upon realizing he has no lighter either. “Um, do you mind if I borrow—”

You lean in as he puts it between his lips, one hand cupping the light from the breeze, and his heart stops at how close you are. Close enough to notice the gloss on your lips. Close enough to get a faint whiff of your floral perfume.

(And unbeknownst to him, your heart stutters a little, too, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you fumble lighting your own cigarette.)

“Thanks, um…” he trails off. 

You tell him your name, and he repeats it almost thoughtfully. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, like he’s chasing the taste of your name as it leaves his mouth.

He nods. “I’m Art.”

He does look like it. The navy blue sweater hangs just right on his broad shoulders, understated but high-quality. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing a sleek black Piguet around his wrist. A simplicity to complement his refined features. His bone structure is cut like the gods, but the permanent frown etched between his brows, casting a shadow over his deep-set eyes, tells you that he is facing the troubles of man. And the awkward way he’s holding his cigarette makes him look like a boy. Of course, you can’t say any of that to him, so you settle with,

“Nice to meet you, Art.”

He can’t remember the last time somebody said that to him and meant it. And right now, sitting in this concrete park alone, he can see no pretense coming from you. No ass-kissing, no sizing-up, just a genuine kind gesture of a stranger. And it makes him so fucking relieved. 

“So what brings you out here?”

“Work, actually. A meeting,” Art replies somewhat vaguely. He’s not really keen on divulging the details of sponsorship and endorsement deals. Not when you don’t seem to know who he is. “Lily saw the park from the window and insisted we check it out when we’re done.”

“Ah, does she normally tag along with you to work meetings?” You ask with a playful glint, although the unspoken question of his whole situation is well heard. “She should. She looks like a great negotiator. Just saying.”

He chuckles. “Maybe she should. My, uh…” Art stops himself before he could say ‘wife’ because Tashi isn’t that anymore. Not his wife because they aren’t married anymore; not his coach either, because he doesn’t play tennis anymore. “Lily’s mom and I take turns every other week.”

And there it is. Your lips pull up into a soft line, not quite a smile but a gesture of understanding. “Must be tough.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a lot of changes. But she’s doing okay, I think…” Art pauses, “I hope.”

You follow his gaze and look at Lily, who must be playing some kind of Indiana Jones fantasy scenario with the water fountains. Not an ounce of care in the world. “She looks like a tough kid.”

“She is.” Art smiles bittersweetly. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to my sob story. What brings you to this park?”

The air that pulls both of you in releases, and you lean back on your elbows against the concrete. “Oh, I just finished work and I… needed some air.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m an interpreter.”

His eyebrows shoot up in interest. “Like the Nicole Kidman movie?”

“Exactly.” You point your half-cigarette at him, and share a tentative smile with him.

“Do you do, like… high-profile, UN-related assassination investigations, too?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It’s not nearly as cool in real life. Most of it’s pretty boring, like contract negotiations and focus group discussions…”

“But the stories you must’ve heard, right? Or do you just… zone out at some point?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes you end up shutting off your brain and go on autopilot.”

“But not today?”

You smile ruefully at him, and he knows the answer. You take a thoughtful puff of your cigarette. “It’s… a bit hard when they’re talking about… how they had to jump off of the ship and swim across the channel in the dead of night, because they would rather die in the open water—a couple of them did— than die working in the fishing vessel…”

“Fuck.”

“And I know it’s not really meant for me—they’re talking to my client sitting next to me. But when they look you in the eyes and speak to you…” you trail off, taking a long drag of your cigarette.

Art takes it as a cue for his cigarette, too, although he notices you tapping the ashes off one, two, three times. “Must be tough.”

You roll your eyes playfully at him for quoting your own words back to you. “Ah well, it pays the bills. Besides, I get to clock out at 2PM on a Tuesday and enjoy this…” you inhale through your teeth disdainfully, “beautiful, brutalist… Soviet-core park.”

He laughs, the real kind of laughter that throws his head back, and it warms your heart enough to laugh, too. “It’s bullshit, isn’t it?”

“It’s bullshit! And what the fuck is that horrendous giant ring doing here?” The two of you cackle over the installation art across the park. “And that billboard… it’s ridiculous.”

Art’s laughter dies down on his lips as he looks up at the billboard in question. The Aston Martin “Game Changers” campaign from last year. Fuck. Even when he’s completely separated from Tashi, her presence still looms over like a panopticon.

You turn to him with a smile still etched on your face, completely oblivious to the storm in his head. “What?”

But he looks ahead, too caught up in the hurricane to hear you. He just… looks up at the billboard, his face darkens.

Oh.

You feel silly for not putting two and two together—you’ve been staring at the billboard mindlessly for a good fifteen minutes, goddammit— so you tread very carefully. “That, uh… Lily’s mom?”

Art looks down on his lap, as if not daring to look at Tashi’s picture. Or at Lily, or at you. “Yeah.”

There’s no right word for it. There’s no coming back from this, nothing he can say can make this better, and he can’t help but kick himself for fucking up. What he is fucking up, he’s not entirely sure. But he’s not ready to end this conversation with you, not on such a weird note.

“I can’t imagine what it must be like…” because you can’t. Losing a spouse is hard enough, but to have it out there in the open…

“It’s tough,” he nods in confirmation, and you smile feebly at his attempt at a callback to your little inside joke. To the moment where things are fine, all things considered. 

If the air ebbed and flowed earlier, it must’ve just… froze now. You don’t even remember the cigarette in your hand until the ash falls onto your hand and you gasp at the sudden heat, putting it out on the ground.

“I’m sorry. I should get out of your hair—”

“Do you wanna get a drink some time?”

The question catches both of you off-guard, eyes blinking at each other in shock. He didn’t think he heard you right, and your mouth seems to work faster than the filter in your brain.

Your face runs hot, and you chuckle sheepishly. “Sorry. You probably don’t wanna hear that—”

“I do.” He’s not sure which question he’s answering. Maybe both? Definitely both.

“Oh! Um…”

And right in that moment, Lily comes padding over with squelching steps in her shoes, completely drenched but over the moon. “Daddy, Daddy, that was so much fun! Can we come back here? I see lights on the floor, and I think the fountain lights up at night!”

Art puts out his cigarette under his shoe, chuckling at his daughter,  “Baby, you’re soaked! Did you try to take a shower there or something?” immediately wringing water out of her hair.

“I’ll take a real shower when we get home.”

“Well, duh. But I don’t want you to catch a cold… come here.” He crosses his arm to grab the hem of his sweater and tug it over his head to put it on his daughter.

The girl looks thoroughly unamused as the clothing item falls halfway down her calves and the sleeves nearly touch the ground. “Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

You grin, and you can’t help but wonder how much of that sass came from Art. “Looks pretty chic to me.”

He nods at you, glad that you’re backing him up. “Thank you.” He then turns to Lily pointedly.

Lily half-smiles at you. “Thank you,” although she still isn’t quite convinced.

“I’m sorry, we really gotta go. But how do I, um…” he trails off. Gosh, he was hoping to do this out of Lily’s sight. Lily’s sight means Tashi’s sight, and he’s not ready for that talk just yet.

“Take my card.” You whip out a neat stainless steel case, and slides out a white-and-blue business card. Your name is printed in a sleek black font, right above ‘Interpreter’ in a smaller case. Your email and phone number follows.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and he prays to God or whoever is up there that he doesn’t give anything away to you or Lily. Not a quirk, not a peep. Just two strangers connecting by chance.

“Thank you.” He nods evenly as he pockets the card, trying to contain the butterflies in his stomach—he’s always thought he was too old for that by now, but maybe… just maybe… “You have a nice day.”

“You, too.” You squint up at him under the sun, and then smile and wave at the little girl. “Bye, Lily.”

She waves at you as Art sweeps her up into his arms, and you don’t let yourself turn all the way around to watch them leave. Instead, with one final look at Art’s “Game Changers” billboard ad in the distance, you grab your pack of Camel and light another cigarette between your lips.

[bucksangel]

more than a mid day amusement

pairing: sugar daddy/silver fox!bucky x reader

word count: 5k

summary: being in a relationship with an older man comes with challenges, all that come to a head one night when an old friend digs up some insecurities and threatens to break everything you have with the man you love.

warnings: 18+ ONLY, sugardaddy!au, age gap, angst, fluff, jealousy, love-making, fingering, unprotected p in v, bucky is a silver fox, pet names (princess), daddy kink, love confessions, happy ending

a/n: i read this fic by @witchywithwhiskey and decided I wanted to write a sugar daddy!bucky fic, so here y’all go! Thank you molly for unintentionally giving me inspiration🤍

masterlist | tip jar | ao3

Upon walking through the doors, you have to fight to not let your mouth drop open. The ballroom is, to put it simply, utterly gorgeous. Several chandeliers hang from the tall ceiling, the tile floors are pearly and pristine, and the artwork adorning the walls is almost too beautiful to look at. There was a large Angel fountain in front of the property, and there’s a matching one inside in the middle of the room. Dozens of butlers walk by every minute, all holding a tray of champagne or an array of Hors D’oeuvres, and maids linger on the outskirts ready to clean up any messes. There are easily over two hundred people here to raise money for some children’s charity that you can’t remember the name of, and all are ready to spend more money on a single sculpture than you spend on rent for an entire year.

The people that you engage with upon first entering are dull, so much so that you grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sip on it while staring at the art, letting Bucky do all the talking. He does his best to involve you in the conversations whenever he can, but he understands you’re not here to talk business, so he doesn’t let the talks dip any further than surface level – always mindful of your time. While you never mind, after all you know why you’re here, you are thankful because you’re pretty sure your brain can’t hold any more information on Stark’s stock prices.

These parties – galas, charities, call it whatever you want – are always boring, too many rich people with fake laughs and ulterior motives and side eyes. Your first was about six months ago, and you were pretty sure your anxiety had never been so bad, obsessing over the dress Bucky chose for you and if it would be appropriate, if people would think you looked nice, if your hair was in place because you would be damned if you made Bucky look bad by looking bad yourself. And, maybe you wanted to look good for him too.

Your relationship isn’t conventional, it never has been. You met through one of those stereotypical romantic comedies “we walked into each other and spilled our coffees on each other” meet-cute situations outside of the coffee shop. Except, you weren’t all that cute about it. It was your favorite shirt, and you were going to be at work on time except now you had to go to the store to get a new one because your apartment was too far away to simply go back. You’ll admit that you were a little rude to him, especially since even then you knew it was an honest mistake, but one flash of Bucky’s pearly white teeth and the low tenor of his voice asking if he can buy you a new one – a shirt and coffee – had you crumbling.

He understood your reservations about you letting him drive you to a nearby store, you were strangers after all, but he had absolutely no trouble pulling out his wallet and flipping it open, and you will also admit that the sound you made when he did so was not dignified. The stack of one-hundred-dollar bills was obscene and the sleek black card on the side was taunting you, prompting you to wonder what in the hell this man did for work. He was older, maybe later forties or early fifties, dressed in a sharp black on black suit with matching loafers, his hair was perfectly slicked back, and you still don’t know much about cologne, but you were pretty sure that his easily cost hundreds of dollars.

He handed you three hundred dollars for the new shirt, waving off your balking expression by saying that he feels really bad because he can see how upset you are so “please treat yourself.” You were a little apprehensive about taking it, but Bucky was so sincere and kind and, truthfully, you needed the money. So, you took it.

And his invitation for a date.

You’re still not sure how he got you to agree to it, even now Bucky says he’s not sure either, but you chalk it up to the fact that he’s a dangerous sweet talker. The fact that he’s a walking God among men just sweetened the deal. The silver in his beard and the grays at his temples made him look refined, dignified, like he was confident and knew what he wanted, and would do anything to get it.

Apparently, you were what he wanted.

The date was nothing short of lovely, a beautiful dinner at some fancy high-rise restaurant in Manhattan overlooking the city as the sun was setting. It wasn’t packed, so there was only the quiet murmur of conversation mingled in with the Orchestral strings from the band in the corner while you ate better than you have in your entire life. Surprisingly, you both had a lot in common, you have similar music tastes, book recommendations, food palettes, almost everything really. The connection came as a shock considering you’re easily twenty years younger than him, and that’s when you really understood that age was just a number.

Given your age gap and his obvious wealth, you had a feeling you knew where this date was headed, but Bucky hadn’t made you feel awkward or made any inappropriate advances or comments, so you pushed it aside and sat through the date with a wide smile and a full belly. By three glasses of wine in, you were giggly, and Bucky was a little flushed from the bourbon he’d been nursing, and when the waiter took your plates and went to get the dessert, he broke the news.

Bucky, as you can see, is older, he’s not married, has no kids, living in a too-big house. Being one of the top CEOs in the country, all the women he meets are after his money, always with an ulterior motive, and to an extent he understands why. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt though. But, Bucky doesn’t have a lot of time to go out and find the perfect woman right now, so all he wants is some companionship, someone to take on trips and dates when he gets bored, someone to spoil and dote on because he’s a provider by nature. He’d want you to accompany him to the events he has to attend as part of work, and in return he’d give you an allowance on top of paying for your apartment.

He laid everything out, asking you questions and answering anything that you had, talking in depth and easing any worries you had over an older man asking you to be his sugar baby. You’ve never done this before, so it felt a little weird to be talking about it, but by the time you’d finished dessert, you were free of any hesitation.

You went home that night with Bucky’s number in your phone, five hundred dollars in your wallet, and a pending payment to your apartment complex for that month’s rent.

Tonight is similar to other charity events, boring small talk with even more boring people that’s only made better by Bucky’s arm around your waist. Also the new necklace he’d given you when he picked you up earlier that evening.

The necklace – a simple pearl on a gold chain, matches your light peach dress. The dress cups your breasts and hugs your waist, then flows around your hips to form a small train behind you as you walk. It’s smooth silk, and Bucky laughed when you asked to marry him because he made sure to tell the designer to add pockets. It’s beautiful, something Bucky has taken note of multiple times tonight.

“You’re stunning, you know that?” Bucky asks softly, his lips pressed to your ear and his hand warm on your lower back. You’re standing off to the side with drinks in your hands, facing each other in your own little bubble as you talk and joke about the people walking by. “The most beautiful princess ever.”

Giggling, you can feel your cheeks heating up at the same time as your eyes roll a little.

“You’ve said that like five times tonight,” You tease, reaching up with your free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

“Well, how rude of me,” He says with a mischievous smile. “It should be triple by now.”

“You know you don’t need to sweet talk me, I’m already going home with you.” Again, you giggle, shaking your head teasingly.

“It’s not about that,” Bucky says seriously, his voice turning stern. “I don’t care if you sleep with me tonight or not, you’re beautiful, and you should know that.”

Butterflies fill your tummy, and your face grows warmer. Your heart bursts with affection at the same time feeling like it’s been stabbed. Lately, Bucky’s been getting a little more affectionate with his words and actions, which is saying something considering he already doted on you quite a bit. Part of you wonder if your feelings for him are reciprocated, if you’re not falling in love alone.

Because, as much as you tried not to, you fell for your sugar daddy.

It’s probably a bad idea to let yourself sink into the delusion that you’re actually a couple, that you’re both in love without the monetary incentive. In fact, you know it’s dangerous.

That’s not going to stop you tonight.

Leaning up, you place a soft and lingering kiss on Bucky’s lips, both of you sighing into the kiss. “Thank you, daddy,” You whisper when you pull away, looking into his eyes and seeing a twinkle in them. You’re not sure what it means, and you want so desperately to ask why he’s looking at you like you’re his whole world, but the words die on your tongue. You don’t want to ruin the moment by revealing your feelings.

After a pause, Bucky smirks. “You’re welcome, princess.” He leans down this time and kisses you again, this time it’s a little more passionate. His tongue invades your mouth, his hand drifting to your waist and gripping it tight, pulling you flush against your body. The kiss feels different somehow, the sparks are flying higher than usual, and something deep in your bones knows that things are going to change tonight.

You pull away only when your lungs are screaming for air, even though you’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening kissing him, touching him, worshipping him and letting him worship you. Intimacy is never boring with you two, it’s always intense, whether he’s plowing into you from behind and calling you degrading names or you’re in missionary, whining and whimpering because Bucky won’t speed up his hips. He could, and has, spent hours eating you out, making you cum over and over until you black out, only for him to fuck you awake. You’ve sucked his dick under the tables of various restaurants. You’ve let him convince you to wear dresses without panties on your dates. Whatever it is you do, you know you’ll have fun.

Hours pass by with Bucky guiding you around the ballroom, making small talk with people you don’t know the names of, playing the part of his doting date expertly. It’s when he leaves your side to go to the bar that things heat up.

“Oh my god,” A deep voice says behind you, and for a split second you have a sense of nostalgia, like you’ve heard that voice before. A hand touches your arm, prompting you turn around and come face to face with the man that approached you.

And wouldn’t you know it, it’s Aaron, your best friend from childhood. Happiness immediately floods your body. You haven’t seen or heard from him in so long, not that there was a bad falling out, you two just grew apart. But it’s still good to see him, he was a part of so many happy memories when you were a kid.

“Oh my god!” You repeat, your eyes widen. Both of you outstretch your arms at the same time, going in for a hug with smiles on your faces. “Aaron, it’s so good to see you! We haven’t talked in so long.”

“I know,” He says remorsefully, sporting a sheepish grin that you match. “I’m sorry about that. You were my best friend.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault, okay? It was both of us.” Your reassurance seems to put him at ease, and you fall into an easy conversation, catching up on your lives and reminiscing on your younger years and the trouble you both got into.

“Remember when Anthony tripped you for saying no to his marriage proposal?” Aaron asks with a chuckle, and you let out a laugh at the memory.

“Well, we were seven and at that time all boys had cooties, so I’m not sure why he thought I’d say yes.”

“Princess.” Bucky says from behind you, and you turn around to see him holding a glass of bourbon with slightly furrowed brows.

“Oh, Bucky!” You exclaim, reaching out for him and tugging him closer. “This is Aaron, we used to be the best of friends when we were kids.”

“I know Aaron,” Bucky says cooly, wrapping his arm around your waist possessively. When you look back at your friend, you completely miss the anger in Bucky’s eyes. “We went to the same college. I was a TA for a few of his first year classes.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look between Bucky and Aaron with a quizzical look.

“Really? Wow, the world is small.” You laugh softly, as does Aaron.

Bucky stays silent. In fact, he stays relatively quiet for the entire interaction, letting you and your friend reconnect for what feels like hours. Eventually, though, all the champagne you’ve drank has gotten to your system and the need to pee hits you straight in the gut. Extracting yourself from Bucky’s hold, you tell the men that you’re going to the bathroom, and kiss Bucky’s cheek before turning and walking towards the hallway that leads to it.

And while you’re in the bathroom, you’re ruminating a little on your conversation, and an unpleasant feeling settles in your stomach when you finally register all the compliments Aaron was throwing your way and how Bucky’s grip would tighten with each one. But you saw his wedding ring, so you’re sure he doesn’t have an ulterior motive. Maybe he just genuinely wants you to know you look nice.

However, when you get back to the ballroom and scan the crowd, you see Bucky’s back as he faces your friend. Aaron has a smug smirk on his face, his hands in his pockets, and his posture relaxed. He doesn’t seem phased by whatever Bucky is saying, making you curious as to what they’re talking about. When you get a few feet behind them, you start to hear it.

“…So leave her alone, okay? She’s taken.” Bucky’s voice is deep, using what you’ve deemed his Important CEO voice.

“I don’t know about that,” Aaron says, and the unpleasant feeling grows. “She didn’t seem to mind that I was flirting with her. Plus, what are you, like, seventy? You’re way too old for her, grandpa. She’s going to leave you eventually.”

Anger flares up in your body, your eyes filling with fire and your heart filling with rage at his degrading comments. Bucky is perfect. He’s kind, respectful, funny, the whole nine yards. So someone insulting him, especially about your age gap which you know he’s already a little self-conscious about.

“She’s my girl,” Bucky reiterates sharply, and you can see his hand tighten around the now empty glass he’s holding. Quite frankly, you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. With the short pause in their conversation, you decide now is a time to butt in.

“Bucky,” You say, walking up to him further and placing your hand on his back. You want to yell at Aaron for being so rude, maybe even punch him, but you know causing a scene wouldn’t be a good look. You decide it’s safer to play dumb. “I’m not really feeling good.” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow with worry, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, he’s always taken your well-being seriously, and the affection settles you a little.

“Nothing, I just think I drank a little too much. Do you think we could leave?” You briefly glance over at Aaron, seeing that he’s now looking pissed off.

Good.

“Of course we can, princess,” Bucky says softly, leaning forward and kissing your forehead tenderly. “Come.”

You don’t bother saying goodbye to Aaron, you don’t even glance at him as you let Bucky tug you along to the car. You’re starting to get worried with each step you take because you can see that he’s tense while at the same time despondent. He’s never said anything about your age gap bothering him, but you can be observant. You’ve noticed that lately he’s been a little timid when telling anyone how old he is when you’re around, almost like it just drives home the point that you’re so far apart in age and causing others to judge and sneer at both of you. He gets a little shifty when someone comments on it or makes a passing joke, and you always try to reassure him without outright saying that you know.

When you get to the car, he opens your door for you, going about the usual routine of buckling you in and kissing your cheek before shutting the door and going around to his side. Things are quiet and tense the whole drive to Bucky’s penthouse, he’s not even holding your hand or resting his on your thigh like he usually would. It upsets you, and you want so badly to ask what he’s feeling, to tell him that it’s okay because you genuinely do care for him and that Aaron was out of line for saying the things he did.

Again, you can’t seem to find the words.

You still don’t speak when you get to his place. Getting out of the car, the walk into the building, and the elevator ride up to his floor all go about in silence. It’s not until you get into his kitchen that he says anything.

“Are you happy with our arrangement?” He asks as he hands you a glass of water, and the question physically hurts you.

“Of course I am,” You say, even though it’s a complete lie. In reality you want to actually be with him, but you’re still deciding on if you want to tell him. “Are you not?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and a pit forms in your stomach. Is he really not happy with you? He told Aaron you were his girl, but his silence to your question is deafening.

“So you wouldn’t prefer to actually be in a relationship?” He asks tentatively, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. “There are plenty of men out there that would love to have you as theirs.”

That stabs at your heart, and you have to force the tears from forming in your eyes. That ‘plenty of men’ comment crushes you, because it just proves to you that he doesn’t see himself actually being in a relationship with you.

“No,” You say after a moment, now looking down at your hands to hide your sad eyes in case he looks at you again.

Everything is quiet for a long while, anxiety bubbling up and threatening to spill. You’ve never felt this way about anyone else, never felt this type of all consuming love for another person, and you don’t want to lose it.

It seems like you might, tonight.

“Um,” Bucky says after a while, clearing his throat. “I can, uh, take you home if you’re still not feeling good.” This time tears do form in your eyes. You don’t want to leave, but it seems like he’s pushing you out as politely as he can.

You know what you need to do.

“If you want to end our arrangement, I understand.” Your voice is soft but thick with how hard you’re trying not to cry. “If you want to be with someone else, it’s okay.” It’s not, not really. But you know it’s not your right to demand that he stay with you if he doesn’t want to.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else,” He confesses hesitantly, and you can feel his gaze boring holes into you. You hear his shoes pad along the carpet until they appear in your line of sight. His hand rests on the back of your neck, guiding your head up to look at him through tears. “But I’m too old for you. You need someone younger, someone better suited for you than I am.”

“You’re perfect for me,” You blurt out despite your better judgment. “You’re not ‘too old’, and there’s no one better suited for me than you. We get along, don’t we? Don’t you at least like my company?”

“I love your company.” Both of you pause, and this time a spark of hope ignites in your heart. “I love you.”

His soft admission causes you to gasp, and your anxiety completely fades away.  Now that you know his feelings, you’re not going to let him push you away.

“But- “

“But nothing,” You say, standing up on wobbly legs due to your heels. Bucky immediately reaches for your waist to steady you, and they don’t drop when you’re upright. “Even if it’s difficult, if we love each other, it’ll be worth it.”

“You love me?” Bucky sounds shocked, his eyes widening almost comically, though hopefully.

“I do,” You whisper, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear and then cupping his cheek in your palms. “I love you, Bucky. You. Not anyone else. I don’t care how old you are because we connect. We understand each other like I know no one else can.”

Bucky sighs, relieved, and leans forward to rest his forehead on yours. Slowly, he leans down further until his lips are hovering right over yours, but not taking the plunge. Only when you whine does he actually kiss you. It’s not all tongues and teeth and clashing and intensity, it’s warm and passionate and loving, it’s perfect. You kiss for what feels like forever, your lips gliding against each other as you soak each other in. After a while, Bucky pulls away, though only enough to once again hover over his mouth over yours.

“You really love me, princess?” The tenor in his voice shifts the mood, the way he pulls you flush against his body so you can feel the hard outline of his bulge.

“I really love you, daddy.” You smile, as does Bucky, before he suddenly leans down and grabs the back of your thighs so he can lift you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist.

He stares into your eyes the entire walk to his bedroom, and you almost want to cry with how happy you are. The brief angst of almost losing what you have is gone, replaced now with love and lust. He gently sets you down on the floor, wasting no time yet at the same time taking great care of undressing you, sliding your dress off as he presses kisses wherever he can reach. You’re whimpering, your need bubbling up and threatening to make you cry with frustration. You always get a little dumb with Bucky in the bedroom, easily going under until all you can think of and focus on is Bucky.

You look at Bucky while he lowers himself to his knees, putting your hands on his shoulders to steady you as he takes off your heels. He places kisses on your thighs, spreading your legs a little so he can brush his nose along your pubic bone and inhale your scent.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” He groans, his tongue darting out and forcing its way through your folds to tease your clit. And you’re extremely thankful you went without panties tonight.

“Daddy,” You whine, shifting forward into Bucky’s mouth, but he retreats as soon as you do. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” He murmurs, standing back on his feet. And, even though you want to tear his clothes off, you also don’t want to ruin the serenity of the moment. So you’re slow when taking Bucky’s clothes off, also kissing him and relishing in his pleased sighs and quiet moans.

“Da-“

Bucky cuts you off with a kiss, once again taking you into his arms so he can lay you gently on the bed. He climbs on top of you, continuing to kiss you until you’re breathless and only vaguely aware of Bucky’s hand creeping up your inner thigh until you’re gasping into his mouth due to his thumb settling right against your clit.

“Say it again,” He demands, and you know what he wants to hear.

“I love you.” At that, he rubs his thumb in slow circles, dipping one finger into your aching hole in one fluid motion. You moan loudly, arching your back slightly and pressing your breasts against Bucky’s chest.

He doesn’t speed up his movements, is methodical in how he takes you apart just with his hands. While he fits a second finger in your pussy he starts massaging your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple as he kisses and sucks and nibbles at your jaw and neck, no doubt leaving marks of ownership that you’ll wear proudly.

He continues his gentle movements, only speeding up slightly when he notices your pleasure is growing.

“Fuck, princess, need you to cum so I can be inside you.” His begging only gets you more worked up and you’re so close you can taste your release. “Please, cum.”

And you do, letting go with a wail that Bucky swallows with his mouth. He fingers you through your orgasm, only stopping when you start whining at the sensitivity.

“Daddy,” You say, though you’re not sure exactly what you want to say.

“What do you need, princess?”

“You.” Your response is immediate, and you see Bucky’s features soften. “Always you. Only you.”

Bucky groans and hurriedly situates himself between your spread legs. He reaches between his legs and grasps his cock, hissing at the pleasure before he guides himself to your entrance. With a loving look into your eyes, he smiles and says, “I love you.”

And that’s all the preamble needed for Bucky to push in, slowly stretching you and splitting you open until you’re fully speared on his cock. You can’t do much more than grasp his shoulders, pulling him flush against you so all you can feel, smell, and see is Bucky, your love. He stays still for a moment, letting both of you adjust, simply staring into each other’s eyes as though you can’t get enough of it.

“Please move, daddy.”

He does, pulling his hips back and then thrusting forward, forcing a moan from your mouth. He does it again and again until he’s worked up a steady rhythm, making love to you and worshipping you with his mouth, his hands, and his words. He’s praising you endlessly, telling you how beautiful you are, how much he loves you, how lucky he is that you want to be his.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Bucky’s lips ghost over your cheek and catch a tear, shushing and cooing at you.

“Princess, fuck princess, I love you so much. You feel so fucking good around me, you’re fucking perfect, you know that? The only one for me for this life and any others I live.” Bucky doesn’t stop there, he keeps telling you sweet things and thrusting his hips and nailing your special spot with each one.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy!”

“Hold it,” He says, fucking you a little faster. “Cum with me.”

You whine, and you desperately want to cum, but if Bucky doesn’t want you to then you won’t. So, you hold off as best as you can, resigning yourself to simply feeling, sinking into the pleasure and your head going fuzzier and fuzzier until you’re vaguely aware of Bucky’s desperate and husky voice ordering you to cum.

Through tears, you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, gripping Bucky like a lifeline as he spills inside of you. It lasts eons, flames igniting your skin as both of you share such a special moment. When you finally come down from your high, Bucky is clearly trying not to collapse on top of you, causing you to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, teasing.

“Nothing,” You assure, now rubbing up and down his back. “I’m just happy.”

Bucky sighs, smiling softly before leaning down to kiss you chastely. Carefully, he rolls you both over so you’re now lying on top of him with his cock still lodged deep in your pussy, keeping his release in place.

“I’m happy too,” Bucky confesses, smiling wider when you do. You both go quiet for a long while, you’re resting your head on his chest and he’s rubbing your back and sides, reveling in the love you share. When you yawn, Bucky chuckles, kissing the top of your head.

“Go to bed, princess. I’ll make us breakfast in the morning.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, nuzzling his chest and kissing over his heart. “I love you.”

“I love you too, princess,” Bucky murmurs, kissing you again. “I love you too.”

You sleep better than you ever have, happier than ever knowing that no matter how hard things get, you have Bucky by your side, and that alone will make things easier.

-

main taglist: @lilyalone @crazyunsexycool @goldylions @yeehawbrothers @buckyssweetheart @buckysprettybaby @sushiseoks @heytheredelulu @somnorvos @ozwriterchick @pxgeturner @gentlelimerence

bucky taglist: @brookeleclerc @justsebstan @myfavbuckyfics

[curioscurio]

So once every month during the full moon you're cursed to transform into Markiplier. Every once in a while, you steal some funds, bite random people, and post your best approximation of something called a "youtube video" to the internet.

One night, when you're livestreaming, you perform a bit that involves an accordian and suddenly realize that you're an untapped fountain of unrealized accordian talent.

It's insane. No one can shred it like you on the accordian, and you really just had no idea. You were supposed to be an animator. You went to community college for that, but the whole time, you were actually the world's next accordian based prodigy.

You get noticed by a talent agent that has never heard of Five Nights At Freddy's and your first concert premieres next month at the Doctor Phillips Center.

The night is young, and the crowd is warmed up. Women are passing out from your rizz, and you haven't even thought about Mark for months. Where you once would get drunk alone, wearing a strangers face and talking to yourself for clicks, stands a strong, happy, and passionate accordian professional.

The curtain is about to rise, and the full moon shines through the opera's stained glass skylight as you take a deep breath and start to play.

A pain in your gut. A pain in your gut.

Without warning, your knees collapse from under you, and you can feel your bones stretching against your will. Your face feels like it's filled with ants that can't sit still, and your very DNA shifts like crystal sand in a whirlpool.

Not now. Not now.

You never believed in a God, but it feels like someone theologically important just abandoned you.

Right before your first concert as the Accordian Wizard, you transformed into Markiplier. Theres no time. The curtain rises. The whole world is watching.

[chlmtsdoll]

hi hi ly and ur stuff was wondering if you can do like a little wedding like yk those pics of mike at that wedding with his older art haircut, maybe them at a friends wedding idkk ly <3

Omg ily yesss this is cute <3 I was just rewatching Breakfast at Tiffany’s anddd watching the new season of Emily in Paris so I felt inspired to do something classy and romantic 🤍 this is perfecttt

FRANCE WITH ART

౨ৎ 18 + | age gap, older/sugar daddy!Art, younger/sugar baby!reader, needy art, petite!reader, a little angst, fluff !

“Isn’t she just a beauty?” you sighed out dreamily as you directed your camera to the dazzling city beyond you, panning to the Eiffel Tower that was looking just poised as ever sitting beyond the sunrise. No drowsiness or jet lag was going to keep you from taking in every second you could of the beauty and scenery as long as you were waking up in Paris, France.

You’d been up bright and early but snug in your robe. Hidden away in your suite at the Ritz. The penthouse-like hotel room was Arts sweet gesture to go all out for your comfortability as you were accompanying him on this get away for one of his long time tennis co-workers colossal wedding. Being in this city has always been like a dream to you. Especially now that you got to explore it with the man you were no stranger to showing how much you adored. And he had you glued to him as often as possible too.

You and Art had arrived a few days earlier just to see all the wonders and sight out all the romance spiraling around every fountain and podium. Art planned out everything. Taking you to all sorts of historical eloquent museums, the most upscale restaurants with jazzy night life surrounding the two of you, catching the tower sparkle at midnight. You walked Pont Alexandre hand in hand with the strawberry-blonde and kissed above the waters of Puente Marie.

You didn’t know if it had been the aroma of the city, or Arts way of brainwashing you into staying in his world of poshness and high class wonders forever, but it was like something straight out of a movie. He truly made you feel like the princess of all romance and desire — You even got to be sweetness to his arm when he brought you to a few tennis matches the capital held. With he glamour of vip seats and rosé meeting your lips as Art clutched your thigh in a way that said mine as he peered the tournament.

It was something about everyone knowing who he was and wanting him right then. The paps, starstruck fans, his wealthy tennis friends, all wanting the attention of the enamored man — his smile with dimples showing contrast to his gorgeous features as he signed autographs and took photos with girls and even women much older than you. He was truly a magnet with an essence of adoration for his life post his ex wife and more wealth than ever, pilling on to his retirement. He didn’t have a worry in the world but his ever lasting fame and all the while you, his young, beautiful and spoiled beat, girlfriend that got to look too pretty and absolutely pampered by his side at all times. You just couldn’t wait till after the tournaments, when Art would be buried snug in your sweet tight cunt before you had even rushed to get your shoes off and the door locked properly. The way the pending man kissed every inch of your body, merging his own with you. Pulling your hair in wistful ways, rough in his knuckles but with the upmost love and care as he sweet talked you through his own pent up fixation of you. Heavy thrusts to your soft little body — and when you’d scream his name out at way too late (or early) you knew that he was going to shower you in jewels the next day.

He loved it. And he knew you absolutely loved it.

Your wildness only he could contain kept him feeling young, and he would do absolutely any and everything for that feeling of your girlish youthful smile to never stop making his heart swell.

“I woke up earlier than usual today. The wedding is at noon, so I just ordered room service and had the loveliest breakfast.. Art went out a bit before I got up and he should be back soon I’m sure. I should get ready, but god. I could just live in this suite to be honest.” Your giggle was breezy as you talked to your phone. You loved recording vlogs of all the beautiful places you got to see — and well, you could quite tell people enjoyed seeing what the girlfriend of a international tennis superstar was up on the daily. So that’s exactly what you gave them.

Your expensive and perfect little life.

You had been perched out on the balcony with your hand fluffed cappuccino as you gazed out at the filled streets and soft echo of jazz from down the way when you heard the muffled noise of your suite door being unlatched “Princess?” Art muttered softly as he noticed you weren’t still tucked away in bed. A grin took upon the man’s lips before he called out a little louder. “Where’s my girl?”

When you heard his voice, your smile had gone from dazed to stir in a quick shift as you got on your feet to exit from the window out look to find the tall man standing by the door with hands full of upscale shopping bags. There was no time for him store them before you were wrapping your own much shorter body around his torso. Art chuckled delightfully as he moved to embrace you back in his warmth.

“Mmm, where have you been? I missed you.” Your eyes met his gleaming ones, looking up that the man while he now cupped your cheek. His eyes half perched with colors of brown in his blue, your lips were already inching to lay a solid kiss on his fond simple staring back into your orbs with all adoration— so Art picked you up and kissed you just as sweetly before setting you down again.

“Well.. I supposed you’d still been asleep by the time I got back — I went for a little shopping stroll. Got some pretty things for you baby.. go sit.” the blonde bent to kiss at your neck with a sly smirk as he inched for one of the satin handled bags and your face lit up all over again.

You noticed one bag, a specially tinted turquoise blue and you almost lost all composure right then as Art brought it to you. He opened up a delicate box from Tiffany & Co. and your eyes fell dream like immediately. In his hands were the sparkling silver jewels you’d had your eye on for a good while now, you sunk your teeth into your lips as Art watched your pupils dialing with a grin of his own.

“I don’t care if it’s a wedding that’s not yours. I want you to be decked out tonight, baby. I want everyone to know how opulent you are, and that you belong to me.” Art smirked as he took your wrists in his palms to lock to bracelet around your skin that had a royal ‘A’ initial engraved in it. No matter how much Art gave and gave to you, you were always left speechless by his thoughtful expressions of love for you.

“Oh my.. Art, it’s beautiful- - and it reminds me that your mine,” you gleamed. “I love it.”

Your soft sigh of pleasure was light as your cheeks began to ache with your beaming smile. But the gentleman didn’t just stop there. He still was picking up more bags that followed and you noticed the Chanel logo immediately by the tag of course.

“That’s not all.” He tittered before slipping a gorgeously designed box from the bag, even larger, your jaw became quite loose as the case landed in your palms. You felt like a kid getting exposed to an entire candy store and Art watched you rummage, still with grace, through the box itself — elegantly wrapped in light paper as you breathed out excitedly till your finger tips graced over the soft pink flap beneath. You couldn’t stop your squeal from echoing across the room.

“Oh my god.. baby!” You were gagging on gasps as you pulled out the bag and your eyes ran over the gold chain along with your hands. Art chuckled as you squealed in pleasure and it affirmed that he certainly picked the right choice.

“We have a day left and I just couldn’t go back to the states without you getting one — and you already have the black and white so you needed just the perfect pink one, right sweetheart?” Art sat beside you on the king sized bed with a fond smile on his lips as he observed you. His dimples showcased perfectly and you couldn’t help but pout in admiration of the man beside you. You set the bag to lounge a hug on Art that made him laugh, grasping your soft robe to pull you into his lap with ease. Your arms were tight around him, but lips go in for a smooch that had Art leaning into your touch quick. His eyes slowly fell closed in bliss just at the sweetness that you were. Proud he got to spoil you time and time again — but the best part being as you never took a second of it for what it could be. Him just being a typical man, taking up a fathering role in your life to buy you pretty thinks all so you’d end up on your knees for him. No. He genuinely wanted to lift you up. And you just loved and adored him, and that’s what he always strived for in the long run.

“How did I ever get so lucky ?” Your voice laced with sweetness and sympathetic tones as you look up at Art with your fawning doe eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you.” You hid your smile under your bitten lip as your soft thumb graced over the man’s peachy ones and he just stared into you with all desire of your being.

“Course.” He rubbed the tip of his nose against your exposed neck in admiration before leaving a kiss there.

“Anything for you, love.”

You couldn’t have been more giddy as you finally made yourself get up from the alluring man’s lap, hand still in contact with his cheek.

“Now, I must show the vlog everything you got for me.” You implored with assertion, but nothing could drive away from your girlish giggle that escaped as you skipped for your phone to which Art leaned out of your way for you to grab with a soft chuckle. “Okay, you guys aren’t going to believe me when I show you what Art got me…” your stammering blush matched your excited high pitched tone, and Art had a wide and easy grin on his face — he loved watching your small figure pride around so bubbly just to talk to your phone. You really hadn’t had much else to do in your free time. There was no need to have your own career, certainly no grocery list, or even a worry for your future when at the forefront Art paid for literally every last necessity or just pure want that you needed.

All you were expected to do was be his pretty little thing — traveling around the world and occupying yourself only when he had been busy with tennis, so you had your vlogs. And you were more than happy with that as long as you got him.

Soon enough you were standing in the golden embroidered mirror of the deluxe French country styled bathroom, touching up your lipstick and hair. Your dress a soft silky pink to bring out your cherry colored lips. You tried your best truly not to move much to ruin the flow of your pin curls. You felt the most pretty and expressive you might ever had right now — and when Art Apr approached the door way of the room, he had to hold his breath for a moment just at the single sight of you. Unable to utter a word. He just viewed as he leaned there tall whist his button up just slightly undone, his chest being seen enough to make you peek at the blonde with a soft grin at his icy blues glancing over your own figure.

“What?” You titter softly as you acknowledge the man who now crossed his arms as his lips curved to show his nearly sparkling teeth,

“Nothing, you just look absolutely gorgeous is all.. I don’t know how you expect me to keep my composure all night in that, but it’s a special day, so I’ll allow it.” Art chuckled and you sighed into the marble counter top as you shook your head affectionately.

“Well, this is your work Mr. Donaldson. Everything I have on you got me.” You noted as you gave him a three-sixty of your heavenly body to which the man pulled his lip between his teeth not so subtlety.

“Mmm, your being mean.” Art groaned playfully as he leaned off the wall to grab your waist and pull you into him. Your face immediately got hot as you were pushed into his aroma, YSL cologne that you found all too sexy eluding off of him. “Your gonna be so adored tonight baby, maybe just as much as the bride herself.” The blonde inched into your ear with a rasps as he grasped your limbs in his hands gently and pressed you into his chest with flow. You nearly let his teasing pull you in — but you couldn’t fight the uproar of sudden thoughts in the back of your mind,

“I’m a little nervous for tonight.” You chuckled lightly. And Art kept his eyes beyond yours, with a slight furrow of his brow.

“How come ?”

“Well… I know a lot of your tennis friends are much older. With much older girlfriends.. and wives..” Your fingers went to toy coyly with Arts collar, and you glanced down while he already had been shaking his head as he noted your words. “They might- judge me. Because I’m much younger,”

“No. No, baby.. I know it’s a little different for you, versus me. You’ll always get the short end of the stick. I know.. but I promise no one’s gonna make you feel inadequate. At least not by me. And if you do get a look or two, fuck them. We’re in France. It’s a French wedding. We’re pretty on theme anyways.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his wit, he always knew how to get you out of any overthinking so quickly with his pure charm and sharp-wittedness. Your reaction made Art smile down at you as his eyes followed your pretty face.

“You’re right. Besides, they’ll all be looking at you anyways.”

“What ? Please,” Art groaned before he chuckled and raised your arm so he could spin you. “You’re breathtaking. You’re impossible to go unnoticed and you know it, sweets.” You giggled out as he spun back around to him and held you close with his admirable wealthy laugh filling the air.

“But.. really, you’re the expert, do you think I look okay? I think they cut my hair too short this season…” Art peered down at you blinking up at him through your lashes and you shook your head.

“No. It’s perfect, at least to me most importantly. You look so handsome.” You ran your fingers through the man’s shorter golden locks and he couldn’t help but feel a heat rising to his own at the way you observed him. Fingers fixing every last strand or detail on him, to then grazing his jawline. “Perfect, as always.” You grin.

Arts blue orbs hadn’t been able to pull away from the beauty that was you below him, you just looked absolutely otherworldly in that dress, all dolled up. He liked to tell himself it was all for him — if it weren’t for the wedding fever going around he’d certainly blame something in the air just noting him to lock you down quick. “God, you look so fucking good in that dress..” Art groaned with a huff before lifting you off your feet and meeting you with a kiss. You couldn’t help but half moan and half sigh into it after your soft gasp as the man swept you off your feet. His lips adorned yours, and you were so pushed by the way his hands leveraged your weight effortlessly to collide with him.

Smiling slyly between kisses you mutter “we only have an half an hour before the caravan picks us up, Art…”

he could of taken your breath away but you managed to get the words across even through Arts hungry kisses. (You’d have to touch up your lipstick, again. If not the rest of your attire soon after he’s been done with you.)

“Yeah ? I can work with that.” The tall blonde grinned as he carried you out into the bedroom and your giggled trailed not too far along behind you.

[hermitshippingbigbang]

to the ends of the earth

by Lotus (@gaylotusthatexists)

Relationship: Scar/Grian

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word count: 105k

Summary:

Scar let out a heavy sigh, starting to push away from his desk before pausing for a moment, shaking his head, then leaning forward again, his quill continuing to glide along the parchment. He wasn’t ready yet, surely whoever had come to collect him could wait a few minutes longer. Or a few hours. Or a few years, actually.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to go on this trip. He knew just how important it was, and how privileged he was that he got to go on it, but-

Well, it wasn’t quite what he’d been hoping for. For a powerful mage such as himself (or, well - future powerful mage, that is) this was perhaps the most important journey he’d make in his lifetime. His pilgrimage to the Crystal Fountain, the source of magic itself, the very journey he’d spent his entire life working towards. He should be excited. He was excited.

At least, he had been, until he found out that he wasn’t to make the journey alone.

Or, in which the vex prince sets out on a magical journey of a lifetime, and an unassuming avian knight is dragged along for the ride. (Or, in which strangers find love in the unlikeliest of places.)

Read to the ends of the earth on AO3!

This work has multiple chapters and will be finished by March 31!

Full art pieces will be posted with their associated chapters!

Check out the amazing artists for this team:

isjasz (@isjasz)

Mellon (@mellioops)

Toby (@minecraftbed)

VesperionNox (@vesperionnox):

Twitter

Instagram

YouTube

[gothicflowers]

Alejandro x F!Reader

“You’re in for a long night”

Wrote for the #amoraalejandro challenge. First time actually doing something like this! Challenge by @glitterypirateduck

Warnings: Some NSFW towards the end, anxiety, body image issues. insecurity, bullying, hyperfemininity, trad wife ideation

Another after successful mission the Los Vaquero gathered at the base. Bottles and beers in every hand. You sat quietly at the table while your friend who was quite the people person gathered a crowd around her while she shared stories.

Things had been odd between your best friend and you. She was on the same Los vaquero task team as you. She started getting snippy and distant towards you. Criticizing your appearance, how you spoke. It never seemed to end. Your best friend you met on the school playground started feeling like a stranger. And here she was infront of a group of soldiers telling one of your most guarded secrets. You never thought your friendship would end like this.

“I mean look at her she can’t even get a boyfriend because she’s so anxious and awkward” she said turning and laughing at you. All the soldiers joined in the laughter. It was horrifying.

Your heartbeat was starting to drown out the laughter and voices. Your throat felt like it was closing in. Tears started pricking your eyes as you scanned the room looking for the exit. And the one man you didn’t want to hear the things she said stood shocked behind you. Alejandro. You both made eye contact but you quickly ripped your eyes away and speeded out the door.

You could hear Alejandro call after you but every fiber of your being was telling you to run. Run from her, run from them, run from the anxiety of not being good enough for someone, run from him.

Unsure of how long you’d been walking your subconscious led you to a place you considered peaceful. You found yourself at the old fountain in the town square. A marvelous sculpture of a man on this knees clinging to a beautiful woman. Her hand lying on his cheek. You never understood why people appreciate art so much until the day you seen it.

To be loved by a man was something you always desired. But for a mans love to no longer be just love, but pure devotion. For another soul to long for yours. That was more beautiful than all the roses in the world. But it’s something you know isn’t in the books for you.

You didn’t have the traditional beauty. No long blonde hair, no toned supermodel legs, breasts that you didn’t think complimented your figure. You had a unique style that few would appreciate without judgment.

You tried many times to gain the attention of men you admired but you never seemed to be what they wanted. Until one day your trusted captain told you the hardest truth you’d ever hear.

“The men you had even been interested in seen you as one of them, a man. You are your mother’s least favorite daughter and your father’s strongest son. You’re a kind person with a heart of gold and deserve the world, but most men are to ignorant to past the job. Weak minded men can’t handle a strong woman such as yourself. But don’t give up little one, there’s a man that will appreciate all these things about you. He just hasn’t found you yet.”

It was true. Nobody ever wanted to see the woman that laid behind the bulletproof vest and gun. Femininity wasn’t going to win wars so through the years the girl in sundresses and lipstick slowly disappeared much to your dismay. You couldn’t shake the feeling of looking at a stranger in the mirror. The woman who looked back at you was someone else, a woman who lost herself trying to prove she was enough.

You sat on the edge of the fountain looking at all the coins lying at the bottom of the water gracefully reflecting the light from the full moon. The few wind chimes hung around the square gently chimed while the peaceful water flowed at the fountain. It was the most peace you’d had to yourself in the years since joining Los Vaqueros.

After a while the anxiety subsided and the tears had dried. But the familiar feeling of emptiness remained. And the new feeling of betrayal of someone who you considered family. It stung knowing how easy it was for her to turn your secrets into late night entertainment for others. And in front of a man you deeply admired and had feelings for.

That brief moment your eyes locked before you ran out felt like forever. He looked shocked, disgusted even. You could only imagine what his opinion of you was like now.

You never talked to your friend about Alejandro, she would have told you he was a pipe dream. Someone like yourself could never charm a man like him. He always had women swooning over him. Who wouldn’t go after a tall, dark, handsome, funny man. Oly enough what attracted you the most about him was his ability a dominant leader who seen his men not as soldiers but as family. Rough callous hands that you’d dream about holding you tight.

You spent many late nights talking with him about everything under sun. He didn’t just listen, but he remembered things about you. How you make your coffee, your favorite flowers. But you know you’ll never belong to him.

“You didn’t deserve that” Alejandro’s voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Alejandro… what are you doing here”

“Well someone important to me was being embarrassed by a friend, had to go looking for her because she wasn’t in her normal hiding spots so I got worried. I don’t like seeing her upset. Looks like I found her though.”

“You really didn’t have to come after me, you should be back there celebrating with the others.”

“Not when I know your hurting mi ángel”

“Can’t say anything she said was a lie though. I trusted her with all of my secrets, even though I’m done with our friendship I’ll still never tell hers.”

“You truly are a beautiful soul amor”

“What do you mean?”

“Most people would be quick for revenge. Even after she clearly hurt you, you chose to keep her secrets. Because you know what it’s like to hurt.” He sat down next to you. You felt small next to him, and your senses were filled with the sent of his cologne. It was comforting though, but you knew you couldn’t get close to him. Don’t let what could be break your heart.

“It’s a weird feeling though, when I lost my family to the cartel I only had her. Never thought my only friend, my family, would do that to me.” A deep sigh left your chest as you stared down at your hands.

Unknowingly to you Alejandro was looking down at you with eyes that would make a woman weak. He hated that everyone isolated you. How could they? And how dare that bitch for making you cry. Few things on this earth could make his heart break, the way seeing you upset made him feel almost helpless.

“She doesn’t look at you like a friend. Whoever she was to you before, I don’t think that girl is there anymore. Behind your back she’s jealous of you. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve had her captain reprimand her for her behavior.”

“Really?” Had he really been seeing how your friendship had changed?

“Si, last month Rudy caught her using your pin to unlock the ammunition room. Last week she put bleach in the washer thinking it was your clothes, they were mine though. She tried telling me you had been selling secrets, of course I didn’t believe her. There’s something about you that she can’t become herself, so she’s been trying her hardest to keep you down.”

“I don’t see how she could be jealous of me. I mean she’s everything that I can’t seem to be”

“What you mean” you look up at him almost confused. His eyes look lost in your words, like there’s something about you that you can’t see.

“She’s attractive, always has guys falling at her feet. Confidence like no other. And everyone loves her. But me… I put on this uniform and I’m unrecognizable to myself. I’m not attractive. I can’t talk to a man to save my life, and I’m not confident enough to do anything about it.“

“You’re talking to me, no?” He playfully leaned against you, a stubble nudge.

“Oh Alejandro” you giggle looking up at him. He was smiling down at you making you blush and look back down at your hands.

“You know… the first time I saw you… you had on a long sundress that looked beautiful against your skin. Your hair was perfectly done and your lips a shade of pink that made your eyes shine. You were helping an old lady carry her groceries home because her cart broke. I so badly wanted to introduce myself to you. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But we were tailing a possible suspect and I couldn’t leave my men.”

“Ale-“

“Since that day I regretted not introducing myself. Then a month or so later Rudy introduces you as our newest recruit. So shy and sweet. Still as beautiful as the first time I seen you. And every day since you find new ways to make me love you. You’re so strong and skillful, most men train a lifetime to be as good as you. You are always the first to check on someone and the last one to leave. Are you a typical soldier? No. But you are every man’s dream.”

Your cheeks felt burning hot despite the dropping temperature. Suddenly every detail of your appearance felt overwhelming and wrong. There was no way the man that you’ve been secretly in love with is speaking about you like this. Maybe this was all a dream. A lovely but impossible dream.

“I don’t think I’m any man’s dream. Everyone sees me as if I’m a man. I can’t even count the times I’ve been rejected. All men ever see is the girl with the gun. Not the girl that would rather be in a dress and tending to flowers in a garden, a house with a porch swing, cooking dinners and chasing after a kid.”

Alejandro stands up and offers you a hand. You put your delicate hand in his and are standing face to face with him. His eyes shined with a look that nobody had ever looked at you with before. What is admiration? Love? Attraction? Pity?

“I think there’s someone that wants you to have all of that. The garden, the kids, the house. But he’s just been too afraid of saying something.” His hands held your small hands in his. Bringing them up for a kiss.

“Oh Alejandro don’t give a hopeless romantic like me hope like that” you looked up at him with a sparkle in your eyes that he always tried to bring out.

“I can give you everything you’ll ever desire. Princesa, I have loved you from the moment i first seen you. I’m sorry it’s took me this long to tell you.” His tone was serious but soft. Everything he wanted was in front of him it was now or never.

“You… love me?” Your voice could barely escape past your lips. He had stolen the breath out from your chest.

“Si” if Alejandro could see his own face he’d smack himself for looking like such a smiling dork.

“But what if I’m not-“

“Do I need to prove my love, my devotion to you mi amor? I will do anything you ask me to.”

There’s that word. Devotion. For a man to say he loves you is almost as easy as lying. But for a man to admit devotion is different. A willingness to walk eternity on thorns barefoot, to burn at the stake, to carve your name into his chest. Devotion.

Alejandro could see the see the hesitation in your eyes. He didn’t want you to have to question his intentions, or yourself. When you looked back up at him there was a glimmer of hope and passion in your eyes, love.

“What if I do this”

His lips kissed yours softly as if asking if it was okay. You leaned into the kiss feeling all your worries melt away. Without realizing your hand made its way to his neck gently. A quiet mix between a moan and grunt rumbled from his chest. His arm wrapped around your waist pulling your bodies flush against each other. His other hand cradling the nape of your neck. Once you both had you fill you separate lips but still cling together in each others warm embrace.

“te amo princesa” his voice deep in desire said to you. His thumb caressing your cheek.

“Te amo Alejandro” your heart was beating so fast your words almost stuttered.

“How does staying the night with me sound? I mean, I know everyone back on the base is probably plastered. And I promise I can make a good breakfast. And I’m sure you’ll enjoy the view.”

“Oh trust me, I’ll enjoy the view wherever we’re at.” Your voice was more seductive than you realized when you took a good look at him up and down.

Alejandro was surprised by your reply, not expecting you be so forward considering your usual shy demeanor. But it made him blush bright red and made his skin hot. And your voice like silk wrapped around his mind. His self control was surely being tested. Every fiber of his being wanted to rip your clothes off and claim you as his. To leave love bites along your neck, chest, and thighs. To hear you cry out his name like a prayer as you come undone over and over for him before he even thinks about his own release. And for any man that glances at you to know you’re worshiped and adored. He finally had you, pure perfection. But he didn’t want to rush and scare you away by trying to immediately bed you.

“princesa you have no clue what your words can do to a man.”

“What I was just stating the obvious Alejandro. And to actually answer your question going to your place sounds great.”

After a short walk to his vehicle you arrived at a home just on the outskirts of town overlooking the lights of the city. Alejandro wasn’t wrong about the view, it was beautiful and peaceful. But your mind kept racing back to the feeling of his hand resting on your thigh the ride home. His cologne, the way his shirt collar showed just enough of his chest. You could feel your panties clinging to the slickness of your heat. By the time you both made it through the front door desire took control of both of your bodies.

The Colonel picked you up by the waist, bringing you up against his muscular chest while your legs wrapped wound his hips. “My love” he whispered into your ear as his hands run up your sides, bringing you closer to him. His lips brushing and sucking against your neck peppering toe curling kisses down to your collar bone. His hands made quick work of removing your shirt but leaving on your lace bra.

You couldn’t control the soft moans escaping your lips. Being kissed had never felt so… euphoric.

Alejandro’s hands trail down your back, resting on your hips. “Oh, you like that…” he whispers, his voice deep and husky. He lips showed much needed attention to the other side of your neck, his hands back up, until they rested on your breasts giving them a gentle squeeze.

“You’re such a tease Ale” you gasped out as his sucked down on the spot your back arched at when he passed over moments ago. Showing it extra attention since you liked it so much.

“Please Alejandro”

Alejandro laughs. “Please what? Your words are so sweet... it makes me want hear you beg” He stands tall again looking down at you. “Use your words princesa”

“You know what I want” your lips came up to kiss him but he pulls back just enough that they just barely brush against each other. His large hands undoing your belt and pants pulling them off you.

“That’s still not what I need to hear princesa” You could see the amount of restraint and control he had over himself even though deep down he was losing his mind over the sight of you in just your matching bra and panties.

“Make me yours Alejandro, make all of me yours” you fingers locked into his belt loops pulling his hips in closer into your spread legs.

“As you wish. But I’m not rushing this amor, I’ve waited too long to get to worship you and I’m going to take my time doing so” his voice was raspy with lust. He grabs the back of your head with his hands, running his fingers through your hair. It sends shivers all through you and you pull back slightly, catching your breath, “you looks so perfect in my hands” Alejandro chuckles warmly.

“Take me to bed Ale and fuck me… please”

“Oh mi vida,” Alejandro walks into a bedroom carrying you to a king size bed with silk sheets in the middle. The window casting the moonlight into the room wasn’t enough for him to be able to see every inch of your perfect body. He carries you over to the bed setting you down. He turned over and switched on the bedside lamp. Layed out perfectly on his bed in just your lace lingerie softly caressed by the soft light. The most precious woman he’d ever met was his now, and he is yours. “You’re so beautiful mi amor” his voice dripped desire while his eyes reflected passion and love.

He took off his button up shirt throwing it on the ground. You laid up at pillows propped up on your elbows, watching him at the foot of the bed. You bit your lip finally getting to see his strong arms and shoulders with his bare chest.

“See something you like” his voice ripped you out of your gaze.

“Something I like, something I want” you flirted back. He got onto the bed staying in between your legs. His lips started kissing your inner calf tickling the skin as he brought your leg up to rest on his shoulder. Kissing by your knee he made way up to your thighs leaving kisses and love bites.

He give your thighs one last kiss before he laid down on his stomach with one of your legs still over his shoulder. Your heart beating out of your chest seeing him like this, so close to the most intimate part of you. His lips just close enough to brush over your pantie cover cunt.

“You’re in for a long night mi amor”

[justaslytheringal]

How to spot a... Hogwarts edition

How to spot a Slytherin

Common habitats: gothic cathedrals, 24-hour coffee shops, antique stores, art galleries, forbidden forests, the quietest spot in libraries, cemeteries, wandering around the city at night

Common behaviours: sarcastic, stubborn, bottles up a lot of their emotions, drinks coffee in the evening, swears a lot, has a small but close social circle, likes to dress up, has expensive taste, may suffer from resting b**** face, did I say sarcastic?

Other attributes: trench coats, leather journals, marble statues, fancy teacups, family heirlooms, black silk, French perfume, sly smirks, black and white photography, champagne

How to spot a Ravenclaw

Common habitats: overstocked libraries, fancy stationary shops, mysterious castles, vintage stores, under the stars, local museums, forests, quirky cafes

Common behaviours: writes pretty notes, has the best conversations at 2am, prefers nights in, gets frustrated if they don't get something first try, caffeine addicts, prefers cold weather, listens to classical music, has a million half-finished creative projects, likes to stargaze

Other attributes: leather bound notebooks, hot coffee, old books, the arts, fountain pens, tortoiseshell glasses, constellations, ink stains, vintage blazers, stolen glances, raindrops on windows

How to spot a Hufflepuff

Common habitats: independent book shops, cosy cafes, meadows, thrift stores, petting zoos, drive-in cinemas, local bakeries, snuggled up under their blanket

Common behaviours: always has a warm drink in hand, bakes when stressed, holds the door for strangers, tends to stick to their comfort shows/movies instead of watching something new, loves plants, dances in the kitchen

Other attributes: handwritten letters, fuzzy socks, quirky mugs, old sweaters, pressed flowers, bubble baths, vintage jewellery, sunlight cracking through curtains

How to spot a Gryffindor

Common habitats: outdoor concerts, record stores, old playgrounds, by the fireplace, retro diners, campsites, petting zoos, light festivals, treehouses, secret gardens

Common behaviours: gets along with everybody, takes the risk - no matter the odds, has an unbridled passion for oddly specific things, stands up for what's right, loves to make people laugh, nice but can come across as flirty

Other attributes: gold jewellery, fireworks, hot chocolate, quidditch matches, friendship bracelets, endless laughter, crunchy leaves on an autumn morning

[fountainstrangerart]

Ciri as a scary sexy sith is so much fun, I'm so happy that :iconLeoForce:  is as happy with it as i am~ *** TTRPG OC and Illustration Commissions are open, DM for more details

[lowkeyrobin]

TOMMYINNIT ; body art

summary/prompt ; doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; use of tubbos real name once (lmk if I should change it), wilbur existing (written before he was exposed, stand with victims)

word count ; 750

masterlist

Tommy sat at his desk, happily streaming some Minecraft with Wilbur, Tubbo, and Phil. He notices some thin, black lines forming on his left hand, resting over the WASD keys on his keyboard. They started at the fingers and slowly trailed down to his wrist.

He lightly smiles, seeing that his soulmate is doing the usual, drawing some doodles on their hand in the evening. He refocuses his attention, getting back to his stream.

The next afternoon, he walks about town with Wilbur and Tubbo, having a fun little day out with two of his best friends. They sit down on the ledge of a fountain in the little center of the outdoor mall they were walking about in. Wilbur on the left, Tommy in the middle, and Tubbo on the right.

Tommy looks down at his hand, still stained with black and red marker. Clearly, his soulmate hadn't showered or had been trying to rub it off while washing their hands since yesterday, like they wanted it to stay. Tommy hoped that they were proud of their arts skills. Maybe once they'd met, he could get some temporary sharpie tattoos from them, although they'd forever be twinning with that ideology.

"You good, Tom?" Tubbo asks, tapping the blonde on the shoulder.

He quickly nods, "Yeah, yeah. Just-"

Wilbur cuts him off with a smug smile, "Admiring your soulmate’s artistic ability?"

Tommy silently nods with a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He had no idea who was bound to be with him, but he was already falling in love in a way.

Somehow, they knew that red was his favorite color, how he loved roses and tulips. They frequently drew flowering red vines on their hands and fingers, with a little note reading 'for you, soulmate'.

This time, they left a note at the base of his wrist.

'have a lovely day, blondielocks <3'

Blondielocks.

That dumbass nickname they gave him a few weeks ago while they communicated with markers on their legs. That night created a core memory for the blonde boy.

The next morning, Tommy's legs were still covered in red, green, blue, and purple marker stains. That forced him to sit in the shower with a wash cloth and wipe down his legs and thighs, washing off all he wrote. He patiently waited for them to do the same, and not long after, the colored ink dripped down his legs into the drain, leaving his legs as white as they were before like an empty canvas.

Wilbur lightly shoves Tommy with his arm, "You'll find them soon enough"

"Says you! You're twenty-seven and you still haven't met your soulmate" Tommy frowns.

Will opens his mouth to speak, but closes his lips, unable to come up with something witty yet reasonable to reply with.

He fidgets with his hands while he scans the people walking around, seeing a person with some doodles on their hands walking past with a friend. Upon a bit of creepy staring, Tommy feels something in his brain tingling. A weird, safe sense as he looks at this person. As they walk past, he notices the doodles on their hand are exactly the same as the ones on his hand.

He quickly taps Tubbo on the shoulder, staring at the stranger.

"Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo, Toby! Toby, this is an emergency!"

"What?" Tubbo sighs, setting his phone down as he looks at his blonde friend

Tommy discreetly points towards the person, "I think that's my soulmate! What do I do?" He asks, hushing his voice.

Tubbo shrugs, "Go talk to them, compliment them, I dunno"

Tommy turns to Wilbur who just replies with a smug smile.

"You're no help" the blonde mumbles, standing up as he feels his hands start to shake.

He walks towards the person, tapping them on the shoulder.

They quickly look back with a warm smile.

"HI! Uh, sorry to bother- uhm, I really like your outfit" He awkwardly smiles

They return the awkward smile back, seeing his hand run through his hair.

"Thank you!" They say

They look at his hand, then him, seeing the ink drawn doodles. He shows them his hand, the two sharing thoughts.

They hold their hand out as well, showing the same doodles on their own hand.

"Uh, hi" He awkwardly smiles, "I'm Tommy" He flips his hand over, showing the little message on his wrist, "Or Blondielocks"

They giggle, flipping their wrist over to show the same text.

"I'm Y/N"

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's origin✨ || bts • kth - epilogue

"you're afraid I won't wait."

"I'm afraid you will."

a criminal and a doctor should be as different as the sun and the moon - but unexpected things happened every day. like him finding his safe haven in her.

© 2024 | eleni_cherie

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masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers s2f2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

age 30 // attending physician

6th June

Havana, Cuba

The day Taehyung walked away, Cassandra didn't only lose the only man she'd ever loved but also her best friend.

A lifetime without him seemed empty and pointless and she was still mad at him for putting her through this misery.

However, she couldn't hate him, even if she wanted to. He hadn't done anything wrong after all, neither one of them had. What he'd done, he'd done out of love, to keep her far away from the danger lurking around every corner he took.

No. She'd never be able hating him because in the end, he'd never broken her heart. He had just stolen and run away with it.

And it still hurt.

The first first days, weeks, months after the break-up were characterised by denial. She was used to extended periods between seeing him again after all. Even the fact texts and calls had stopped, couldn't change that. Only when postcards had stopped coming as well, it'd finally downed to her.

Of course, in reality she'd already known it long before that, from the very first moment he'd left. She could see it in his eyes. He'd meant it back then, every single word. He wouldn't come back.

And yet, denial kept her from accepting it earlier. Kept her from even admitting or acknowledging it. Denial had her bargaining, believing that, even if he'd meant it, he'd surely change his mind eventually. That he'd certainly regret it. Denial gave her false hope.

When months passed without any new postcard, however, that was when she'd finally let herself admit defeat. When the denial couldn't hold up anymore. When the bargaining ended up in vain.

And instead, a phase of upsetness and depression, in constant pendulation, entered. A permanent restlessness accompanying her from that day on, knowing she'd never be able finding what they'd shared with someone else.

Until she'd finally accepted it and got accustomed to never seeing him again.

The tiny hope she'd once held, long stored back in a box and buried by then. Only the necklaces remained as a remnant of the past, not ready to give them away. One day maybe, but not yet.

However, just because she had managed accepting it, it didn't mean everything was back to normal for her.

Passing by their old places, she couldn't help but always see the ghost of them together there, everything turning dull. Unable to pass by Casa Batlló anymore without aching at the memory of their sunsets, the beach without remembering New Year's Eve, without seeing the 'magic fountain' and remembering his birthday present or the art museum above it where he'd clumsily confessed to her later.

Not even being able staying too long in her own apartment, constantly getting reminded of their first kiss or the countless nights they had spent there laughing, crying, fooling around and loving each other.

Her once dream city had turned blue and gray.

She simply couldn't bear staying in Barcelona anymore after completing her medical training last year, deciding to realise her once silly idea of revisiting the place of her childhood memories for her specialisation training instead.

A place with no attachment to him. Far away from everything and everyone.

She was essentially running away - or at least tried to. Although she knew she'd never be able to fully run away from it all, carrying him with her anywhere she went.

Perhaps there was also an underlying irony in the fact she'd chosen emergency medicine as her specialisation out of all medical fields. Perhaps it was evidence for the residual hold the artful marksman with the cheeky grin and the warm eyes still had on her and probably always would.

Over a year had already passed by now ever since Taehyung had left and interpol showing up hours later, questioning her about the boatyard. Over a year and she still caught herself falling into her memories every once in a while. Still couldn't stop becoming sorrowful whenever she did and plunging into work or her films for distraction.

She felt like a fool, considering a year should've been enough time to get over someone, something she'd used to do in a day or two.

At least she had stopped looking for him in other men a long time ago. Unintentionally comparing anyone she'd crossed paths with him at first, a fatuous and unhealthy habit which thankfully had subdued by now. Not that she even wanted or tried to find anyone to replace him. It'd be impossible, but also the mere thought of any men made her shudder.

No, she didn't even feel like glancing at anyone, much less date anyone. Her busy work schedules and introverted personality were a true blessing after all, making avoiding them easier.

So there she was now in Havana, the capital of Cuba and place of one of her earliest childhood memories.

It was the beginning of summer, although high temperatures had been constant for weeks. But it was nothing she couldn't handle and otherwise she enjoyed her life there so far. She wouldn't have the right to complain anyway, Havana being her chosen getaway after all.

Cassandra opened the door to her apartment in the first floor, the coolness inside a much needed contrast to the warm afternoon outside. Her aparatment was a bit bigger than her old one, but still decorated in a similar fashion. She couldn't get rid of her beloved posters, plants or plushies after all.

Her backpack sliding from her arms to the floor with a thud as soon as she pressed the door shut behind her.

A five-hour-long seminar sounded more painful than it really was, but perhaps she'd simply got used to this, who knew. Numbness to certain things was one of the requirements for this kind of profession, which she had almost mastered by now - finally.

With a dragged sigh, she slipped out of her disgustingly warm sneakers, although she was accustomed to such temperatures, they still took a tall on her. First she poured herself a much needed glass of water. Gulping it down in one go before changing into more comfortable clothes and preparing something to eat.

When the food was ready, she settled in front of her tv to continue watching a crime comedy she'd started awhile ago.

Old habits died hard after all.

The second half of the episode was reached when Cassandra noticed her eyes growing heavy, the tiredness of the day and the food making her drowsy. Eventually fluttering shut, causing her to almost miss the anxious knocking on her front door.

First she dismissed it as a neighbour's hammering, but when she paused the episode to figure out which one it was, she realised the noise was coming from her door. And she tensed up, staring at it with wide eyes.

Wonder mixed with an odd feeling of déjà-vu crept up on her as she slowly went to answer it. Assuming it was just irritation causing her trembling hands as she grabbed the door handle, her knuckles turning white when pressing it down and opening the door.

It felt like a sick joke of the universe first. Then she feared her mind was only playing tricks on her, projecting a memory of him. But it couldn't be a memory. He looked different.

Not because of the beaten up posture and the torn clothes - she had seen him way worse. It wasn't even the shorter mop of waves, tousled and sticking out at some ends, or his broader frame.

No. It was the distress written all over his gentle features, a mild sunburn tainting them in a pinkish shade, that told her something had to be severely wrong for him to stand again in front of her door, more than one year later.

And her initial excitement sunk.

"Cas -" Taehyung tried catching his breath and propped a toned arm against the doorframe. It was evident that he had been running. "I know I have no right, but Jimin - he - he needs you."

At the mention of his friend's name and the way he choked it out, she sensed her initial fear being correct. Something was terribly wrong.

Any lingering feelings and unsolved regrets got swept aside in that moment. Her ego and tiredness long forgotten, instead instincts from years of medical training kicked in. And she immediatelly rushed to the bathroom.

Perplexed at her sudden move, he wanted to call after her when she returned seconds later with a familiar object in her hands. The blue medical kit. She held it firmly in one hand while slipping back into her sneakers with the help of the other.

"Take me to him."

Taehyung smiled softly, not even surprised by the determination in her voice. She hadn't changed at all, she was still the same.

He nodded then, wordlessly grasping her free hand in his and Cassandra let him pull her downstairs to his waiting car.

THE END

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hope you enjoyed this prequel! it got longer than expected haha

if you wanna know how Tae x Cas's story continues, make sure to read the main story "among thieves" and the sequel "a thief's end" ;)

💜check out the whole "thieves collection" series or my main bts masterlist for other members' stories in this universe or in general💜

Don't forget to like, comment & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

taglist: @lilanyxta @naoolammao345 @memna234 @tetehion @myblacklilame

[fandom-monium]

Sweet Poison - Part 5

Summary: In which you avoid Zagreus, until one day you can't. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

WC: 2.4k

TW: Zagreus (Hades Video game) x Succubus!Reader, GN!Reader, a succubus AND an artist bc sex is just work and food, au where in game Zag commissions the paintings using gems, what if boons actually affected Zagreus, slow build, strangers to friends to lovers trope, sex work, fluff, fluff and humor, mutual pining, idiots in love, mild angst, pheromones (technically it’s succubi magic aura), Zagreus is at least 6 ft convince me otherwise, eventual smut, MINOR descriptions of blood and injuries. Physical touch, affection. Just Zagreus being soft and doting and kind to you this chap

Damn her, damn her, damn her, damn—

Teeth clenched, your vision swims as you grip the rim of the basin for balance, washing off the blood as red drops swirl and mix like watercolor paints before the water clears again. It’s days like this where you wish you can get stronger, more powerful, but there’s a limit to everyone’s full potential, and unfortunately you met yours a long time ago.

Still, it’d be nice.

Contrary to popular belief, succubi can be vicious warriors, they’re simply in their own class. Their abilities, their magic, while never measuring up to gods, could ruin an army in a master’s hand, but it has its limits. Especially amongst demonkind.

As the water calms, you grind your teeth at the sight of your reflection, assessing the damage. Blood and darkness, that’s going to bruise, that one’s definitely going to scar, and you curse the universe because your job’s about to get that much harder now that you may have to use a glamor. Oh, you swear next time you get your hands on her, you’ll—

A resounding rumble quakes the room.

Your chamber door.

You curse. But you're sluggish from the blood loss, and before you can hurl yourself out the balcony, Zagreus steps in without his usual greeting, panting and laurels slightly askew, like he rushed in knowing you’re here. Wild eyes dart to every corner of the chamber, as if he half-expects you to be hiding, until they fall on you, embarrassingly hunched over your healing fountain.

One glance at your battered face, he’s beside you in a flash.

"Zag—”

“What happened?” His tone is surprisingly strained as his hands, clean of blood and gore, reach for you. Then something flickers across his face that makes him hover, his eyes—red and green and wide—taking in your new wounds with horror.

If only you had the energy to cower, shield your bruised face. He’s the last person you want to see right now, and your vision blurs, hating how he of all people is seeing you like this—broken, imperfect.

“I’m fine, Zagreus,” You croak, your voice quiet as you swallow your insecurity like bile. A poor attempt to put some distance between you, you try to step aside, but your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumple like a house of cards.

Of course, Zagreus catches you—asshole—strong, lean arms gentle as he hugs you to his chest, holding you up as if you’re the most precious of gems. Hate how quick you are to relax in his hold, clay in his hands. Blood and darkness, it’s so easy, so quick, so… right.

You squirm against him, but his grip tightens slightly, mindful of your injuries.

“Sure you are,” Zagreus snorts, though he gazes down at you so soft and sweet you want to shout, wondering if he tastes the same. “Come on, I’ll patch you up.”

Unable to protest, you let him carry you like a rag doll, limp in his hands before he gently props you up on the lounge chair. You lean against the back with a groan. “Really, I'm—”

“'Fine', yes, you’ve said that,” Already, he’s rummaging through your cupboards, at least the ones he knows aren’t filled with art supplies. “Do you have bandages?”

“… Second last cabinet on your left.”

Without a word, he walks through your chamber with self assurance, maneuvering around your easel and stepping over splayed out canvas as they finish drying, careful where to leave his burning footprints. He finds what he’s looking for easily enough, a moment later pulling up a chair and plopping down in front of you. His hands are methodical as he lays everything out; two bowls of water, a small cloth, and the saddest little first aid kit.

In your defense, you hardly end up like this.

You watch his hands as he dips the towel in the water then wrings it out, before gently dragging it across your exposed arms. You flinch as he begins wiping off the grime.

“I know,” His tone is soft, terribly understanding as he continues. “Give it a minute, you’ll feel much better soon.”

You want to snort, snap at him that you’re fully aware of how it works, but the cool sting of water, the mild burn from the open gashes and cuts along your skin, is quick to clench your jaw shut. Pain ebbs across your body, and you watch him speechless, the rhythm he follows, painfully gentle as he drags the cloth across your skin, careful not to aggravate your wounds. Clean water, wring out, wipe, rinse, repeat; he even goes out of his way to change the water, and the relief that comes after would make you sink into the couch, if not for Zagreus's silence.

He's yet to say a word since he entered. He'd asked you already, yes, but you take him for someone who doesn't give up that easily. You expected more of a fight. Now, you're not so sure.

"Zagreus, I… I—" It's hoarse, hardly above a whisper, but it's a start.

You feel him pause before choosing to lay into your newfound cowardice like a wet blanket, avoiding his eyes. Who knows what you'll do if you meet his gaze.

Sensing your hesitation, Zagreus clears his throat, "Perhaps you should save your energy. We can chat when you're healed."

You shake your head, though it only makes the room spin. "No, I need to tell you this now. Before..."

"Before what? You start avoiding me again?" He resumes, wrapping gauze around your forearm, his touch ghosting your skin as he holds your arm out. There’s no malice or respite in his tone, soft and withdrawn as it comes, but you wince. If anything, it’s bittersweet, with an acceptance he long held before he approached your chamber, and it leaves your heart clenching. You don't know how to respond. Are you that obvious?

"(Your Name)... did I do something wrong?"

You blink, whirling to face him.

Zagreus bites his lip, emotions he can’t fathom threatening to spill out of him. That's always been his flaw, according to Father. He's attuned to his emotions, more than Nyx, Father, literally any of the chthonic gods. He stares as his hands tremble, attempting to knot the bandage. "Because if I did, please just tell me what it is so I can make things right between us."

"No-no, you've done nothing wrong," You assure him, sitting up through the pain even when Zagreus protests. When he raises a brow at your answer, you rush to add, "I swear! I've been busy with... work." Technically, this isn’t a lie.

"... 'Busy'. Is that how you got these?" Zagreus holds out your mangled arm by your hand, flicking his eyes over your body in the way you hate most. You'd take aura-induced desire over this: pity, disgust.

You wrench your arm away, cradling it in your lap and shrugging. "What can I say? The life of a demon is a hard one."

"(Your Name), who did this?"

You freeze. Nerves go haywire, and you squirm under his piercing gaze, burning through you as you contemplate lying to him, but you know better. At this point, you know each other too well, and—blood and darkness—he'll see right through you. There’s a defeated sigh, then a quiet, "Alecto."

Zagreus's eyes darken, but you wave him off. "Don't worry. In her defense, I kind of deserved it."

Zagreus sputters, taken aback, staring at you as if you offended him. "'Don't worry'? Don't—how can you say that? First I've seen you in days, and you're—" A sharp intake of breath, and he clenches his jaw so hard you're surprised it doesn't break.

"It's not a big deal. I disobeyed direct orders, and..." You trail off, thinking back.

Since meeting Zagreus, seeds of doubt sprout in your chest, in your lungs, suffocating you as you question the system you’ve worked under for so long. You’ve never questioned who you are and what you do, not to say you love your job, but it’s your life. Yet who’s to say there aren't poor souls sentenced to the wrong level? Genuine and kind, noble and passionate—people who don't deserve eternal damnation.

The possibility of your victims being innocent and undeserving makes you want to hurl, tortured shrieks and endless tears flashing across your memory and echoing in your ears. Your stomach clenches just thinking about it.

"(Your Name), I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Zagreus starts, mouth opening and closing like he can't find the words, his breaths coming quick and ragged. He just stares at you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you can't quite place—as if your virtuous act breaks his heart, crushes his soul. Then he blinks, and it's gone, shaking his stupor. “This is my fault…”

You raise an eyebrow, “How is this your fault?”

“I… I just… you shouldn’t have…” You frown as Zagreus struggles, brow furrowed, clearly pained as he thinks over his answer, like whatever he says next determines your fates. Seeming to think better of it, he shakes his head and brings your hand to his lips, and you flush, your heart skipping as his lips graze over the bandages, warmth seeping through the material and into your wounds like a healing salve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” He rasps between each kiss, trailing up the back of your hand and up your forearm, like they’ll heal the wounds faster. Like this is the best he can do, like this is all he can do. Not that you plan to stop him.

Your face burns, but you let him apologize, though you’re not sure what for as he stops before your shoulder. At some point, he slotted himself between your thighs, and now face to face, he studies your cuts and bruises, already fading away as his eyes, soft and glistening, flick over your features. Like he’s debating if his kisses will help them heal faster too.

Gods, if he brings those lips anywhere near your face, you might combust.

You meet his gaze, “What—”

“I lied.”

It comes as a whisper, his voice dry and low that you tilt your head, urging him to continue.

“I’m not some mortal soul, dredging their way through Tartarus,” Zagreus grinds out, scanning your face as if committing you to memory one last time. Then he sits back and stares at the floor, still gripping your hand as he rubs circles over the bandage. “I mean, it’s true I intend to escape the Underworld.”

“Zagreus—”

“And yes, I’m searching for my mother—”

“Zag—”

“But I’m really—”

“My prince.”

He flinches, his eyes shooting up to meet yours. “What?”

“None of this is your fault, my prince. With or without your influence, I’d have done the same thing anyway.” He gapes at you and you smirk, using the little strength you’ve recovered to squeeze his hand reassuringly, “Or would you rather I address you as Your Highness instead?”

Zagreus shakes his head, black hair flopping out of his shocked face. “I don’t understand. You knew?”

“For a bit now, yes,” You shrug as you turn his hand over, large and calloused in yours, swiping a thumb over one of his healed blisters, probably from gripping his weapons. “Took me a while to figure it out, but I can’t say I was surprised. It explained some of your funny behavior.”

He scoffs, the corners of his lips twitching slightly, “What sort of funny behavior?”

“Pretend all you like, but you can’t suppress those noble habits,” You chuckle, eyes crinkling seeing him cheer up. “All your mannerisms screamed ‘royal’, I just didn’t realize we were talking Underworld royalty.”

“Seriously?” Zagreus gazes at you in disbelief. “I thought I did a pretty good job acting—”

“Like a commoner?”

“Like a mortal,” He shoots you a pointed look, and you snort, relaxing into the love seat.

“You were okay.” You purse your lips, “While we’re on the subject of identity reveals, you should know I’m—”

“A succubus?”

You blink before pouting, snatching your hand away to cross your arms over your chest. “You only say that because I was about to tell you…”

“Not true,” Zagreus grins, leaning over to give your thigh an affectionate squeeze. “I knew from the beginning. Succubi magic doesn't affect gods, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel it.”

“And you still stayed? Knowing what I am and what I do?”

“And you still treated me as any other friend, knowing who I am?”

“That’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I disagree,” He coaxes your hands into his, prompting you to meet his gaze as his expression shifts into something more earnest. “We both tried—and failed miserably—to hide a huge part of ourselves in fear of what we’d think of each other, am I wrong?”

You shake your head.

“Exactly. (Your Name), I hope you know not once did I think any less of you for your work, much less your species.”

You respond in kind, “And not once did I consider bowing down to the Prince of the Underworld, especially not after seeing him stuff his face with wraps he picked off the ground.”

He guffaws. “Good, then we’re in agreement?”

“I guess...”

“Just what every man wants to hear from a beautiful creature.” Ignoring the burn in your cheeks, you roll your eyes, and he adds, “But we’re okay? You won’t avoid me anymore?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“Keep that up, you won’t be seeing me for another couple runs.”

“I was agreeing with you!”

“Your tone said otherwise.”

By the time your shared laughter dies down, the atmosphere clears, leaving a comfortable silence settling in the small space between you. In that time, he’s yet to let go of your hands, your thighs brushing as he rubs soothing circles against your hands, and while he insists on staying until he’s sure you’re better, acceptance rushes over you like the oncoming tide, because try as you might, Alecto’s punishment was nothing in comparison to Zagreus’s absence. These fleeting moments he stops by your chamber, whether to recover, commission a painting, or to simply have a chat, you appreciate each and every one of them. If that’s all you’ll ever have with Zagreus, you decide, your chest tight with a melancholic warmth, then that's okay.

This is enough.

—

Soon after Zagreus reluctantly leaves you once more, he enters the last chamber of Tartarus.

“Redblood! What say you—ack—hey, I wasn’t done talking!”

If he prolongs their time together, allowing him to indulge his cruelty, then consider it time well spent.

—

AN: One of my biggest peeves in media tropes is the betrayal and angst as a reaction from hiding identities from s/o, like in superhero media. It's overplayed, overdone.

A good, recent example of this is the new animated Superman show, My Adventures with Superman, where (SPOILERS) Lois forces the truth out of Clark, and is pissed when he confirms he is Superman. Bro, you literally said to his face how you'd reveal his identity to the public, can you blame the guy? Idgaf you think he's lying ab his feelings omfg he's protecting his idenity (its a good show tho pls watch it!!)

However, a cartoon that does the scenario right is in the old Nickelodeon cartoon, Danny Phantom (some of yall may be too young to remember), the older sister, Jaz, of the mc, Danny, quietly realizes he's the superhero of their town, and decides to patiently wait for him to tell her when HE'S READY. Like askjgdaksjhf yassss we love patience and understanding.

Which is why I like to imagine while Zag didn't outright tell you who he is, he didn't try to hide it either. The underworld's a big ass place, he's got no control over who and what ppl say and do, so however you find out, whether in passing or of your own sleuthing skills, you both wait.

Ty for coming to my ted talk :D

[msanonymous]

“How do you become a poet?”

Always looking/ Hardly speaking/ Defending the moon/ Disappearing from the room/ As if you were never even there/ Drinking more caffeine than breathing air/ Instead of falling in love with smiles, looking at them & just wondering why they don't reach it to that person's eyes?/ Instead of getting lost in the eyes, reading the sadness in them & wondering why they cried themselves to sleep at nights?/ Unsaid words, lots of them, so many that your mind gets fully clogged up with them, & at nights they threaten to spill out from your eyes as teardrops/ Unsent letters, loads of them, too many hidden well in your secret drawers, because of the fear of one accidentally landing in someone's letter box/ “Where is your home?”/ I don't know/ Strangers to friends. Within years. Friends to strangers again. Within a heartbeat/ I think I've seen this film before & I didn't like the ending/ Too many films of memories, playing in your head all together at the same time/ Too many stories of your life, having the similar last page, with the same last line/ “You are not enough!”/ Am I really not made for love?/ Lying to the whole world. “I'm fine”/ Lying to your therapist. “I'm fine, other people have it so much worse than me”/ Lying to your parents. “I'm fine.” “Then why are you crying?” “I'm not, I'm fine”/ Lying to yourself. ‘I'm fine.’ ‘No, you're not. You know you're not.’ ‘I know! But does it matter? No. It doesn't. There are hearts more hurt than ours.’ ‘But then why are you crying?’/ Daydreams & what-ifs/ Always finding yourself at the edge of the cliffs/ Envying & smiling sadly at the people who are poetry/ “I read your poem. It's beautiful!” What about me?/ Not touching your diary for months/ Then writing 6 poems in a day, after receiving 6 brand new cuts/ When no matter what pen you choose to write with, fountain, ball point, glitter gel, the ink you'll see after completing the last line will all be blood/ & then there's suddenly blood everywhere. Blood, so much blood. You lift your shaky hands & find both of your palms covered in it. You cover your eyes with them & sob, drowning in your own flood/ & you just keep praying to God for it to be your own. That the cracks of heart from all this blood seeped through, please God, let it be mine. Let it be mine/ The world hurts you enough everyday. But the last thing you want to do is to hurt the world back in your lifetime/ Mastering the art of stitching the wounds. But never for yours/ Other people have it so much worse. You don't deserve any of the cures/ Letting the wounds you think you deserve bleed/ Continuously, trying to not pay the pain any heed/ But still failing/ & weeping & weeping/ Then picking up the quill & dipping it in the aorta of your heart/ & attempting to create art/ But I think I'm not the right person to answer this question/ Because I am too inexperienced & unfamiliar with that profession/ Because as for me, I'm just a girl looking out of her window, waiting for someone to come & look at her/ & just not look away after/ I'm not a poet, how can I never be?/ But I do think/ That poets are not something that people become/ It's a mask. That people buy one day, at the price of heartbreaks & shattered hopes, to put on & hide the ugly & weak personas of them/ It's something people have to do, you know?/ Because the world can barely tolerate the poets. How many more wounds do you think you can sustain? & how many rocks do you think the world will throw?/ When you'll step out of your room/ As you?

~ms.anonymous

[space-mermaid-writing]

Consort and King [IronStrange]

Summary: Anthony Stark, King of Midgard, needs a spouse. Whether he wants one or not. So he accepts an arranged marriage with the Prince of Kamar-Taj – a man he has never met in his life to the day they are standing in front of each other at the altar, speaking their vows. Is it possible that the feeling of duty grows into something more? Will their future be happy?

Relationship: Tony Stark / Stephen Strange

Tags: arranged marriage au, royal au, strangers to husbands, enemies to lovers, slow burn, idiots in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, all the good stuff

Author's note: It wouldn't be a royal au without a ball. Asgard knows how to throw a party. Everyone say Hi to Loki Beta by @kvjjjjjj

Ko-fi | Read it on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Word count: 2.1k | Previous | Next

Chapter 9: Summer solstice

They received an invitation to a ball in Asgard. It happened that this year’s summer solstice fell on the same day as Queen Frigga’s birthday and she invited the leaders of all realms to attend the feast.

It was Tony and Stephen's first appearance as a married couple outside their own realm.

On the afternoon of the ball, Stephen opened a portal to the Asgardian palace. He and Tony stepped through, followed by some servants, who carried their luggage.

Although Stephen could easily portal them back home at the end of the night, they had decided to accept the extended invitation of the royal family and stay a day longer.

The ball didn’t start until the night. For now, primarily the guests were arriving – the couple spotted familiar and new faces among them – and getting assigned to their rooms. The hosts would not officially welcome them until later.

Tony and Stephen decided to take a little stroll through the gardens before getting dressed for the ball.

The palace's staff was busy with the final preparations. There was an excited buzz in the air. It was quieter in the garden. People had other things to do and so the two seemed to be the only guests out here.

They made their way past the white orchids, marveling at the looming trees that naturally bent to form an archway, leading them up the stone path. Sunlight peaked through the leaves, creating a shifting pattern under their feet.

To their left lay a fountain at the heart of the garden, water flowing gracefully from its sculpted tiers, creating a soothing symphony of splashes and ripples. At its base, the gentle spray caught the light, casting shimmering reflections on the surrounding feverfew flowers.

As they crossed the black calla lilies, Stephen pondered how they would look in the night. The Asgardian gardens were truly an experience in wondrous exploration.

“It’s funny that we hadn’t met before our wedding,” Tony mentioned and picked up a prior conversation they had had. “Even though we both have been attending Asgardian events before.”

“I have been here more often after my accident to study Seidr. It helped me understand the Mystic Arts better.”

Tony had learned that Asgard had its own kind of magic. Each of the realms actually differed in their magic. Tony had never thought about it before.

"I’ve been here on more occasions as a child with my father. He and Odin were close allies." Asgard and Midgard continued to be allied under Tony's rule, but he didn't see the need to come here as much as his father did. Tony was only moderately a fan of Odin himself. Frigga on the other hand was lovely; and he preferred talking to her.

Thor had been a friend of his since their childhood. They had fought together, laughed together, lost together.

Tony’s relationship to the second prince, Loki, on the other hand was more complicated. They had gotten off on the wrong foot the first time the two met and Tony still kinda held a grudge. Of course they had grown more mature over the years; these days he just tried to avoid Loki.

“Last time I was here solely for entertainment was the Winter Masquerade a few years ago.”

Stephen stopped and looked at him. “The one where Thor and his friend set loose the Wolpertingers in the ballroom?”

Tony turned towards him, tilting his head. “Yes.”

It had been a stupid prank, and he suspected that Loki also had a hand in it. The little animals, some kind of rabbit with wings, antlers, a tail, and fangs, were harmless, but they had caused a lot of chaos.

“I was there as well.”

“You were? Huh.” With the event being a masquerade ball, Tony hadn’t recognized a lot of people. “So maybe we have met before and just don’t know it.”

“Maybe.” Stephen looked at some of the flowers. The palace’s garden was famous for its beauty. Everyone knew the credit went to Queen Frigga, who saw personally to it.

It was weird that no one else was here. That was unusual since guests, who had already arrived, usually had nothing better to do than stroll around and marvel at the host’s palace.

Perhaps Stephen and Tony had inadvertently entered a restricted area.

Tony seemed to think something similar and in a silent agreement they strolled back towards the palace.

As they got closer, they saw Prince Loki descending the stairs from the palace to the garden. He had spotted the two Midgardians and was walking towards them, grinning broadly.

“Oh, how joyful,” Tony muttered dryly. He put on a neutral face. This was an event in the honor of Queen Frigga and he would play nice. For now.

But when he went ahead to approach Loki, Stephen grabbed his arm and held him back.

“Wait?”

Frowning, Tony looked at his husband. “What is it?”

Stephen stared intensely at the Asgardian Prince; watching him as if he were analyzing him. “Give me a second. I have to check something.”

Without another explanation, Stephen strode past him towards Loki.

Loki was now within talking range and had his arms outstretched in a welcome gesture. “I heard you arrived but I had to see it with my-…”

He didn't get any further, because with his first step forward Stephen had created a small mandala disc between his fingers and with his next step he threw it straight at the prince.

Loki looked surprised but was slow to react; the sharp edges of the magic disc sunk into his chest, before he was able to dodge it.

Loki looked down in surprise. Blood was seeping through his tunic.

“What the hell?” Tony yelled, following after his husband. “What are you doing?” He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing.

Stephen was just standing there, watching Loki’s body collapse onto the ground; without any remorse.

His voice had attracted the attention of a guard, who must have been patrolling somewhere in the garden nearby.

“Your Highness!” As soon as he spotted the prince on the ground, he pointed his spear at the two Midgardians.

Tony instinctively reached for the short sword he wore on his belt – it was just for representative decorative purposes, but it had to suffice for defense – and moved between his husband and the guard’s weapon. Stephen made no move to defend himself and for a moment there, Tony wondered if all of this had been an ulterior motive of the sorcerer.

But then Stephen finally spoke up. “Nice show, your Highness.” He addressed the guard.

At this point Tony was pretty sure Stephen had lost his mind. But then a golden-green shimmer went over the dead body and the guard, and both of them vanished.

“Thank you,” said a smooth voice behind them. As they turned around, Loki stepped out from between some bushes. “Did you like my death? Very authentic, not too dramatic.”

“Yes, that almost had me doubting,” Stephen admitted. “But you made a mistake with the setting. By the lack of people in the garden we’re clearly not supposed to be here. Yet you added a guard who rushed to your aid and thus had to stand nearby, while they still allowed us to wander around in this restricted area.”

“You always had an eye for details.” Loki was rather amused than offended, that his ruse had been seen through. Then, he finally turned to Tony, who had listened to their banter irritated as well as irked.

“King Stark. How joyful to see you again.”

Immediately, Tony no longer felt guilty because Loki had clearly listened in on their conversation. He resisted the urge to use his own sword after all and put it back in his belt.

“If you're also in charge of the night’s entertainment, it promises to be an eventful ball.”

“This night is all about my mother. I merely wanted to greet you two.”

“You shouldn’t have.” For real. Tony could have gone without that almost heart attack.

Without commenting on that, Loki looked back to Stephen. “I recently visited Kamar-Taj but it was rather boring without you being there.”

“I’m sure you bothered other sorcerer’s just as fine.”

Maybe Tony was just imagining it, but Stephen’s voice was almost fond. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“They weren’t as fun as you.”

“Well, this was…something. But surely you’re still busy with the preparation for the feast,” Tony interrupted whatever this was they had going on. “We don’t want to keep you from your responsibilities.”

Fortunately, Loki took the hint. “That’s very considerate of you, King Stark.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and he eyed Tony from head to toe. Like always, he was rubbing Tony all the wrong ways. “You’re not wrong: there’s still a lot to do. I will see you later at the ball.” He saw them off with a bow. "King Stark. Consort Strange."

With a last wink and still a grin on his face, he finally left.

Tony let out a breath he didn’t realize he had held the entire time.

Then he turned towards Stephen and tipped his finger on his chest, his anger rising again. “Next time you kill a prince, warn a guy!”

His husband seemed surprised by his strong reaction, since Loki’s life had never been in danger. “If the illusion had really been him, he would have fended off my spell with ease.”

“How would I know?”

Stephen realized his mistake. “I apologize. I never wanted to worry you.” He remembered Tony’s reaction to the illusion of the prince’s death – defending his husband from the guard – and he smiled. “I’m flattered you would back me up anyway if I were to kill a prince.”

Tony didn't feel like laughing. The adrenaline was only just disappearing from his body, but he still felt on edge. “Do you think this is funny?”

“Again, I’m sorry.” Stephen reached for Tony's hand and placed it on his own chest. “Loki is... particular. He probably would have done worse if his illusion had reached us."

Tony could imagine that. That was why he didn’t like the trickster. “Still. Just… don’t do this again. Ever.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, good.” Tony accepted it for now, not wanting to carry his sour mood into the rest of the evening. They were here to celebrate. “They do have drinks here somewhere, right? I think I need one.”

Not letting go of Stephen's hand, he moved to go back inside the palace.

_________________

Finally, it was time to get changed for the ball. Tony displayed his family colors of red and gold, while Stephen stayed with blue. But he had added a red accent in the form of a cloak Tony had gifted him for this very event.

“It suits you,” the king stated, looking at his husband fondly. His previous anger was forgotten. He stepped closer to him and helped him fasten the cloak at the front. There were two brooches, mirrored in shape. One showed the Stark’s emblem, the other one Strange’s. “My colors look good on you.”

“Yeah?” Stephen was blushing a bit at the simple gesture and the compliment.

“Yes.” Tony fixed his husband’s hair – not that it was of any use. By now he knew that there was one strand in the front that refused to cooperate. So it was really just an excuse to get his finger into that soft hair.

Stephen wore the silver circlet of a prince, while on Tony’s head rested one of his crowns. Nothing too fancy but perfect for a night of drinking and dancing.

On the day of his coronation, Stephen would also receive a golden crown to prove that he was Tony’s equal.

“We should start looking for designs soon,” he muttered, more of a reminder for himself than for the sorcerer to hear.

“Oh?” Stephen tilted his head. “Don’t I get the same crown as you?”

“I mean, you can if you want to. But I had something in mind that was a little more… you.” He turned Stephen and himself to the side, drawing his husband's attention to the mirror on the wall, which showed both of them together.

It was unusual for them to see themselves standing so close to each other – at least from the outside point of view– both in their gala uniforms, adorned with jewelry and crowns. Stephen was a little taller, but Tony made up for it with his charm and demeanor.

Stephen liked what he saw. “I’d like that.” He smiled and Tony mirrored it.

“I will call the goldsmith first thing when we’re back home.”

The sorcerer nodded, but paused when he realized that when hearing ‘home’ he thought about the Stark’s palace and really meant it. It had been the first image that had come to his mind. Not Kamar-Taj.

He had finally arrived in Midgard. Not only with his life but also with his mind.

His eyes met Tony’s in the mirror.

And maybe with his heart.

_____________

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